Perhaps someday, it will cease to be strange to find that there are places and people he cares to return to. The knowledge of his duty to this war and to Flint, to Madi, to their people across this island is ever present. He finds he doesn't resent it.
He is an equal in this partnership. And he can circle the table to cover her hand with his own, stilling her examination.
"I know."
His expression is entreating as they broach the inevitable conversation. The sea gave him back, delivered him to Flint and returned him to her. None of them know exactly what they will find when they arrive in Kirkwall. His thumb rubs lightly over her knuckles, silently entreating.
"It's a good plan," he ventures, though she knows that. It's her design as much as theirs. "And once we're through here, we can go..."
His free hand trips across the map, heavy with implication. Anywhere.
"It is not the plan that concerns me," she says, meeting his gaze. They're relying on the support, admittedly much needed, of a woman who has made clear by her actions that her allegiance is only to herself. A woman of Max's cunning and means could secure passage anywhere for only a fraction of the cache's worth, a fraction of her own share's worth, without then needing to offer its entirety to the Inquisition to repay a favor.
They should have a back-up plan.
Madi takes Silver's hand in both of her own, a temporary tethering of him to her in this moment.
She doesn't say as much, but John knows what's weighing on her. They've discussed the idea of trusting Max to death, and come up with nothing better. Out of all of them, save Rackham and Anne, John has cause to mistrust her. (More still, because she is his mirror.) He holds Madi's gaze for a long moment, before looking down at her hands.
"We'll know better what to make of it when we get there," John says again. No matter how many times he says it, he still hates how little he knows of what they're walking into.
Were Madi a different woman, John could try to sweeten this conversation. But Madi isn't the kind of woman to be distracted by love talk. John wouldn't insult her with sweet turns of phrase when they are both grappling with what this plan really means: he will be gone, out of reach for as long as this takes.
"I'll try to find a secure way to send word. That might take me some time as well."
It isn't anything that lessens her frown, or eases her trepidation to hear. In some way, it's more comforting to hear his lack of consolation than the alternative. Because she isn't the kind to be distracted by love talk not because she is immune, but because the language they speak uses different words.
"Then," she starts, her grip on his hand tightening only just. "I will wait. And hope."
As safe as anyone can be in their efforts. Guerrilla warfare is a particular expertise of Madi's people, but it is still warfare. There is still a risk. It is perhaps even more so now, with the newly-opened rift belching demons into the town square and Rogers allegiances revealed.
She will not stay behind these walls anymore. That is not the type of leader he knows her to be, and he has no right to ask her to conduct herself otherwise. Madi will engage in this fight while he seeks assistance from across the sea. It is how this must be.
"Billy will be of use to you," John tells her with the confidence of someone planning to speak that assurance into reality. "And I will endeavor to be of use, even all the way in Kirkwall."
Safe. Funny, how that word can mean so many different things. It can mean out of harm's way. It can mean unhurt, even within harm's way. It can mean out of sight, out of mind.
She'll be no safer here than in Kirkwall. He'll be no safer there than here. They'll be no safer apart than together. But none of that is what stitches her brow into a furrow.
"Billy." It's as much a question as it is a dubious statement. Equal parts oh he will, will he? and who the fuck is Billy?
"The tallest one," John says, because it doesn't really matter which cluster of Walrus men Billy's standing in. He'll be the tallest one.
But he senses the emotion behind that response. He wants it to be something more, for his own trust in Billy to be something reassuring, but it's a shorthand that doesn't quite catch. How little he has to offer her. That first, resounding defeat has made it very clear to John that it's necessary to bring more forces to crush their opposition, but it also means he can't ignore the danger he's leaving her to.
"What would you have me bring you back, aside from an army?"
A tease that's likely to go nowhere, but still attempted. Madi is committed to this war. Whatever trinket John could lift from a Kirkwall merchant wouldn't compare to the kind of force that could deliver a victory to them.
"Perhaps two armies," she says, giving it just enough thought that it might seem she actually considered her options. Pearls? Gold? She wants nothing from Kirkwall other than victory over her enemies and the safe--that word again--return of Silver.
Her mirth is contained to a sidelong glance and the barest quirk of her lips.
But back to business: "Will tall Billy follow orders?" They both know the difference between her men and his, where orders are concerned.
Even the faintest suggestion of a smile from her catches in his chest. It feels like a small tug on the end of a string, pulling at a hook caught behind his ribs. When had she left it there? John still cannot say.
"Billy is committed to this war," John answers. "He respects this partnership, and he knows the island. Between the two of you, the Venatori and Rogers' forces can be kept in check."
John has a way of speaking as if it would bend the world to his words. He's felt the Veil flutter at times, sparking to the rise of his voice. But there is no need to put that sort of power into these words. It is the truth. He raises her hand to his mouth, kisses her knuckles.
"I'll miss you."
Is this consolation? It is another truth, and a rare one. John is still astonished by it.
Madi is struck then, by the sense that she won't see John's face again for an agonizingly long time. It hollows her out inside, leaving just her heart and a coil of dread and longing that tightens around it. She puts one hand to his cheek and kisses him.For that kiss, there is no rush, no time being wasted, no urgency, just heartbeats and breath and gentleness and something like love.
"Then hurry back to me." Yes, she'll miss him, too.
When they had narrowly managed their retreat from Nascere, when this plan had been discussed, John had realized exactly what he was going to be giving up. The sea had returned him. Flint had delivered him from red coats and given him back to Madi. If their attack had gone differently, then the whole of this war could have been fought together.
But their defeat changes everything. It changes how they can proceed, if they want to prevail in their goals. The soft clutch of her hand and the sweetness of her mouth, John will have to give that up for the present. His fingers tighten on her hip, and he exhales hard as the kiss breaks.
"I will," John promises. Has he ever promised such a thing before and meant it? "Just promise me that you..."
What? What promise can he extract? Madi will do what she must. John knows that. He trails off, eyes closing as he rests his forehead against hers. Many things live, unspoken, in that unfinished sentence.
She too closes her eyes, the world around them quieting until there is naught but the sound of their shared breath and the beating of their hearts.
No, she cannot promise that which she cannot keep, and yes, she will do what must be done. Of that there is no question, no doubt. So what can she offer to soothe his mind? What promise is there she can uphold, when so much is unknown, intangible, fleeting?
Only to keep going, to keep hoping, and keep loving. She makes that promise to herself, seals it with another kiss, and when she opens her eyes to look upon his face, she smiles.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vibrates so intensely
He is an equal in this partnership. And he can circle the table to cover her hand with his own, stilling her examination.
"I know."
His expression is entreating as they broach the inevitable conversation. The sea gave him back, delivered him to Flint and returned him to her. None of them know exactly what they will find when they arrive in Kirkwall. His thumb rubs lightly over her knuckles, silently entreating.
"It's a good plan," he ventures, though she knows that. It's her design as much as theirs. "And once we're through here, we can go..."
His free hand trips across the map, heavy with implication. Anywhere.
no subject
They should have a back-up plan.
Madi takes Silver's hand in both of her own, a temporary tethering of him to her in this moment.
no subject
"We'll know better what to make of it when we get there," John says again. No matter how many times he says it, he still hates how little he knows of what they're walking into.
Were Madi a different woman, John could try to sweeten this conversation. But Madi isn't the kind of woman to be distracted by love talk. John wouldn't insult her with sweet turns of phrase when they are both grappling with what this plan really means: he will be gone, out of reach for as long as this takes.
"I'll try to find a secure way to send word. That might take me some time as well."
no subject
"Then," she starts, her grip on his hand tightening only just. "I will wait. And hope."
no subject
As safe as anyone can be in their efforts. Guerrilla warfare is a particular expertise of Madi's people, but it is still warfare. There is still a risk. It is perhaps even more so now, with the newly-opened rift belching demons into the town square and Rogers allegiances revealed.
She will not stay behind these walls anymore. That is not the type of leader he knows her to be, and he has no right to ask her to conduct herself otherwise. Madi will engage in this fight while he seeks assistance from across the sea. It is how this must be.
"Billy will be of use to you," John tells her with the confidence of someone planning to speak that assurance into reality. "And I will endeavor to be of use, even all the way in Kirkwall."
no subject
She'll be no safer here than in Kirkwall. He'll be no safer there than here. They'll be no safer apart than together. But none of that is what stitches her brow into a furrow.
"Billy." It's as much a question as it is a dubious statement. Equal parts oh he will, will he? and who the fuck is Billy?
no subject
But he senses the emotion behind that response. He wants it to be something more, for his own trust in Billy to be something reassuring, but it's a shorthand that doesn't quite catch. How little he has to offer her. That first, resounding defeat has made it very clear to John that it's necessary to bring more forces to crush their opposition, but it also means he can't ignore the danger he's leaving her to.
"What would you have me bring you back, aside from an army?"
A tease that's likely to go nowhere, but still attempted. Madi is committed to this war. Whatever trinket John could lift from a Kirkwall merchant wouldn't compare to the kind of force that could deliver a victory to them.
no subject
Her mirth is contained to a sidelong glance and the barest quirk of her lips.
But back to business: "Will tall Billy follow orders?" They both know the difference between her men and his, where orders are concerned.
no subject
"Billy is committed to this war," John answers. "He respects this partnership, and he knows the island. Between the two of you, the Venatori and Rogers' forces can be kept in check."
John has a way of speaking as if it would bend the world to his words. He's felt the Veil flutter at times, sparking to the rise of his voice. But there is no need to put that sort of power into these words. It is the truth. He raises her hand to his mouth, kisses her knuckles.
"I'll miss you."
Is this consolation? It is another truth, and a rare one. John is still astonished by it.
no subject
"Then hurry back to me." Yes, she'll miss him, too.
no subject
But their defeat changes everything. It changes how they can proceed, if they want to prevail in their goals. The soft clutch of her hand and the sweetness of her mouth, John will have to give that up for the present. His fingers tighten on her hip, and he exhales hard as the kiss breaks.
"I will," John promises. Has he ever promised such a thing before and meant it? "Just promise me that you..."
What? What promise can he extract? Madi will do what she must. John knows that. He trails off, eyes closing as he rests his forehead against hers. Many things live, unspoken, in that unfinished sentence.
no subject
No, she cannot promise that which she cannot keep, and yes, she will do what must be done. Of that there is no question, no doubt. So what can she offer to soothe his mind? What promise is there she can uphold, when so much is unknown, intangible, fleeting?
Only to keep going, to keep hoping, and keep loving. She makes that promise to herself, seals it with another kiss, and when she opens her eyes to look upon his face, she smiles.
"I will."