When he stroked her hair, Vivian was a little surprised at the gentleness of his touch, but only a little. She remembered him kneeling in front of the dying spider, reaching for it with calm sorrow.
It had been a long time since anyone had thought to treat her gently, longer since she’d thought to want it. Now Vivian welcomed tenderness despite herself. It might—probably would—make the end of their journey hurt more, but to hell with that.
All things turned to pain in the end. Trying to avoid that only made them hurt from the very beginning.
* * *
Sleep came quickly. Vivian’s sword keeping watch played a role in that, as did Olvir’s complete exhaustion. The weariness made Vivian’s presence in his arms an aid to sleep, in fact, while it would have been anything but if he’d had more energy.
As tired as he was, Olvir felt heat in his groin at first. Parts of him responded before other, sensible regions reminded them that he’d been walking all day and the previous night, fighting before that, and, further back, doing yet more walking. If he tried to act on the stirrings below his waist, he doubted he’d live through the experience.
Muscles he’d pushed almost past their breaking point began to untwist themselves. The soles of his feet throbbed, but in almost a comforting way. The regular dull pulse of discomfort meant that Olvir’s weight was off them, and it would remain so for a while. Vivian was heat against his chest, long legs tangled with his, the soft, regular in-and-out tide of air a little above his collarbone.
Nobody, even people who liked them, would have called the Sentinels ordinary. Emeth and Darya, even Katrine, would’ve laughed at the description. Vivian probably would have too. Not being normal was practically their duty. The woman who lay beside him, pliant in sleep, felt like a small piece of the everyday world nonetheless.
Perhaps it was all relative. Vivian had been part of Olvir’s life when he’d been simply another knight. She’d known him when they’d spent their days on familiar ground, around their comrades in arms. She was also solid to the touch, with breath and a heartbeat like any other living being. After hours of stumbling through a ghostly landscape, that reality was valuable too.
Night wind ruffled Olvir’s hair. It was cold, but with blankets over him and Vivian’s warmth beside him, that barely made an impression. Neither did the calls of birds or the wolf’s howl he heard in the distance. Ulamir would warn Vivian about any threats. She’d wake Olvir, and together they’d stand off whatever came.
He wouldn’t have been able to have that confidence with a normal woman, Olvir reflected, even another knight. Maybe a normal woman wouldn’t have banished his disconnection so effectively—Olvir’s nature might have kept distance between them. Vivian, unusual herself, met him halfway.
Reasons didn’t matter, he decided. Lying against her, he was part of the world again.
The mountains and the Battlefield still lay ahead of them. He didn’t know what waited there. Many of the possibilities, good and bad alike, ended with his death. As Olvir’s weary body relaxed and darkness slipped over his mind, he could examine each potential ending without either fear or sadness, considering it and then laying it aside.
He slept without dreaming, without stirring. Night passed between one blink and another.
* * *
Vivian woke with Olvir’s chin on top of her head. He was still holding her close, despite sleeping quite soundly as far as she could tell. At some point during the previous night, she’d thrown one leg over his thighs.
She had not, thank all the gods, drooled on his chest.
Ulamir was keeping watch, his attention on whatever threats might approach. He wasn’t as fully in Vivian’s mind as usual, but she sensed his presence at a distance and was grateful for it. It let her wake gradually, rather than snapping into instant alertness as she did when it was her turn on sentry duty.
Her muscles ached faintly, and she was not thrilled about the sun coming up already, but Vivian felt a hundred times more like a person than she’d done the night before. Simply not walking for eight hours or so had done wonders.
With rest came sensation. Vivian noticed every detail that she hadn’t the previous night, when she’d been too tired for anything but vague impressions. For instance, her face was pressed to the hollow of Olvir’s neck, which was surprisingly soft in contrast to the firm solidity of his arms. Cloth provided only a faint barrier to her perception. His biceps, like his chest, were unyielding, his stomach hard and flat. Rising up against it…
Oh, he was more energetic in the morning, too, asleep or not.
A slow hunger began to uncurl through Vivian, a lassitude that was yearning at the same time.
She stretched, shifting her hips forward to bring her sex snug against Olvir’s thigh. The motion slidherthigh against a very large and insistent ridge. It twitched in response, and Olvir gasped in his sleep, so Vivian repeated the motion.
The noise he made then was approximatelymmm, not quite a sigh or a moan.
Still apparently without waking, he slid his hand from her waist, fingers grazing her spine. Vivian’s shirt might as well not have been there: she felt every tiny motion. When he grasped the side of her arse, gently but quite firmly, it was her turn to moan.
She was quiet. She’d been trained soundly, and lust didn’t erase that. The noise she let out wouldn’t have drawn undue attention from the wilderness.
It did wake Olvir. His eyes opened a crack, then completely. Vivian saw the sudden recognition of where he was, who he was with, and exactly what his hand was about. That hand went suddenly still, but Olvir didn’t pull it away.
“Ah.” Desire painted itself across his features, all the sharper because he was awake. “Good morning.”
“Considerably better than yesterday’s,” said Vivian, skin tingling at the breathless depth of his voice. The rational part of her, the Sentinel who had learned her duty by heart, was waking, observing that the sun was rising and they needed to be on the move. She ignored it long enough to flick her tongue over Olvir’s earlobe.
Life was difficult. Pleasure was important, whether or not she could see it through. She basked in his groan and the way his hips bucked, let herself have that, then added, “But not as good as it would be if we could linger here.”
