#i absolutely need you to know that sebby was the one who killed that bear and he did it by chucking a knife at it

[faultedloyalty]

“My, I fear I misspoke,” Sebastian quickly placates, looking serene as a lamb as he bows his head forward.

“My apologies, sir—my master makes no habit of hunting them, you see. It’s simply a matter of one bear having been disposed of because it was attacking his betrothed. It was a matter of defense.”

Whether that really eases the young boy’s worries is of little concern; primarily for the very reason he’s said, but also for the reason that it if it doesn’t, it’s of no consequence. Whether man or creature, if an any who are unwelcome and unwanted find themselves on the Phantomhive Estate, their lives are forfeit.

“As I mentioned before, however, their appearances are few and far between, so you may rest easy. I, personally, shall be here to ensure your safety—even if it may cost me my life.”

Alright, maybe he is laying things on a little thick, but he’s under no explicit orders to not play around! He is a man with few wants, and one of them is to remain entertained. Though perhaps he needn’t create it himself, after all—his brief hesitance goes noticed, and while of course he has no way of knowing why it occurs to begin with, Sebastian is most interested in figuring out. Perhaps he needs to start setting some of his own plans in motion...

Such thoughts are for a later moment. If there is some manner of deception at work, however, it is masterfully being utilized.

“Once more do you honour us with praise—though I regret to inform you that I do not tend to the gardens myself, most of the time. Such a job is best for a gardener, after all, and our Estate happens to employ one. I shall pass your awe on to him, should we not run into him ourselves.”

Of course, he does fix the garden up about as much as Finny tends to it, but such mishaps are not for Daisuke to know about. Even Sebastian has to admit to a job well done every now and then, anyway, for he hadn't had to intervene this time.

Ah, that sketchbook; Sebastian turns to look down at it, when he hears a page being turned, but all he can glimpse of it is the fresh canvas. Still, it never hurts to be thorough.

“If I may ask, sir, is all that goes into your sketchbook things of interest?” He remembers what was said upon seeing it initially, of course, but with his excitement to bring it out upon seeing the roses, it’s clear that the drawings within are not simply done for information’s sake. “Might you have an aspiration for the arts?”

' eh --- ?! d-disposed ?! ' his gasp is quiet but his jaw-dropped shock is blatant . disposed , as in like trash ? like they threw it away ? shouldn't that have been illegal or something ?! ( not that he had any grounds to debate legality ... ) but those poor bears ! even if hunting was its own sort of sport , to dispatch the lives of animals in a way that sounded not only ruthlessly efficient but even a little brutal , wasteful and unfair ...

' ah , is it --- ciel ? hunting ? bears ? '

he'd be far more alarmed over a fact like this than anything else at this point . the rest in regards to wolves is far more cryptic than daisuke can comprehend . whatever story lingered behind the other's statement isn't one the boy is privy to try to peel back , so he simply nods and accepts the reliable facts that have been given to him : no wolves to worry over , only bears amidst the hunting grounds and the mansion's most efficient bear disposers , who no doubt remained excellent shots even away from them .

' my expectations ... ' what sorts did he have for the likes of the phantomhive manor , anyways ? instead of innocently enjoying this trip , he was here first and foremost to steal . it was work . instead of true art in his sketchbook , it was a well-guised floorplan . the map of his heart was another's mansion ; to suit his expectations would be to let the great phantom thief dark get away with another priceless work of art , despite each and every obstacle that might have been set out for him --- but he couldn't possibly say anything like that .

so daisuke only swallows a little , spittle going down slightly thick . ' ... i don't know if i have any --- um , expectations . '

despite such a lavish upbringing , he carried himself like any ordinary child . without class or atmosphere , far too clumsy and shy to even pretend at a regal pompousness . he demanded nothing , asked for nothing , and was easily awed by the fact he was in a foreign country alone . and yet , the sight of roses in the garden makes his eyes widen and glimmer , and he gasps again --- this time with immediate recognition and a slight rush forward .

' they're open ! ' which was to say they were in bloom , and beautiful . for just a moment , he's forgotten all about the bears . ' these ... are my favorite ! they look so healthy , ' so he marvels for just a moment more before snapping out of it , and turning to another fresh page in his book . ' are they --- yours ? i mean the ... cutting ! and watering --- the care ! '

[royalcordelia]

Can’t You Hear the Wild Music? (7/7)

Summary: When the Great War sweeps away all of Canada’s able young men, Anne and Gilbert must endure leaving one another and gain the strength to fulfill their duties. A story told through narrative and letters.

Rated T • 5k words • Read the entire work on Ao3 • Start at Part 7

Anne may as well have been in no man’s land as the next months passed, with bullets whizzing past her ears and explosions bursting at either side of her feet. She heard it the loudest in the silence of her own room, with the chill Avonlea breeze sneaking in through her lacy window panes accompanied by the smell of autumn’s arrival. What an odd feeling it was, she pondered early one morning, to stand in the middle of a raging war in the isolation of her own bedroom.

She still hadn’t heard from Gilbert. It was a fact that seemed to play in her mind like a record player stuck on repeat, and each time she thought of it, a sharp ache stabbed at her chest. Was this how it was to be? A life spent teetering on the edge of suspense, the threat of tipping over into devastation realer than ever? She still wrote to Gilbert, but only when the loneliness of his absence grew too heavy to bear without some sort of release. She wrote to soldiers who knew him. He saved my life, Ma’am, wrote one soldier. It was months ago, but as soon as I could, I sat down to write this letter to you. I barely knew how to address it, only that Blythe would speak endlessly of his Anne-with-an-E in Avonlea, PEI.  You’ll tell him how obliged to him I am, won’t you miss? Such correspondence came at least once a week, from dozens of men, nurses, and doctors, but never from Gilbert.

All she could do was sit at her window at let the kind autumnal whispers of home lull her to sleep at night until the morning would come with its merciful distractions.

*

Avonlea smelled like sweet grass that Sunday afternoon when Anne opened the door to Bash and Mary. The fragrance flooded into Green Gables the way incense descends upon a church. Little Seb trailed in behind his parents, plucky fingers pinching the skirts of his mother’s dress. Just the sight of them was a balm on Anne’s soul, and she knelt down to take the young lad into an embrace. In that moment, their little makeshift family was complete.

“I hope you do not mind that we have come for our weekly visit a day earlier than usual,” Bash said carefully as Anne peppered kisses onto Little Sebbie.

“You know our home is always open to your family,” Marilla said, appearing in the hallway.

“Absolutely! We’re delighted to have you!” said Anne, scooping Seb into her arms and swinging him around. The lad’s brown curls tumbled into his eyes as laughter emitted from the tips of his toes. Was there ever a sweeter nephew? And those plump cheeks! Certainly Mary was keeping him well fed. “Sebbie, why don’t you and I go jump in the hay bales? Jerry left us some just yesterday!”

Marilla began to protest, but Mary interrupted in an odd voice before she could get more than a word out.

“Actually, I think that’s exactly what that poor boy needs. Hasn’t gotten out of the house with all that rain we’ve been having. We’ll be right here when you get back. Take your time.”

Sebbie intertwined his tiny fingers with Anne’s and tugged their arms back and forth like a tree swing. Heartstrings thoroughly tugged - he must’ve learned his puppy dog eyes from Gilbert - Anne looked toward Bash for approval. He hesitated for a moment, the expression on his face as solid as poured cement. Then, he bent his head and pressed a kiss to Sebbie’s head, then Anne’s, lingering on the golden hues in her hair.

“Make sure you’re eating enough, Queen Anne,” he said, pulling an apple from the basket in his hand and handing it to her. “Go enjoy yourselves.”  

“You’re sweet, Bash,” she replied, tucking the apple into her apron pocket. “Come on, Sebbie.”

The Lacroixs followed Marilla into the kitchen, but Anne could still feel Bash’s eyes on her as she shuffled Sebbie toward the door. Sebastian Jr. was an explosion of intelligence and chatter for a young lad of his age. Raised under the careful thumb of Mary and Sebastian, he was a well-behaved schoolboy, if not a bit eager. Influences from Anne and Gilbert had impressed the boy with a strong vocabulary, one that left his peers in his dust. Anne wondered if perhaps she’d finally met her match in a conversation partner.

“Guess what, Anne!? I found a butterfly on the steps last night. Momma let me put it in a jar and leave it next to my bed for the night, but I had to let it go early the next morning. Good thing, too, cause it almost died. And Tillie Boulter pushed me into the brook on Wednesday, but I only hurt my ankle a little. Too bad Gilbert isn’t here to look at it for me. Say Anne, did you know Gilbert was killed in France yesterday? That’s what the telegram said this morning.”

The oxygen disappeared from the room in an instant. The entire house went silent, each pair of nervous eyes landing on Anne.

Every one of her nerves was numb. There was a ringing in her ears that roared louder than Marilla’s gentle call of her name. Anne released Little Seb’s hand and took a few steps away, as if she might find a patch of oxygen in her shock. It was if every faculty in her brain had stopped working, making her brain a blank slate, her legs shaky. She was defenseless against the only sensation that seemed to blooming in her chest like one of the German bombs - agony, sharp and throbbing. It blurred her vision and stung behind her eyes where she tried to make sense of what Little Seb had said.

“Oh, Anne…” Marilla murmured, coming to the girl’s side. Anne shuffled back a few steps, cognizant enough to look up at Mary and Bash. They were waiting at the edge of the kitchen, looking at her the way people look at injured deer they stumble across but don’t know how to help. In the corner of her awareness, she noted the tears that had begun spilling down Mary’s flowery cheeks and the grief in Bash’s stern expression.

They knew. Of course they knew. It was why they visited early, Anne realized.

“I…” Anne stammered, unable to find the words that she needed. “Is...it true?”

Marilla took it upon herself. She had raised the girl, after all. It was only right to speak this truth to her now.

“It is. Gilbert died in combat earlier yesterday. Oh Anne, I am so, so sorry, dear heart. Little Sebastian probably doesn’t know any better and...well, we didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

Anne’s arms wrapped at her elbows. It was getting harder to breathe, her inhales coming in shallow gasps.

“But his commanding general wrote that it was quick and painless,” Bash interjected. “He didn’t suffer at all. When they found him, he was peaceful.”

The words were meant to soothe her, but all they did was paint a horrible picture in every space of her mind. It was all she could see, her dear love laying in the mud of France, life stripped from him with no comfort or chance for last words. He would be buried there, she imagined, amongst the French flowers far from their Canadian shoreline.

She would never see him again. He was gone.

It was then that her legs collapsed from underneath her. Her hand caught the edge of the bannister seconds before her knees could crash against the unforgiving floor. The taste of salt fell on her trembling lips, and before the grief could cloud over her completely, she reached out a hand toward Marilla. The gray woman fell by her side in an instant, just in time to catch the girl who had finally lost all her strength.

Anne knelt beside her mother figure, face buried in her skirts, and wept with the bitterest of broken hearts. Her soul was wracked, her bones weary, her strength drained away like an open wound on the fields of France.

*

Anne slept through her pain in the days that came, her tired body welcoming respite from its heartache. Bash and Diana visited daily, sometimes Ruby, even Cole paid a call on a dreary afternoon - but Anne would see nobody but the Cuthberts and the doctor, who was charged with making sure the girl wasn’t withering away.

“I’m only a physical doctor,” the man had said. Anne squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to picture Gilbert as the successful country doctor he always wanted to be. “But I know some about matters of the heart. Let yourself grieve, Miss Shirley. You only hurt yourself by holding it in.”

She said nothing in reply, but crept out of bed when she thought no one was watching, and found herself at the seaspray cliffs of Prince Edward Island. She gazed out, cheeks misty with salty brine and tears, and wondered what the sunsets looked like in Europe. It was the type of magenta sight that the romantics wrote sonnets about, the sort of natural beauty that usually sent an artistic thrill through Anne. It was the same sunset that she could recall sitting under with Gilbert time and time again, aching to lean across the tall grass and kiss his gentle smile.

A whimper escaped her lips, untraceable in the sound of the ocean’s waves. There was so much to say, so much left unsaid, and she wanted to be heard. For once, she wanted the Almighty to listen to her prayers and frustrations and pain.

And so, on the cliffs of Prince Edward Island, Anne Shirley released a broken scream of grief and anger. She hoped that it raged against the oceans, parted the seas and shot like lightning through the gray autumn skies. She roared and sobbed and howled and wept, until there was nothing left in her. At least some of the pain in her heart was replaced by a rawness in her throat, and still she felt lighter.

Then she walked back home, climbed up the stairs to her gable room, and thought for the first time in a week that she might be able to stomach some broth.

*

Weeks later, Anne was on her feet again. The smile had gone from her eyes - possibly gone for good - but she found it possible to walk down Lover’s Lane without shaking and eat her meals without expelling them. Strangely enough, she found comfort in the company of the Lacroixs, whose existence to her was nothing but a reminder of what she had lost. They had lost the same thing, though, and it brought them together. They came together for meals with more frequency than ever before, always at Green Gables.

“I just don’t think I can go to that house yet, Marilla,” Anne explained quietly. She did not have to explain twice.

But a day or two later, something in her changed. She found herself desperate for things that held pieces of him and the life that he lived. She’d read his letters over and over and over, read the books that he loaned her, walked the roads they walked together, but none of it seemed enough.

“I think I’d like to go bring Bash and Mary this pie,” Anne decided one day, hints of her usual determination showing signs of revitalization. “They’ve brought over so much food in the last weeks that I think I’m overdue in returning the favor.”

“Are you sure, Anne?” Matthew said cautiously from the kitchen table, folding his newspaper.

“Mostly,” she replied, though her tone did not match her sentiment. “I can’t keep going on avoiding the things that hurt too much.”

“But you don’t have to confront things you’re ill equipped to handle,” Marilla cut in. “I’ll have Jerry bring the pie over and you can-”

“No, I’m quite well enough to bring it over myself. I appreciate your concern, both of you,” Anne said resolutely.

And that was that, for Matthew and Marilla had learned some time ago that when it came to challenging a determined Anne, one must choose their battles wisely. This battle they waved their white flags to, and watched with worried frowns as Anne headed down a forest road she could traverse blind.

The Blythe house looked the same as ever it did, with its silver colored bricks and humble porch. Memories of time spent here threatened to burst in uninvited thoughts, but Anne bit the inside of her cheek and pushed them aside. She knocked, picturing Bash opening the door with his usual greeting of, “Well, if it isn’t Queen Anne!” But Bash didn’t appear, nor did Mary or even little Seb.

“I suppose I could just leave the pie on the counter. Maybe I’ll add a nice little note,” Anne pondered. Her own pretend of the old regularity of her personality had nearly fooled her. But the bluff fell to pieces the second she opened the door.

God, the house still smelled like him - or maybe he smelled like the house - but it was enough to stagger her. She gripped the edge of the doorframe, took a breath, then made her way through the familiar rooms.

“Sebastian? Mary?” she called out, but no one answered. With the same urgency that comes with rushing an injection to get it over with, Anne scurried into the empty kitchen, dropped the pie on the counter like it burned. She stumbled out of the back door and gasped for the clean air that greeted her. “Oh, maybe Marilla and Matthew were right,” she scolded herself as she swiped a few stray tears from her freckled cheeks.

Her gaze fell on the Blythe garden, the very one that Gilbert had planted himself in memory of his parents. Strange, she thought, that even though she could easily picture him kneeling in the soil, she couldn’t feel his presence with her in the shadows under the trees. She couldn’t feel him around at all, but how could he have just abandoned her? It wasn’t possible.

Anne knelt beside the flowers, fighting back another one of her crying spells. She’d wept so much in the past days that surely she had to be running out of tears by now.

She heard the door behind her open, followed by two quiet steps.

“I’m fine, Bash,” she stammered, running her palms against her cheeks. “I’ll - I’ll come inside in just a second. I just need a moment to...Oh, I don’t mean to cry, but it seems I can never stop... I’m fine, just...it’s...”

“Anne.”

All at once, the world of broken pieces and shattered dreams fell back into place, returning to their wholeness. Had she heard correctly? Eyes wide open, Anne turned with painstaking slowness toward the voice she never thought she’d hear again. The sight was ambrosia to her marred heart.

“Gilbert?” And then, in a reverent prayer - “ Gilbert.”

There he was - much like he’d left her. Chestnut curls, khaki regimentals, and hazel eyes that never tired of looking upon her in their adoration. Some things were different, of course. He had lost his leg, after all, and the experience of it had aged him, beginning with the empty air under his knees. Dark hairs lined his chin, only partially groomed, and his shoulders were straighter around the edges.

She barely recognized him, but there was no denying it - Gilbert Blythe was alive. He was alive and home and gaping at her like a man who had just stared into the face the universe.

Anne rose to her feet, the skirts of her pale turquoise dress brushing against the flowers. The shock on his face melted into sunshine warmth, and he began to hobble toward her with unsteady movements. Anne was quick to shorten the distance between them, opening her arms to catch Gilbert when he fell into her. The crutch he had tucked under his arm fell down at his side, forgotten, as he wrapped his arms around her frame. Brilliant huffs of warm breath sent chills down Anne’s neck where he had buried his face in joyous laughter.

“Oh Anne, how I’ve missed you!” he whimpered. “How I’ve missed you so.”

Anne felt as though she might burst into flames with happiness and love. She stroked his soft hair, kissed his temple, and swayed in her happiness.

“I thought you were dead, Gilbert!” she cried. “They told me you were dead!”

This only caused him to hold on tighter, and Anne wasn’t sure if it was his embrace or her own joy that was keeping the air from her lungs. But then he pulled back, and took her face in his hands, his eyes lingering for a few heartbeats.

“I know. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you. But it was all a misunderstanding, sweetheart. An enemy soldier stole my uniform and my identification. He was the one they found dead.” He pressed his lips to her brow. “I’m home for you, Anne. I won’t leave you again, I swear it.”

Anne could contain herself no longer. She pushed herself onto her toes and kissed Gilbert with the love and passion and pain she’d had within her in his absence. The taste of him was sweet, like fragrant forest breezes and wild clover. There was traces of the sunset too, with all its warmth and beauty. He kissed her back with as much reverence as a poet scribing phrases of happiness eternal. Their lips kissed and danced as though they hadn’t had years of separation and Anne felt the grief of the last weeks washing away.

“Thank God,” Anne whimpered as she pulled away, memorizing the shimmers in his eyes. “Oh, I feel like I’ve had three lifetimes worth of joy all at once. Why didn’t you send word? The last letter I received from you, I thought...”

“What last letter?” Gilbert queried, brushing a stray hair away from her face.

“Doctor Simard sent it just in time for Christmas Eve last year. You’d written it in the hospital. It must’ve been right after…” She looked down at his injured leg. “The way you wrote, well, I could only assume you were dying.”

“None of that for now, Anne,” Gilbert scolded. “I’ll tell you the full story later. For now, let this weary soldier hold his lady love as I’ve longed to since I boarded the train in Charlottetown.”

And she did for a few moments, tucking her head into the nook under his chin so that she might breathe the scent of him.

“Have you gotten taller?” she whispered.

“A bit. I learned when my pants had to be adjusted” he admitted. “And you, Anne. Why you’re every bit as beautiful as when I left, and more. When did you start wearing your hair like this?”

“When I turned twenty. Marilla insisted.”

“Well, the sight of you nearly swept the breath from me for good.”

“And the sight of you has healed every aching corner of me. I truly thought the loss of you would end me. I know you’re here now, and do you know Gilbert? I would marry you right this instant if I could.” Gilbert opened his mouth to say more, but a realization snuck up on Anne faster than he could speak.  “Why not, then?”

Gilbert’s lips trembled as he watched Anne take her comforting hands in his and kneel down at his feet.

“Gilbert Blythe, if being separated from you has taught me anything, it’s that there is no one I want to share life with more than you. If you’ll have me, I’ll stay by your side until the very end, loving you and supporting you with everything that I have. I won’t waste the opportunity. Marry me right now, Gilbert, and I'll willingly accept the sorrow of life with its joy. Marry me in this humble grove amongst the falling leaves and the Avonlea sunset, with your garden as our chapel and no one but the Almighty here to officiate.”

“It’s hardly conventional,” Gilbert said breathlessly, letting Anne’s strong grasp bear the struggle of his standing. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes,” she replied in her Anne-like resolution.

That was all Gilbert needed to hear. He lowered himself down to the ground, ignoring the pain in his leg, and met Anne at their earthly altar. With hands still held tightly in hers, Gilbert pressed his forehead against hers and took a deep breath.

“I, Gilbert Blythe, take-”

“No no no, let me go first!” Anne interrupted sweetly, rubbing her thumbs over his knuckles. Gilbert nodded with a chuckle, and watched as Anne breathed in her courage, sunlight warming the tones of her cheeks and lips. The sight of her was more lovely than his heart was prepared to take, but he focused his attention on Anne and let each of his nerves feel their joy.

“I, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, take you, Gilbert John Blythe, matched to my intellect, proponent of my happiness, friend of my heart, to be my life mate. I swear to you, the Almighty Providence as our witness, that I love you now and will always love you. Let us dance together as equal partners through the years, through sickness and health, for richer, for poorer, until the infinite eternity.”

Gilbert let out a breathless chuckle, and when Anne lowered her gaze to look upon his face, she found that he was hiding streaked cheeks. Tears glistened on the tips of his lashes the way rain balances on leaves and petals. She brought her thumb up to caress the soft skin and brush away the moisture.

“I don’t know if I can remember all that,” he admitted quietly, nuzzling his head against hers. “Help me out?”

Anne laughed through her own tears, and nodded. Gilbert took a steadying breath, acutely aware of the rustling of leaves and the harmonizing birdsong above them. He’d dreamt for years about what it would be like to marry Anne - who he’d like to have there, what time of day, what she’d be dressed in. But this was perfect. Anne in her morning sky dress with chiffon sleeves and a narrow waist. The spirit of Prince Edward Island as their sole guest. Her beautiful words as their vows.

“I, Gilbert Blythe, take you, Anne Shirley Cuthbert…”

“Matched to my intellect,” she prodded.

“Matched to my intellect, proponent of my happiness, friends of my heart, to be my lifemate. I will love you today and tomorrow as much as I did the first day we met. I promise to take care of you and to stay by your side as your husband, for richer, for poorer…” Gilbert swallowed another lump in his throat and Anne tightened her clasp. “Until the infinite eternity.”

Anne was still for a moment, then reached down beside them and plucked some lily-of-the-valley. Gilbert watched, mesmerized, as she broke off a few short segments and twisted them with a delicate touch into rings. Then, she took Gilbert’s hand and slid the larger of the rings onto his left ring finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” she said, not feeling the least bit dramatic or silly. She handed him the other and held out her hand. The braided ring was fragile in his touch, but he brought her knuckles to his lips and slid the ring into place.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” he repeated back, heart heavy with delight.

Anne didn’t wait a second longer. She took her husband’s face in her loving hands and kissed him with tender adoration. Gilbert was swift to kiss his bride with the fire of passion that had kept him alive in his fever. He hoped that she could taste each of his dreams on the tip of his tongue - their house of dreams, their children, pieces of their future that suddenly had hope of falling back into place.

*

True to the promises in his letters, Gilbert took Anne into his room and loved her the way a man loves his wife. He reacquainted herself with her soul, introduced himself to her body, and delighted in worshiping every inch of porcelain flesh that careened to his touch. It was clumsy and self conscious in the beginning, but their fears gave way to the sight of one another bare in the orange of the island sunset. They laughed, wept, and cried out in the bliss they found together. As Gilbert loved her, Anne held onto his shoulders and wondered if the years of separation had come to mean something after all.

*

They were loath to break their touch, fingers entwined at the tips as they trailed back down the stairs, satisfied and love struck. They were at the foot of the creaky staircase when the front door swung open and Sebastian stepped in.

The older man froze upon seeing Anne and Gilbert before him, dropping his crate of groceries.

“Hey Bash,” Gilbert spoke up tenderly, unable to mask the lump in this throat. The brothers moved at the same time, clasping each other in a strong hold for several seconds, until Bash opened one arm and gestured for Anne to step in. There they swayed in joy and laughter, a family finally complete again.

*

“So tell it to me straight, boy,” Bash began slowly from across Gilbert at the dining room table. “How exactly is it that you managed to fight off the great Piper?”

Gilbert glanced at Anne, taking her hand to steady his nerves at the memory of what he’d gone through.

“It wasn’t easy, I’ll give you that. I’d been treating a soldier who had a leg injury. The wound had become infected and he was moving a lot slower due to fever. Our medical tent fell under enemy fire, I went out to assist him. A bullet struck a gas tank, and well,” Gilbert gestured at his amputated leg, “you can see what happened.”

“I still don’t understand how your identification papers got stolen,” Anne said. “How was it possible they didn’t know it was you that died.”

Gilbert looked down at the woodgrain of the table and sighed.

“My picture of you was included in the papers. Soldiers don’t carry around pictures of women they don’t love, I suppose. My own amputation became infected and I barely made it to an Ally medical tent in time. That’s when I wrote that odd letter you received, Anne. But they moved me around too much and after my papers were stolen, no one knew who I was.”

“It’s a miracle you’re home,” Bash exhaled. “One that will make me a church-going man. I don’t think I’ll forget my nightly prayers now.”

“No,” Gilbert laughed. “I don’t think I will either.”

*

At the end of the night, when all the stories had been told and all the tears had been shed, Gilbert walked Anne back to Green Gables. Through the window frame, Anne caught Marilla’s eye, who must have seen the pair strolling up the lane. Marilla brought a hand up to her mouth, then moved it down to her heart.

“Well, I don’t think Avonlea is going to forget this anytime soon. I know I won’t,” Anne said quietly. She stood a head taller than Gilbert on her front steps, the perfect height to brush back his dark hair. “That’s alright. We were due for some good news.”

“We were,” Gilbert agreed reverently, leaning into her touch. “You’ll come over tomorrow?”

“Mhm. I want to be there when the doctor gets there to check your wound.”

“Good. As soon as I’ve settled in a little bit, I’d like to go into town and pick out a real troth ring and gold bands.” Anne traced her nails over the contours of his hands.

“I was thinking that maybe we should have another ceremony - you know, for our friends and family,” she suggested.

A breeze swept past them, the island’s way of agreeing.

“I think that sounds nice,” Gilbert replied with a smile. “I’ve always wanted to see you in a white gown and a lace veil.”

“Heavens, anything to avoid having to confront Mrs. Lynde with the truth that we eloped .”

“That can stay our secret.” The love drunk expression had returned to his eyes, and Anne felt herself mimicking the warmth right back at him. “Get some rest, darling. You’ve had a difficult few weeks.”

“Yes doctor,” Anne murmured, sending a shiver down Gilbert’s spine. “You too. Sleep plenty tonight. I’ll be by as soon as I can tomorrow. I don’t even want to let you out of my sight.”

Gilbert tilted his head up, letting his eyes fall closed when the night breeze carried the sweet smell of her hair to him. Anne met him halfway, pressing her lips against his for what seemed like the billionth time. She didn’t care, though. She’d never tire of adding kisses to the neverending of tender touches they shared.

“I love you terribly, Gilbert,” she whispered when they parted. “Thank you for keeping your promise to come home to me.”

Gilbert snuck another kiss onto her and forced himself back a step.

“I love you too, Queen Anne. Thank you for never giving up on me, for bringing me home.”

She watched him leave, with his crutch and his chin held high, until he had disappeared into the shadows of the night. Marilla was waiting for her when she moved onto dreamy feet back into her own home, but Anne only shook her head.

“He’s alive, Marilla. That’s all there is to it.”

The complete story could wait until the morning. For now, that small phrase was all that was needed to give Anne and Green Gables its usual life back, colorful and jubilant. She stood alone in her room, body and heart tired from the oscillation of events that day. In the candlelight she whispered her thanks to the universe, to the kindness of fate who had delivered her love back home to her.

“It is like Marilla always quotes,” Anne murmured as she tucked herself into bed. “‘Weeping may endure for the night, but joy cometh in the morning.’”