#right around the time its audience started questioning the panic and became absurd around the time it ended

[silverislander]

zombie essay is taking me to some weird places. i'm out here defending the ancient kandarian demon summoning book

[humans4vampires]

Cold Heart

Context: This story was inspired by a tumblr post from tumblr user @cozycullens. The post outlined the potential for sappy holiday content that the original story lacked. The post noted that Twilight fans had to fill in the blanks; I thought it would be fun to write out what Valentine’s Day could have looked like for Edward and Bella. The timeline of this story edits the original canon, meaning the breakup in New Moon and subsequent recoupling happens earlier, allowing the pair to be reunited in time to spend both the Christmas holiday season together and Valentine’s Day. This is before the events are set in motion for the vampire army attack in Eclipse. I’d also like to mention that this story addresses a scene that occurs later in the timeline of the novel. I’ve edited it here to give Edward and Bella a bit of private time that is free of the pressures that the later happenings of Eclipse bring to the moment. In this, I have used direct quotes from Meyer’s novel, and I do not claim to own that content in any way. As stated, this is purely for fun and to share with my fellow Twilight fans.

READ PART TWO HERE

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The dull blue grey light of the morning filtered through my window in a haze, waking me gently from inconsequential dreams. My natural instincts to unfurl myself from my usual swaddle of blankets to reach for him felt empty and unnecessary. Rather, I found myself spread across my bed in a sweaty mess of fabric.

“Edward?” I said softly, propping myself up to take in the room. I blinked quickly and tried to brush the mess of my hair from my face, speaking his name again as a question. There was no reply.

I tried to think back to the night before; I didn’t think he had gone hunting. No, he had surely been with me when I fell asleep. A compilation of Victorian poetry was open face-down on his side of my bed. We made the trip to Seattle a few weeks ago to get the book I needed to get started on my research paper. I had chosen the topic of Tennyson and Rossetti as an ironic gesture toward him – my very own post-Victorian era angel. He was reading his favorites to me, his voice a velvet whisper when I had fallen asleep in his cool embrace.

No, I was sure he had been with me throughout the night. I ran my left palm over the bare sheet beside me and felt the lingering presence of his wintry skin. It was unusual for him to leave before I woke. It was my favorite part of each day, and his. I was wondering what had called him away as I picked up the heavy text to see where he had left off. As I turned the pages to face me, a small piece of paper fluttered into my lap. The note he had left in his elegant script explained his absence.

‘Who are wise in love, love most, say least. Happy Valentine’s Day, love.’

He quoted Tennyson, I was sure, but the poem he had left open was not the same one he referenced. Instead, the book was open to Tennyson’s ‘Crossing the Bar,’ which was certainly not a love poem. I scanned it quickly, trying to garner any meaning from it without success. My mind was racing elsewhere, my heart beating quickly with exultant dread. So he had gone to prepare whatever exorbitant Valentine’s Day surprise he had planned. As fate would have it, this holiday had arrived on a school day and would provide a public audience to witness the surely over-the-top display Edward had planned for me.

Edward’s obsession with making the most of my human experiences had only intensified since reaching our compromise for Carlisle to turn me after my impending high school graduation. Christmas had been a deluge of cheer and merriment thanks to Alice, who was overcompensating for lost time with me – while also, just being Alice. I was still convinced it hadn’t snowed quite as much as she’d wanted and she had somehow managed a snow machine to fill in my yard for Christmas morning. Alice had laughed off my assumptions as absurd, but Charlie was still trying to work out how our yard had had a good three feet more snow than the rest of our neighborhood.

The halls had certainly been decked in Cullen home, too. It had to be visible from space from the sheer amount of Christmas lights neatly hung on every eave and railing. For the entire month of December, the house smelled of fresh gingerbread and pine. Every surface had been transformed with fresh garlands and shiny decorations. The fireplace in the grand living room was constantly crackling a gentle fire, flickering its light against the enormous tree trimmed with ornaments gathered over the many decades of Christmases past. And the gifts – oh – I couldn’t even bring myself to continue the thought.

I was brought back to reality, the sweet valentine in my shaking hand. I took a staggered breath and made a passing glance at the clock as I rushed to the bathroom. I tried not to think about the day ahead as I dressed. Charlie had already left for the station and the rest of my morning at home seemed to move in a blur of anxiety. I stumbled out the door in a black turtleneck, jeans, bean boots, and my mustard yellow coat. I thought my very standard attire might signal Edward to my disinterest in any outlandish public displays of affection. I drove slowly to Forks High School through the rain muddled snow. My truck dredged through the sludge into the parking spot beside the familiar silver Volvo.

The parking lot was already full and busy with the usual Friday commotion. I looked out my rearview mirror to take in the pops of pink and red from the Valentine’s baubles that everyone seemed to be toting. I had always found the holiday rather arbitrary – a well-marketed event to boost the sales of chocolates and flowers. Until my mother had found Phil, Valentine’s Day was usually spent in front of the television with a pint of ice cream, two spoons, and a chick-flick. I was trying to remember the last Valentine’s Day movie my mom and I had watched together when a quick knock on my driver’s side window snapped my eyes from my rearview.

The morning’s panic melted from my bones as I took him in. Edward was standing there, my favorite crooked smile on his lips, a single and perfect red rose held up in his hand.

“Good morning,” he murmured as I opened my door and got to my feet to stand in front of him. “Did you get my Valentine?”

“Mmm,” I hummed. “Tennyson?”

He nodded, a smirk crossing his expression. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

I felt a blush beginning to mark my cheeks and looked down at my feet as he handed me my rose. He moved to rest that now empty hand above my head on the frame of my truck, leaning to tighten the space between us. His free hand swept down my jaw, his gentle fingers stopping below my chin to tilt my head up. He bent down to press his lips to mine, his cool breath sending my delicate humanity into a tailspin. The kiss was, as expected, refined… at first. Unexpectedly, he draped an arm around my body to pull me closer to his frame. He lifted me effortlessly to continue the kiss as my free hand found its way around the base of his neck and into his bronze hair.

When his response became rigid and he began to return my feet to their reluctant ground, I realized I had forgotten to breathe. My legs trembled against the sudden gravity and he steadied me as I took in sharp breaths. He chuckled lightly and shook his head.

“What am I going to do with you?” he teased.

“With any hope, that, again.”

He took a slow step back and smirked, “I do enjoy sweeping you off your feet.”

My head was still spinning as I grabbed my bag from the truck and shut the door behind me. Edward took my right hand as we walked to class, my single rose in the left.

The rest of the day continued on and I was a happy bystander to the couples declaring their love for one another throughout the day. It seemed each period passed with another sudden delivery of roses, large teddy bears, or chocolates. Joyce Lowell in Government received a loud serenade from half of the school’s marching band, her boyfriend, Aaron, the faux-conductor. Each time the door to the classroom opened my heart skipped a beat with the fresh fear that Edward might have some embarrassing demonstration planned. I wasn’t eager to hurt his feelings and so I kept the question from him all day. I had cracked by fifth period when he finally asked, “Why is your heart is thrumming like a hummingbird’s?”

“I’m worried that you have a grand romantic gesture planned,” I took a sharp breath, anxious for his response. My heart rate only increased when he shrugged and walked ahead of me into the classroom.

I was at a loss for words when he chuckled. “Am I not allowed a grand gesture on Valentine’s Day?” Panic rushed through me before he continued in a more serious tone, “Do you honestly believe that my romantic displays are akin to those of someone like Mike Newton?”

His eyes glanced down at the trinkets gathered in my arms. I thought this tradition had been left in elementary school, but it seemed my friends still enjoyed giving each other Valentine’s treats. Jessica and Angela both had given me small paper crafts and chocolates to mark the occasion. Even Tyler and Eric participated, handing out boxes of tiny heart candies.

The only class Edward could not manage to work out to have with me our senior year was math – considering my being in a far lower level than was excusable for him to fail into. This, of course, was the only class I had exclusively with Mike. I had found it funny that it bothered Edward in the slightest; until today, when Mike seized the opportunity to give me a large stuffed bear, a rather huge box of chocolates, and a clearly handmade valentine. All platonically, Mike had assured me, as he was still on-and-off with Jessica and I was still very much Edward’s – only Edward’s.

I shook my head as I fumbled to stack all of my favors onto a pile on my desk, keeping the rose in my hand to tap lightly on the tip of Edward’s nose.

He tilted his brow at my playful gesture. “You have nothing to worry about. I simply have arranged for us to have a night alone. My family have their own Valentine’s Day traditions and we’ll have the house to ourselves. For this one night could we try to forget everything besides just you and me?” he pleaded, unleashing the full force of his eyes on me. “It seems like I can never get enough time like that. I need to be with you. Just you.”

“No,” I shook my head again. “Just you is good.”

The hitch in my tone caught his attention, but he didn’t have a chance to respond. Mr. Banner began lecturing on optics and light. I couldn’t focus on Physics; I could only hear Edward’s methodic voice repeating ‘I need to be with you’ again and again. Each passing thought brought a new blush to my cheeks that I tried to hide behind a curtain of my hair. I was sure he could hear my fluttering heart, but I couldn’t focus on that either. I was entirely clouded with thoughts of him. I stared at his strong hands, folded together in front of him on the table. How I imagined them on my body a million times, his cold fingertips grazing over my bare skin in the places he refused to wander. It was all I could think of the rest of the day.

When I was back in my room, a different blur of anxiety plagued me than when I had left it in the morning. Edward and I went our separate ways after school. He had filled me in on how exactly he had planned to handle the issue of Charlie. My father was still learning to trust me again and another night out of the house was certainly going to come under some heavy interrogation. I was technically still grounded even though Edward had been following Charlie’s very strict rules to a perfect degree. I was sure that Charlie hadn’t missed the fact that it was Valentine’s Day and I could only imagine the things he would think Edward and I would be doing if left alone. I was pressing the subject when Edward said, “Esme spoke with Charlie today and let him know that Carlisle is taking my brothers and I on a long-promised camping trip. You’ll be having a girls’ night with Esme, Alice, and Rosalie, as Charlie knows it. He’s been hoping you’d be spending more time with Alice soon.”

I felt a twinge of guilt for all the lying that had to be done to protect Charlie. This lie was much less to protect him from the perils of life threatening vampire attacks and much more about protecting him from the thought of his teenage daughter being alone with her boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. The guilt subsided when I remembered that I would get to be alone with Edward.

I stood in my room, hands steadying me on my dresser, knees shaking from the anticipation. The mix of emotions kept wracking me in waves. Edward had made it very clear; we could not be together physically until I was changed. My safety, was not something he was willing to jeopardize to satisfy any desire – which, to his credit, was entirely the reason I was alive. It was difficult to argue with Edward on that fact, but it was so incredibly difficult to argue with my own desires, still. And yet, I felt foolish all the same. I was so intensely human. Though he’d told me many times that he felt the same way for me, I knew he couldn’t possibly lust for me the way I did for him. I was able to reason that point logically, but part of me questioned it in this moment. Had he changed his mind?

I knew what was waiting for me at the Cullens’. It hadn’t been much more than a month since the last time I had genuinely spent the night there for a ‘girls’ night.’ Edward didn’t want me anywhere near Jacob and so Edward had been avoiding distant hunting trips to keep a close watch on me. Alice was all too eager to babysit to allow Edward a satiating hunt; it left me free to be played with as if I were her life-sized doll. That wasn’t what I was fixated on now. The image of the intricate wrought-iron bed burned in my mind. The thought of Edward and I wrapped tenderly in its golden threads made me quiver again, a sigh escaping my lips.

A knock at the front door made my heart stutter. I heard Charlie gather himself up off the couch to get the door. I stopped listening and only heard the light murmur of greetings as I rushed to find something appropriate to wear. What kind of outfit were you supposed to put together to seduce your vampire boyfriend? I was clashing hangers together across the pole, a bit frantic, when I heard her behind me.

Alice shook her head. “You look like you need to sit down. Let me handle this,” she said.

I decided it was better not to argue with her. I was, in all fairness, a mess, and there was only so much harm she could do with my own wardrobe to work with. She confidently pulled my small duffle from the top shelf of my closet and began packing things without truly looking at them. She had already seen what she would need.

I was sitting in my rocking chair when she looked back to me, still absently packing my bag. She looked like she was waiting for me to say something, but I swallowed uncomfortably rather than working up the nerve to talk.

She cast me a sympathetic smile as she removed something from my closet and tossed it toward me. “Try this,” she said.

I stood to change into the hyacinth blue sweater Alice had given it to me as a Christmas gift. Unlike many of the other fashion pieces Alice had tried to dress me in, I did like it. It was soft, probably a thin cashmere, with a plunging V neckline. It fit my frame tightly and was flattering in a way that I couldn’t justify being embarrassed by. She moved to my dresser then, digging through the very bottom drawer to pull out a short skirt she had also gifted me that I was not particularly fond of. Before I could argue, she slung it onto the bed.

“Work with me here, Bella,” she said sternly.

I pulled on the black skirt without a fight. Alice finished off my outfit with a pair of expensive black leather boots.

“And those were a gift from Esme, before you think of disputing them,” she lectured.

“No, I like them. At least they’re covering more of my skin,” I said, zipping them up.

Alice peaked her eyebrows, a smirk budding on her face as she closed my bag. I felt the rush of blood on my complexion again. “Alice – “

“Come on, let’s go before you lose it,” she said quickly, pulling my hand and leading me out of my room and down the stairs.

Charlie didn’t bother looking away from the television as we called a quick goodbye to him. Alice carried me through the slush in a movement so brief that I had no time to process it, placing me in the passenger seat of her small yellow Porsche. Forks blurred outside the windows and in the darkness of the car, it was easier for me to talk about what I was getting myself into.

“Does he…” I asked in her direction, not finishing the thought.

“I don’t think I should really say anything, Bella.” She answered, plainly.

“Since when do you keep things to yourself, Alice?”

She chuckled quietly, “Whatever I say now is not going to help. I’m just dropping you off. You’re not the only one with Valentine’s Day plans, you know.”

“That’s not fair,” I complained. “He’s seen whatever you’ve seen. He’s not going into this blind like I am.”

“Oh, yes he is,” she said proudly. “I’ve been careful to stay away from him today – and it’s not quite clear what’s going to happen. You’ve only been growing bolder in the last few hours.”

Bolder? I certainly didn’t feel it. In the light of the dashboard, I saw Alice turn to me as the car began to slow. We were already in the driveway. When the car stopped, I felt a quick breeze from the opening and closing of her door. She had slung my bag over her shoulder quickly before arriving at my door to help me to the porch steps. I doubted even Alice thought I was that uncoordinated to walk a few feet without falling; she was carrying me everywhere to keep the boots safe, I thought. She set me down on the porch and walked ahead of me into the house. I followed her in, confused.

“I thought you said you were just dropping me off?”

                  We were in the living room when she said, “I am. Edward isn’t here yet. He had an errand to run. He’ll be here soon and we’ll be gone – don’t worry.”

                  A fresh blush met my cheeks as I locked eyes with the another set in the room. Rosalie was perched on the edge of the sofa, bent over the coffee table arranging what looked like a large photo album. She had small papers and photos scattered all over the table, some in small piles on the floor beside her. She gazed up at me with the come-to-be-expected level of enthusiasm I generally received, but there was a hint of something else in her expression. It caught me by surprise and left me gawking at her silently. Rosalie’s appearance always struck me, but tonight she was especially beautiful. Her tight satin dress was just the perfect shade of red to compliment her equally satin skin, her golden hair a perfect, elegant twist, and her long bare legs crossed in front of her were only further elongated by her strappy, red stilettos. Alice had done her best with me, but I felt myself self-consciously tug at the hem of my skirt.

                  That inexplicable look that I had caught in Rosalie’s expression seemed to grow stronger as she gauged my assessment of her. A small smile crossed her lips as she looked back to what she was working on and I looked to Alice, who was dancing back down the stairs now. I hadn’t noticed her departure, but she was already redressed in an ensemble that mirrored the glamour of Rosalie’s. Alice bent one leg up behind her, fastening the tiny buckle on the strap of her heel, careful not to bend and crease the fabric on her burgundy slip-dress.

“Alright, Rose. Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.” Alice rolled her eyes at me quickly before Rosalie noticed. Alice had her keys in her tiny hands as she walked my direction to head for the door.

“I will see you tomorrow,” she said with a coy grin.

Rosalie was out the door faster than I could follow. I turned to Alice as she moved at a more mortal pace. “Where are you going?” I asked.

Alice waved as she replied, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Bella!” The door was shut behind her then. I heard the muffled roar of her Porsche as she and Rosalie left me behind. I assumed that I was completely alone then. I was curious to know where they were going, but my mind was busy calculating other worries. I stood in the Cullens’ living room, taking in the sheer silence. The only sound was coming from the low burning fire still crackling dimly in the fireplace. I unlocked my tense limbs to move toward the heat. I stopped briefly to survey Rosalie’s project and flipped through a couple of pages on the bound album.

Were these all valentines? I picked up a few loose papers from the table and skimmed them quickly. It seemed that Rosalie had been collecting notes from her admirers for decades, compiling the highlights in an album with cards dating back to 1929. Some of the earlier letters were from when she was still human, if I wasn’t mistaken. A few authors were brave enough to sign their names, but most were anonymous confessions. I spent more time snooping through Rosalie’s valentines than I should have, but part of me thought that she must have wanted me to see them. Why else would she have left them all here?

I focused myself again and took a seat on the edge of the hearth.

                  I was glad I had a moment to gather myself and took the opportunity to take a few deep, but unsteady, breaths. Why was I so unnerved? I closed my eyes and tried to summon my buried fantasies of Edward. There I let myself imagine him, pulling me tightly to his chest, letting his lips roam my jaw, my neck, and the dips of my collarbones. What would he look like bare? I’d only been able to guess the parts of him that were always just beyond my reach. I let those thoughts in too, imagining my own fingers tracing patterns around the curves of his muscles. To bring him close to me, skin to skin – the thought alone painted my face in a soft blush. I bit my lip, letting go a full breath I had been holding. I opened my eyes then and immediately found him.

He was standing across the room from me, a statue of indescribable, sculpted beauty, leaning on the wall casually. He had a peaceful expression resting in his features, but his bright golden eyes were burning with something I couldn’t explain. My favorite crooked smile slowly crossed his lips as his eyes seemed to search my body. I blushed more deeply, a decision forming more firmly in my mind.

I loved him, purely, and every ounce of my body and soul ached to be his. It was exactly the reason I had asked him to change me himself. I wanted his venom to alter me permanently, his lips on my skin to be the last human sensation I’d ever feel. I wanted to be tangibly his, forever; for Edward to lay claim to me in an absolute and eternal way. If I was his, then he was mine. This desire burned in me more brightly in this moment than it ever had. But there were other human sensations I ached for now. And suddenly, I was sure I was not willing to sacrifice them.

Edward moved slowly across the room to perch in front of me. The height of the hearth and his tall body in a crouch before me, leveled us to be equally face-to-face. As he bent, he balanced a small, thin velvet box on my knees. I made no move to open it, so he chuckled lightly and opened it to reveal a small glittering heart-shaped charm. Even in the dim firelight, the brilliant crystal’s intricate cuts glinted countless sparkling rays of color. It was hung on a silver chain as thin as thread.

He was the first to break the silence.

“It was my mother’s.” He shrugged deprecatingly. “I inherited quite a few baubles like this. I’ve given some to Esme, Alice, and Rosalie throughout the years. So, clearly, this is not a big deal in any way.” I could feel his eyes on me, but I continued to stare down, not quite ready to speak. “A hand-me-down,” he reminded me sternly. “You said that was allowable.”

“I guess I did say that,” I said in a whisper.

He chuckled at my reluctance. “I thought it was a good representation,” he continued. “It’s hard and cold.” He laughed. “And it throws rainbows in the sunlight.”

“You forgot the most important similarity,” I murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

“My heart is just as silent,” he mused. “And it, too, is yours.”

I offered the box to him and moved to gather my hair away from my neck, turning to the fire. As he moved to clasp the chain around my neck, I said, “Thank you for both.”

His fingers seemed to linger on the skin of my throat as I turned back to face him. Our lips were only inches apart now. I moved my hands to wrap them around his neck.

“No, thank you. It’s a relief to have you accept a gift so easily. Good practice for you, too.” He grinned, flashing his teeth.                   His eyes wandered down to take pride in his accepted gift. I was grateful for the plunging neckline of my sweater when his gaze lingered where the crystal charm hung delicately above my chest. I made a mental note to thank Alice later and took a steadying breath. I began to feel cautiously optimistic. Perhaps getting what I wanted would not be as difficult as I’d expected it to be.

No, of course it was going to be just exactly that difficult. I cleared my throat lightly and braced myself. “Can we discuss something?” I asked. “I’d appreciate it if you could begin by being open-minded.”

He hesitated for a moment and returned his eyes to mine. “I’ll give it my best effort,” he agreed, cautious now. He unwrapped my arms from around his neck as he moved to put space between us.

“I’m not breaking any rules here,” I promised. “This is strictly about you and me.”

“Listen to your heart fly,” he murmured. “It’s fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings,” he repeated the analogy he had applied to me earlier in the day. “Are you all right?”

“I’m great,” I said formally. I wondered why I was being so formal.

“Please go on then,” he encouraged.

“Well, I guess, first, I wanted to talk to you about that whole ridiculous marriage condition.”

“It’s only ridiculous to you. What about it?” He was backing further away from me now.

I leaned closer to him, placing my hands on his knees to keep him near me. “I was wondering… is that open to negotiation?”

Edward frowned, serious now. “I’ve already made the largest concession by far and away – I’ve agreed to take your life against my better judgment. And that ought to entitle me to a few compromises on your part.”

“No.” I shook my head, focusing on keeping my face composed. “That part’s a done deal. We’re not discussing that now. I want to hammer out some other details.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Which details do you mean exactly?”

I hesitated. “Let’s clarify your prerequisites first – matrimony?” I made it sound like a dirty word.

“Yes.” He smiled a wide smile. “To start with.”

The shock spoiled my carefully composed expression. “There’s more?”

“Well,” he said, his face calculating. “If you’re my wife, then what’s mine is yours… So there would be no issue with Dartmouth tuition.”

“Anything else? While you’re already being absurd?”

“Time. I’m finding it quite ephemeral… like it’s slipping through my fingers,” as he spoke, he rose his finger tips to sweep a gentle line over my exposed collarbones.

I shook my head, trying to forget his distracting touch. “No. No time. That’s a deal breaker.”

He sighed longingly. “Just a year or two?”

I refused to give into his burning amber eyes. “What else?”

“That’s it. Unless you’d like to talk cars…”

He grinned widely when I grimaced, then took my hand and began playing with my fingers. “I didn’t realize there was anything else you wanted besides being transformed into a monster yourself. I’m extremely curious.” His voice was low and soft. The slight edge would have been hard to detect if I hadn’t known it so well.

I paused, staring at his hand on mine. I still didn’t know how to begin. I felt his eyes watching me and I was afraid to look up. The blood began to burn in my face.

His cool hand cupped my cheek. “You’re blushing?” he asked in surprise. I kept my eyes down. “Please, Bella, the suspense is painful.”

I bit my lip.

“Bella.” His tone reproached me now, reminding me that it was hard for him when I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Edward,” I said, nervous, staring at a freckle on my wrist. “There’s something that I want to do before I’m not human anymore.”

He waited for me to continue. I didn’t. My face was hot.

“Whatever you want,” he encouraged, anxious and completely clueless.

“Do you promise?” I muttered, knowing my attempt to trap him with his words was not going to work. But he was unable to resist my coaxing.

“Yes,” he said. I looked up through my lashes to see that his eyes were earnest and confused. “Tell me what you want, and you can have it.”

I couldn’t believe how awkward and idiotic I felt. I was too innocent. I didn’t have the faintest idea how to be seductive. I would just have to settle for flushed and self-conscious.

“You,” I mumbled almost incoherently.

“I’m yours.” He smiled, still oblivious, trying to hold my gaze as I looked away again.

I took a deep breath and leaned closer to him, pressing my lips to his. He kissed me back, bewildered but willing, his lips gentle against mine. I began to slide my hands from his knees, up his thighs and slowly toward his waist. I hadn’t gotten very far when I all but heard the click in his head as he put together my words and my actions, his lips freezing in place.

He pushed me away at once, his face heavily disapproving.

“Be reasonable, Bella.”

“Edward, I –. “ He had cut me off, placing a single finger over my lips to quiet me.

“No.” His face was hard.

I was surprised by my reaction to his dismissal. I raised my hand to swat at his. My action didn’t move him, of course, but he moved his hand from my mouth in response. “You are not going to shush me,” I said sternly. “We’re here discussing terms of an eternity together – marriage and other promises – but sex?” I said the word louder than the rest. “Edward, why can’t we talk about sex?”

He was frozen there, hands at his side, eyes locked on mine. I felt the charge of adrenaline passing quicker than it had come. We sat there for a moment in silence with only my quick breathing and rapid pulse as audio. I shifted my gaze down as the rush subsided. It took me a minute to recognize why I was staring at my freckle again, the blush returning – why my stomach felt uneasy, why there was too much moisture in my eyes, why I suddenly wanted to run from the room.

Rejection washed through me, instinctive and strong.

I knew it was irrational. He’d been very clear on other occasions that my safety was the only factor. Yet I’d never made myself quite so vulnerable before. It was hard to beg for the mercy of an angel.

Edward moved then, bringing his hand up to my chin to pull my face up until I had to look at him again. He scrutinized my face for a long moment while I tried unsuccessfully to twist away from his gaze. His brow furrowed, and his expression became horrified as I continued to fight off the onslaught of water in my eyes.

His other hand rushed to my cheek, his thumb stroking there reassuringly. “You know why I have to say no,” he murmured. “You know that I want you, too.”

“Do you?” I whispered, my voice full of accusation and doubt.

He held my face at my jaw now, his fingers on my neck at the base of my hair. “Of course I do, you beautiful, oversensitive girl.” He laughed once, and then his voice was bleak. “Doesn’t everyone? I feel like there’s a line behind me, jockeying for position, waiting for me to make a big enough mistake… You’re too desirable for your own good.”

It seemed like he wanted to press on, anxiety flooding him as it had me throughout the day. I took a breath.

“Tell me if I have anything wrong,” I tried to sound detached. “Your demands are marriage, college, more time, and a faster car.”

“Only the first is a demand,” he said taking a breath. “The others are merely requests.”

“And my lone, solitary demand is – “

“Demand?” he interrupted, on edge again.

“Yes, demand.” I said confidently, looping my fingers around his wrists and tugging until he dropped them. I was not going to concede, now that I knew he wanted this as badly as I did. I would have to be brave for the both of us. I kept my gaze locked on his, placing a hand on his chest to request more space between us.

Edward immediately responded, backing up slightly and resting on his knees with room in front of him. Without breaking the contact we had, I slid down so that we were both on our knees. I brought both hands to the collar of his shirt and began to unbutton slowly, never moving my eyes from his.

“Please,” I begged. “There is nothing I want more than you.”

He took a deep breath. I was surprised that it sounded a little unsteady.

“I could kill you,” he whispered.

I had the last button undone then and slid the fabric from his shoulders to the floor. I was gliding my hands down his chest and placing my lips over his heart when I murmured against his skin. “I don’t think you could.”

As I kissed him there, a low sound escaped his lips. A moan? My body ached in a way it never had. I felt electrified. My heart jolted, words tumbling out of my mouth to take advantage of the sudden uncertainty in his eyes. “Please, try,” I pleaded.

His hands were wrapped around my biceps then, his head bent down to bring his lips to my ear, making me shiver. “This is unbearable. So many things I’ve wanted to give you – and this is what you demand. Do you have any idea how painful it is, refusing you when you plead with me this way?”

“Then don’t refuse,” I suggested breathlessly.

He didn’t respond. I tossed my head back to catch my breath, letting my hair fall down behind me. Edward’s hands still held my arms firmly. “Please,” I tried again.

He bent his head to my neck. “Bella…” He shook his head slowly, but it didn’t feel like denial as his face, his lips, moved back and forth across my throat. It felt more like surrender. My heart sputtered frantically when his lips finally stopped to embrace my skin. The same low sound spilled from my lips now, which seemed to hit Edward with the same electrical shock.

His grip tensed instantly and I was sure he was going to push me away again.

I was wrong.

His lips were on mine, his hands pulling me up to close the space between us. His mouth was not gentle; there was a brand-new edge of conflict and desperation in the way his lips moved. When his hands moved into my hair, I locked my arms around his neck, tightening my hold on him. To my suddenly overheated skin, his body felt colder than ever. I trembled, but it was not from the chill.

He didn’t stop kissing me. I was the one who had to break away, gasping for air. Even then his lips did not leave my skin, they just moved to my throat. So quickly that I wasn’t even sure how it happened, I was in his arms, his lips still exploring my skin, as we nearly flew through the house. Human velocity was not fast enough for him. We were in his bedroom then, still locked in each other’s arms as he fell onto his back on the bed.

The thrill of victory was a strange high; it made me feel powerful. Brave. My hands weren’t unsteady now and my fingers traced the patterns I had dreamed of a thousand times. He was too beautiful. What was the word he had used? Unbearable – that was it. His beauty was too much to bear…

I was on top of him, our lips pulled together again and moving in heated sync. Edward’s hands were exploring my body. His hands were tight around my waist, straining me closer to him. All I wanted was my skin to be bare against his – his grip made it difficult to reach to remove my sweater, but not impossible. Just as I had my stomach exposed, cold iron fetters locked around my wrists, and pulled my hands above my head, which was suddenly on a pillow.

His lips were at my ear again. “Bella,” he murmured, his voice warm and velvet. “Stop trying to take your clothes off.”

“Do you want to do that part?” I asked breathlessly.

“Not tonight,” he answered softly. His lips were slower now against my cheek and jaw, all the urgency gone.

“Edward, don’t –,” I started to argue, trying to free my hands and arching my body to mold myself more closely to him.

“I’m not saying no,” he reassured me. “I’m just saying not tonight.”

I had never felt frustration this way before. I was restless, eyes wild and questioning on his.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” he laughed. “Out of the two of us, which do you think is more unwilling to give the other what they want? You just promised to marry me before you do any changing, but if I give in tonight, what guarantee do I have that you won’t go running off to Carlisle in the morning? I am – clearly – much less reluctant to give you what you want. Therefore… you first.”

I exhaled with a loud huff. “I have to marry you first?” I asked in disbelief.

“That’s the deal – take it or leave it. A compromise.” Edward pressed himself to me, urging me to accept his terms. His arms wrapped around me, and he began kissing me in a way that should be illegal. Too persuasive – it was duress, coercion. I tried to keep a clear head… and failed quickly and absolutely.

“How did this happen?” I moaned, and not in a good way. “I thought I was holding my own tonight – for once – and now, all of a sudden – “

“You’re engaged,” he finished.

“Edward, no.” I objected.

“Are you going back on your word?” he demanded. He pulled back to read my face. His expression was entertained. He was having fun.

I glared at him, trying to ignore the way his smile made my heart react.

“Are you?” he pressed.

“No,” I groaned. “No. I’m not. I just need time to think. I can’t think right now – give me some time to think.”

He kissed me again quickly. Another too persuasive kiss.

“Take all the time you need.”

He kissed me another time. “Do you get the feeling that everything is backward?” he laughed. “Traditionally, shouldn’t you be arguing my side, and I yours?”

“There isn’t much that’s traditional about you and me.”

Neither of us would surrender in this moment – that was clear. But there were compromises that were pending on the horizon. And, if nothing, I had this night to service my fantasies for awhile. I bit my lip and chuckled.

“I’m curious,” I sighed. “What exactly did you have planned for tonight?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he was up and out of the bed, a hand extended toward me.

I let out my last sigh of contest and threw my hands down on the bed to heave myself up. Edward laughed to himself as I slid to the edge of the bed and stood. I fidgeted in my sweater and straightened my skirt as I walked toward him. I took his hand and noticed him taking in my figure again.

I raised a brow. “Did you want to get back in bed?”

Edward chuckled again, shaking his head. “No, but please do remind me to thank Alice in the morning.”

I rolled my eyes as he led me from his bedroom and into the rest of our romantic evening alone.

PART TWO

 ____

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Twilight Saga world, which is trademarked by Stephenie Meyer and Little Brown Books. All characters referenced are owned by Stephenie Meyer, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the Twilight Saga. The story told here is of my own invention. This story is for entertainment only – fun – and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Stephenie Meyer for the creation of these characters and I in no way am profiting from the creation and publication of this story. Some lines are directly quoted from Meyer’s book, Eclipse, and I do not claim to own Meyer’s words.

References:

Meyer, Stephenie. Eclipse. Little, Brown, 2013.

Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, and W. E. Williams. Tennyson: Poems. Penguin, 1985.

[tisthenightofthewitch]

LAUGHING WITH THE DEVIL • GHOST PREPARES TO RIDE A PALE TOUR NAMED DEATH THROUGH SACRAMENTO

When I was a fourth grader, a friend of mine got me hooked on Iron Maiden’s Live After Death. Sure, there was a zombie looking dude on the cover that kind of creeped me out, I figured it was harmless fun. A cousin of mine found out I was listening to heavy metal and freaked out on me. She told me it was the devil’s music and I was going to go to hell or something for listening to it. I don’t really remember the whole thing because I was, like, 10 and it was the ‘80s, and she freaked me the fuck out. Turns out that traumatized me more than any Maiden song ever did. I thought about this while I was coming up with questions for the following interview with Tobias Forge, frontman for Swedish metal band Ghost, who has tapped into that whole satanic panic thing and ran with it. Heck, it’s even earned him a Grammy.

Ghost released its debut album (Opus Eponymous) in 2010, but no one even knew who was in the group—at least officially—until 2017. Forge, Ghost’s sole songwriter, had his identity revealed when former bandmates filed a lawsuit against him. The ex-band members claimed they were owed profits because Ghost was a collaboration, whereas Forge saw the band as a solo project with a rotating cast of players. After our interview, on Oct. 17, a Swedish court dismissed the lawsuit, ordering the ex-band members to pay Forge’s legal fees, according to Blabbermouth.net.

Prior to his legal battle, Forge was known as Papa Emeritus I, II and III, the skull-faced anti-popes who front Ghost’s band of Nameless Ghouls. For the band’s latest album, Prequelle, which was released April 2018, Forge has taken on the mantle of Cardinal Copia, who looks sort of like a demonic Tony Clifton. The album is loosely based on the Black Plague, which ravaged Europe during the mid-14th Century. The lead single from the album, “Rats,” is a driving, arena-sized rocker. Its corresponding music video is as whimsically choreographed as it is gory. These things may seem contradictory, but Forge probably wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your stage presence is pretty theatrical. Are rehearsals for your live show more akin to, say, those for a Broadway show, or do you focus primarily on the music? We tend to focus more on the music. I’m not a super-fan of rehearsing [laughs]. It’s hard to summon the spirit to appear when there’s no smoke machine on and when the lights are different. I tend to find those sort of rehearsals are more for muscle memory, in terms of just making sure I can sing a certain thing … Especially when you’re rehearsing a new set, because this time around we’re going to change up the set a little and at least try to play a few songs that we haven’t played before, and you always want to try that … More than often, there’s a reason for a song not being played, and it might just be that it doesn’t work out very well. It’s hard to play, and you never really get that vibe going. The placement of the song in the set is very important. Like, OK, we’re going to try this song after this one now and see if the energy is right. It’s a little bit more mathematical and in a sense more scientific, whereas once you do the first show, that’s when you go into the role a little bit more, and it gets a little bit more magical or whatever.

Is there a particular song that you’re looking forward to playing live for the first time? Oh … aaaahhhh … I don’t really want to give it away right now! There may be a song on the list right now that we end up not playing. Let’s put it this way, there are some songs from the new album that we haven’t played before, and also there are some songs that we’ve played in the past, and other songs that we haven’t played from previous albums that we are considering playing. But again, you need to play them together and try them out. The real test is trying them in front of an audience. There have been songs throughout our tours that I thought were going to be really good to play live, but then once you play it, it just does not fly because the crowd isn’t responding very well. It doesn’t mean that they start booing, but you notice that it goes down in intensity … or you see people lose their interest, or that’s when they all of a sudden go buy beers.

Does that take you out of character when you’re on stage? You have the music, which is awesome, but you also have the visual component that goes with it. Is that part of why the setlist is so important? Oh, absolutely. Sometimes, I guess people, especially nowadays, people have a tendency to watch live shows beforehand on YouTube, and some people want to know the setlist beforehand, which I strongly recommend people not to. There’s a reason for a setlist being the way it is. As much as I admire Bruce Springsteen for taking requests, basically, for us it does not work like that …

In my perfect world, I’m a little bit of a … what do you call it? I like comfort in the sense that preferably, I’d like to play the same set every night and get better at performing it that way, because you know how to distribute your energy so that by the last couple of songs, which are our most intense … You need to sort of sit on energy to make them explode.

It’s interesting to hear that you look for comfort in your live sets since you change your persona every album. Is that something that’s difficult to juggle—comfort versus not wanting to repeat yourself? When it comes to certain aspects, yes. When it comes to the live show, I think, let’s just say, most bands throughout rock history have found their form at some point. And then, after you’ve found that form, you don’t want to change too much. If that form has taken you to a certain plateau and that has given you a certain amount of success, that will be what people expect of you and that will be what you’re comfortable doing … However, what we do intend to change up, what will always change, more from a production point of view, is what we wear, what the stage looks like, effects and props and actors or whatever. One easy example of what I’m talking about that we should not do is that over the years, ever since Papa I became Papa II and onwards, there’s been a little vocal minority that felt that Papa I was menacing and evil, and they wanted that menacing evil to stay and any animation that went beyond that rigor mortis that he had was selling out or whatever. The thing is we can never return to that. That worked because we played 30 minutes in the dark, basically, with all fog on stage. That worked because you saw very little. But we can never go back to that because we’re playing big places now. We’re playing for two hours. You need animation. You need things to happen.

I watched the webisodes for the Prequelle album, and what struck me most about them was how funny they were. I liked that there was a sense of humor to them and not just all grim and foreboding. Is that something you enjoy playing with, too? I don’t want to say absurdity, but maybe the campiness that’s always been the backside of horror. Absolutely. I think campiness—for the lack of a nicer word for it—is very much in line with the trashier nature of the culture that is horror. I’m a big fan of kitsch. I’m a big fan of trash culture. For some reason, there’s a minority of people who tend to think that the devil and death metal and all that shouldn’t be in any way about humor. Even though, believe me, I truly admire and I really appreciate a good dose of serious, orthodox darkness as well, but for me, looking at it from a philosophical point of view, laughter and satire and comedy is very, very against establishment, church, conformity. For me, humor and comedic elements is, for one, very natural for me. I like things that are in one way or another comedic. But I think if there was an argument for the campiness overshadowing the seriousness that should be satanic metal, I definitely beg to differ. No, no, no, this is very blasphemous, because it’s about laughter. Laughter is the work of the devil. Remember The Name of the Rose? According to old ways of Christianity, laughter and comedy were definitely the work of the devil. I think this is in all aspects utterly blasphemous from that point of view. But, at the end of the day, I’m a big culture fan. I love kitsch and having fun and living my life and filling it with as many enriching things as possible. I think a lot of the things I find rewarding and pleasant in one way or another are represented in what I’m trying to do with Ghost.

Prequelle is sort of a modern re-telling of The Black Plague. How do you think that period of history relates to now? I’m talking from a Westerner living in a Western world perspective—we tend to talk about our contemporary time as being almost pre-apocalyptic. We tend to talk about the world as something that’s about to end. Of course, from an environmental point of view, maybe it is. I do not know, but maybe it is. But there are a lot of people on this earth who tend to persevere. We will probably do whatever it takes not to melt the ice, eventually … Maybe too late, but whatever. The thing is, the world has come to an end many, many times. In the 1340s and 1350s, people thought this was the end of the world. I’m sure that people in places other than the Western world are facing the end of the world. We all know that in Syria, millions of people were facing the end of their world. Looking in hindsight on The Black Plague in the 1300s, we know that it wasn’t. We had the 1400s, the 1500s … way further than anyone in the 1300s could ever imagine. I think especially now in modern days, we tend to pride ourselves in thinking, well, there’s nothing new to say, there’s nothing new to write. I think we overblow our significance and also the ultimate nature of the day that we’re living in. Who knows, maybe in 20 years, we’ll look back and say, “The 2010s, wow, I’m glad that’s over.” Like, look at a presidency. It’ll end after a few years. It’ll change. Things fucking change. They always do.

That’s an oddly hopeful message from the leader of a satanic metal band … It’s there to shine a light on the idea that things do change. Even though Prequelle on the surface is a record about death and dying, it’s actually a record about survival.

SubmergeMag.com

[withlovingregards]

Au Yeah AUgust Day 1!

Day 1: Soul Mates

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

There were many things that Iclyn was born knowing, since her existence was based upon the magic and life of others. One was the memories of all those that made up who she was. She knew the entire history and language of her people, which all elves had mostly forgotten. Second was the use of her deep well of magic. Muscle memory of memories not her own showed her everything she needed to know. Third was that every single sentient species was assigned what she had learned was a Soul Mate.

Or, that was what she had been told when she questioned the ghosts in her mind of the phenomena. Not very many of them had had the chance to meet the one meant for them before the end of their lives, but those who had sent her warm thoughts and loving memories to assure her that it was indeed true. Everyone with a soul had another attached to theirs.

But, what had that meant for someone like her, only created with the sacrifice and magic of others, whose soul wasn’t just her own? It had been something she had disregarded, to instead focus on the grave mission she had ahead of her.

It became impossible to ignore it, however, when that so called "Soul Mate" had come barreling into her life. And she meant that literally.  

The Inquisitor had finally made her way into the Emerald Graves with her squad, investigating many things, but one in particular; the myth of the ghost that lived in the deeper parts of the forest.

That's what the locals had taken to calling her, and she told that to the Inquisitor when she'd come to her part of the world, struggling against what they called Red Templars. It was nice to put a name to the monsters she had taken the liberty of turning to blocks of ice every now and again.

When the threat had been eradicated, the "ghost" elf had turned to the group of four, and when she gazed directly at the giant man of a Qunari, color had exploded behind her eyes. It was powerful enough to stagger her, and she'd waved off the concern of the strangers as just a dizzy spell.

Because, while the world had been painted in beautiful shades long before this moment, nothing could compare to the colors that lay before her. Everything was much brighter than it had been previously, and even the simplest thing was more than it had seemed before. Leaves weren't just green, but a mixture of colors she would never know the name of.  

And the voices in her head whispered the answer. This was the connection of Soul Mates.

Except the Qunari hadn't been left breathless as she'd been. He seemed completely fine, high off the adrenaline of battle, intrigued by her presence, but not discovering something he'd never felt before. And like she'd done before, she pushed all those thoughts and feelings away, instead offering her help to their cause, for it overlapped hers.

They'd asked her name. That was not something she had been created knowing, and she told them she had none.

So he'd given her one. The Elvhen surrounded by the coldest of ice, her favorite spells, should be known as Iclyn. The others scoffed at the suggestion, telling her it was just one of his many horrible puns, but she knew it was right. That was her name. Iclyn. Her name was Iclyn.

She continued on with the party, making sure to keep a close eye on the tall warrior, who was doing the same to her, for entirely different purposes.

--

It would have been less embarrassing to search for her answers in books, or even to blackmail someone into giving up the information. But since she was barely more than a name to these people, she took the direct approach to the problem.

She asked the Inquisitor.

Iclyn had at least been somewhat subtle about it. First, she'd asked Shaela if she'd left behind a Soul Mate in her clan. The elf's tattooed face turned red, her answer sputtered since she'd not been prepared for it. No, she hadn't left one behind. But she had found one. Though, she refused to reveal who that person was.

Iclyn asked if all races had one, pretending that she already didn't have that answer.

"Everyone has someone, but it's not always easy to find them. The world is so big, some don't want to search for them; some understand the power of marriage between families, so they forget about them. Then there's people that just can't feel them."

"They can't feel them?" Finally, she was getting somewhere. None the wiser, Shaela nodded her head as she leaned back in her chair, playing with a strand of her hair.

"There are people that are so focused on a single goal that they are blinded. It's most prominent during war time in the armies, as well to the Qunari people."

Qunari, Shaela explained, were a people that were all given an individual purpose in life, and nothing was more important than the role they played in their society. Nothing was unplanned under the Qun, and there was no room for marriage, love, or even children to be raised by their parents. It seemed cruel, but that was their way of life.

"The majority of Qunari live under the Qun? Including Iron Bull?"

"Yeah, he may not seem like it, but he's actually one of their spies. He's got a deep alibi, with his mercenary squad and all."

"I see."

That meant he'd never be able to see her in the same light in which she saw him. Iclyn wasn't even aware she was upset about that until the ghosts at the back of her mind were mostly quiet. They knew the pain of not knowing, of not having the chance to find out. It was heartbreak all on its own, but it wasn't something they could dwell on.

The few spirits that had found their Soul Mates wrapped around the elf like a familiar blanket. Their words seemed to whisper against her skin as they spoke to her.

"Don't give up."

--

She remembered the first time she'd been brave enough to kiss him. Or, well, when the alcohol had made her brave enough to kiss him. He'd been celebrating the victory of their latest dragon kill and was buying rounds for the entire tavern. Iclyn hadn't been there at the time, but he'd had Stiches run and fetch her. He'd grumbled about it their entire trip back to the tavern, but he even admitted that it wouldn't be a party without her.

While the elf had been discouraged by the fact that Bull would never see her as his Soul Mate, that didn't mean he couldn't see her as something else. She already enjoyed his company, with his awful jokes, worse beer, and incredulous stories. First, she'd started by helping Stiches with their wounded when they couldn't rely on just their potions and salves, healing them with what she liked to call her "endless well of magic".

After that and many celebrations like this one, it was common place to see her with the Chargers. They treated her like one of their own, especially after she'd come to them wearing a wooden helmet carved by Blackwall with an imitation of Bull's large horns. The grin on the Qunari's face had been present the whole night.

That night, however, Iclyn lost her inhibitions. Iron Bull had been so happy about his take down, had told the story a million times, with the tale getting more and more absurd, she couldn't help but sit, listen along, and drink.  

At one point in the night, most the patrons had left, either too tired or too drunk to continue on. Only the Chargers and the guards who had finished their late shift were left, most of them ready to continue drinking farther into the morning. Iclyn was sat close to Bull, watching as Rocky challenged all his friends to arm wrestle with him, barely able to walk straight. The elf giggled, more than a little tipsy herself. Bull's form moving closer to her pulled her attention to him, tilting her head back so she could look at him properly.

"Pale looks lovely on you, but I have to admit, pink like that is almost sinful."

As if she wasn't pink enough, the compliment made her skin color even darker, and made the man at her side laugh. She smiled up at him and pushed at his thick arm, ending up moving herself rather than him.

"And I know what would look lovely on you," Iclyn blurted, and even in her drunken state, she knew she'd made a mistake. She wanted to panic, because she hadn't meant to set herself up for a pick-up line, but with that smirk he was sending her way...

"What's that?"

Fuck it.

"Me," she whispered, pulling him down to her lips by his horns. He hadn't resisted, because Gods above knew he could have done so, since Iclyn was a weakling compared to most. Instead, he followed her motion, and rather than kiss her gently, he took her mouth as if he was prepared to devour her.

Iclyn, herself, hadn't kissed anyone. She'd barely interacted with people before the Inquisition had found her. But even these moments the ghosts gave her memories of. They knew of love and passion, of the fire that could burn you to the very core. This was much more than that. His lips burned against her own, and when he moved his large hand to cup her neck and head, she felt like she was home. All the pressure, all the fear and anxiety of the war that surrounded them disappeared in that moment.

When they finally pulled away, both a little more than breathless, it took a while to come back to reality and realize that they had a laughing and clapping audience. Iclyn usually would have ducked her head in embarrassment, but she was still riding the high of booze and Bull's kiss, so she only winked at the Chargers while their leader laughed.

"'Bout time, never thought this day would happen!" Dalish yelled, pointing her "bow" at them for emphasis.

"We were about to start taking bets when this exact moment would happen," Krem teased, taking a sip from his drink. The two continued to take the teasing, though it didn't last much longer as everyone continued to drink and separate.  As everything started to wind down, Bull carried Iclyn back to her room, since she was completely unable to walk, and laid her in her bed gentler than the elf would have thought.

"Hopefully, this isn't a drunken memory you're going to forget in the morning, because I'd really like to continue where we left off."

Nothing about that moment was fuzzy, since it kept replaying in her mind every time her light blue gaze fell to his full lips. She gave the Qunari a slow smile and a soft caress to his stubbled cheek.

"Anytime, anywhere."

"Don't promise something like that. You have no idea where that will lead," Bull laughed, reluctantly pulling away.

"I trust you," Iclyn yawned before she completely passed out.

--

Iclyn was having a hard time keeping still as she paced in front of the entrance gates of Skyhold, waiting for the specks in the distance to hurry up and appear before her. A week ago, the Inquisitor and the Chargers had set out on an expedition to the Storm Coast, though the details of the mission had been kept under wraps. She had been told, by Bull, that it shouldn't be anything too serious. Just collecting some assets for their cause.

Shaela, the best friend a girl could ask for, had sent a raven to her once their mission had been complete, filled with the bare minimum of information to get her point across without giving too much away. Everyone was safe, but nothing had gone to plan. Iron Bull was physically fine, but would probably need time to process what exactly had gone on. Shaela had asked Iclyn to give the man some space.

Unfortunately, that was just something she couldn't do. Not because she wanted to disobey the word of the Inquisitor, but her power was nothing compared to the pull she felt to her Soul Mate; a bond that had only grown the closer they'd gotten to one another. She tried to quiet the voices in her head as they ran through the worst possibilities of the situation, but the anxiety only ate at her. Until she saw the top of Bull's head over the crowd he was surrounded by.

Shaela lead that group, as she usually did, and when she was close enough to notice Iclyn's presence, she glared at the pale elf. Iclyn chose to ignore the nasty words she could interpret from that look, and instead focused her attention to the Chargers. They were fine, not a scratch on either of them, though as they talked and laughed, there seemed to be a solemn aura around them.

Shaela fastened her pace, aimed straight at her friend, and pulled her away by the arm, doing her best to hide her form with her own, even if she was barely taller than her. Iclyn gave her a sheepish smile, moving them a bit so she could still see the Qunari over the Inquisitor's shoulder.

Before the elf could give her a piece of her mind for disobeying her, there was a commotion from the group of mercenaries, and both the women looked down to see that Iron Bull had collapsed to one knee, eyes clenched tight like he was in pain.

Iclyn fade stepped out of Shaela's hold to the crowd, moving her way nimbly through the Chargers to kneel next to the downed man, giving Krem a concerned look.

"Bull, what's wrong? Are you hurt? I'll heal you-"

She went to place her hand on his shoulder, magic at the ready to check for any unseen wounds, but at the sound of her voice, Bull looked up. Her hand instead brushed against his face, and it felt like she'd just touched the sun itself. It hurt, but the hurt was soothed by the look Bull was giving her, washing over her like a tsunami. Her heart clenched inside her chest, and she didn't need her historic knowledge to know what was happening right now.

Bull knew. He knew she was his Soul Mate. But how?

"How did you do it?" He asked, breathless like he'd been hit, "How did you manage to be around me, to feel this, when I was too blind to understand?"

Iclyn framed his face with her hands, pouring all the love and heat she'd been holding for him into her touch as if he could feel it. Maybe he could, now. She began to smile while she rested her head against his own.

"I had hoped one day you would feel it too."

"How long were you willing to bet on that?" He laughed, but it wasn't because of the joke, more on the fact he was processing everything. Unable to stop himself, he moved his hand so he could cup her neck and head, thumb stroking her soft skin.

"I'd wait forever for you, for this," Iclyn mumbled. But she couldn't keep talking, not when he was this close to her. So, she kissed him, ignoring all their confused friends. She'd been waiting too long for this moment, to feel like this again.

To feel whole.