As the one who had known of his presence on this godsforsaken island, who had sought him through whispered names and half-forgotten trails of rumour, she had thought herself prepared. Sheβd whispered his name to the stars, imagined every possible version of this moment after she found out about his presence and his escape: the joyous, the tragic, the indifferent. But none of them came close to the ache that gripped her now, the breath stolen from her lungs as he turned to face her at last. The world slipped sideways. Reality softened at the edges. Nothing could have steeled her for him. Not the steel sheβd wrapped around her soul, not the lies sheβd told herself nor the years of forced civility behind Townsendβs polished faΓ§ade.
And then he moved. The breath sheβd been holding released as Arthur closed the space between them and swept her into his arms. Just as he had in her dreams time and time again. Though this was no dream. This was flesh and blood and heat. A startled laugh escaped her lips, wild and unbidden, breaking like sunlight across the winter frost of her heart. It startled even her, that sound foreign and joyous and free. Her arms coiled tightly around him, her body melting against his as she buried her face into the curve of his neck. Everything else blurred to nothing. The noises, the past, the pain. There was only the scent of him, sea and wind and something achingly familiar. Perhaps the faintest hint of pine after rain. But it was mostly the warmth of his arms around her. -- A soft whimper trembled loose from her lips as the tension sheβd carried like a second skin began to peel away. The armor she had spent years forging, the silence, calculation and elegance. For a heartbeat, for a breath, she was not Catherine Townsend. She was Fenella again, barefoot on Highland soil, the wind in her hair and him at her side.
It took every drop of willpower she possessed to draw back, even slightly. Just enough to drink in the sight of his face, now close enough to count every sunline carved by time. Time had etched itself into him, but it had not dulled the brilliance. If anything, it made him more so. Her hand rose on instinct, brushing against his cheek with reverence. Her delicate fingertips tracing the ridge of his stubble until finally her thumb ghosted across his bottom lip, trembling slightly as if to memorize every contour. So afraid that if she blinked, he might vanish again. And then her gaze found his. Those hues that were still the colour of spring lochs kissed by sunlight. Still his. βArthurβ¦ mo ghrΓ dh,β she breathed, the name breaking from her like a psalm. It tasted like home. βI would be content being turned to stone right here and now if it would mean forever in your arms.β
But reality clawed at her, cruel and persistent. With a reluctant sigh, she wiggled herself free from his embrace. She did remain as close as she could though, so that their arms still brushed. Her eyes unwilling to part from him for long. Her voice softened, thick with emotion caged. βDo you knowβ¦ anywhere we could talk? In private?β Her gaze lifted, almost pleading. βI think we deserve some time to catch up, after all these years. Without having to worry who might catch us.β Her heart thundered like hoofbeats across the moors. Whatever came next, storm or salvation, mattered not. Sheβd found him again, and for now that was enough. Enough to almost forget the harsh and dangerous reality. almost.
Whilst the sentiment she expressed of gladly turning to stone in his arms right then and there was felt in equal parts by him as well, in the end when Nellie pulled away from his embrace to propose moving their conversation to somewhere more private he knew she was right to suggest such a thing, especially given where he'd just come from. Longing to resume the contact that had just been broken, he reached out and took both of her hands in his own and nodded his head in agreement with everything she'd just said. "Aye, we can go my ship. It's docked nearby and nobody will bother us there," he answered, as he released one of her hands and began to lead them in the direction of The Oathbreaker, whilst feeling somewhat breathless at the idea of being alone with her after all of this time.
The fact that he could say such a thing about his ship being a place of safety with such conviction and confidence was reflective of the fact that one thing Arthur felt certain of was that none of his crew were behind selling him out. Having been on the receiving end of a betrayal from within his own ship once before, he knew first hand what such treachery felt like, and his gut was telling him that this was something altogether different. The men and women aboard The Oathbreaker had stood with him during that time, and for that he could never believe that any of them would turn on him. Perhaps that was foolish and would prove to be his undoing, especially given the name of the ship itself, but if he let himself doubt in the people he most trusted, what would he have left in the end?
As they arrived at the ship, Arthur waved off the clamoring of his crew who were waiting to hear the details about his escape, shaking his head dismissively. "Not now. I have some business to attend to. I'll tell you everything later," he told the crew as he quickly moved passed them, and, after crossing the deck as swiftly as he could whilst ignoring the crew's continued barrage of questions, retreated into his quarters, still being able to hear the sounds of their voices even as he secured the door behind them. Sighing deeply, he turned his gaze to Fenella and, in spite of everything that was going on in the world around him, smiled a smile that was almost boyish and seemed to shed years away from his tired and worn features. "I can't help but be reminded of how we used to sneak off to be alone at any opportunity that we could," he remembered with a fond laugh. "I suppose, even as things change, some things never really do."
