“I didn’t say all those things because I had to. I said them because it’s true. All of it. The way I feel about you, this thing between us… I can’t keep pretending this is fake.”
for caelan and ardyn, of course :3c
@paintedscales BIG THANK! I hope you like it! I took some liberties with the dialogue to try and make it sound more like Ardyn, hope that's cool!
Caelan wasn’t sure what kept her awake: the rain against the caravan roof, or her thoughts. Both carried their own weight as she stared at the ceiling, caught somewhere between wakefulness and a daze. The rain was a steady patter that matched the tempo of her restless mind. The emotions that had run high earlier between her and Ardyn had long since tempered, leaving behind only the sound of his quiet breathing, a faint warmth at her side reminding her that even he wasn’t immune to exhaustion.
She turned her head toward him, the dim glow from the lamp tracing the slope of his cheek, his dark strands of hair fanned across the pillow. It still stunned her that he was there, sleeping next to her. They’d shared space before—naps stolen between skirmishes and flights from the Einherjar—but not like this. Not after baring their souls until the air between them felt raw and fevered.
She was surprised it hadn’t gone further. Ardyn could’ve taken charge, led them into that unspoken dance where tossed clothes would’ve been the least of their concerns, but he hadn’t. No. Instead, Ardyn had quietly helped her out of her drenched garments, cleaned the mud from her feet with tenderness, and coaxed her beneath the blanket beside him. That should’ve been the moment where reason gave way to want—but he’d held her, his body a steady weight against hers until sleep finally drew its curtain over Adagium himself.
Now, in the hush that followed, adrenaline dead and hormones cooled, the “what ifs” in her mind began to twist into second-guessing. Caelan didn’t regret anything—least of all telling Ardyn how much it hurt to feel as if she were competing with the dead for his affections, but gods, repeating it to herself made her stomach turn. There were better ways to say it, ways that wouldn’t have reopened his wounds or Aera’s memory, but she didn't think ahead.
Ardyn had been right about one thing: Caelan knew how to punch first, but asking questions had never been in her repertoire. She was wired to think ahead in a fight, but not when it came to matters of the heart. Still, it amazed her that despite that, he’d kissed her with such hunger it felt like he was trying to take the last of her breath into himself—yet somehow, even that had felt like mercy.
Her thoughts stilled when Ardyn’s lashes fluttered open. Amber eyes, heavy with sleep, caught the low light and looked at her with something soft. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, breath warming the air between them.
“Have you been watching me this whole time?” he murmured, voice low.
“Maybe.” Caelan turned onto her side, the blanket rustling as she shifted closer. Her sigh brushed his cheek, drawing him nearer until their foreheads nearly met, his red hair spilling across her tangled strands.
“You take your job as a shield far too seriously,” he murmured with a faint laugh, lips curving into a lazy smile. Caelan gave him a two-second glare before grinning back. “I doubt the gods, or our enemies, will trouble us out here in the wetlands. Not with how vigilant you are.”
“It’s funny,” she whispered, her tone teasing, “you usually stroke your own ego, not mine. Did I break you in?”
Ardyn hummed, shoulders lifting in an exaggerated shrug that made the blanket ripple between them. “I wouldn’t say broken. Persuaded to rein myself in, perhaps.”
“I think we both know you’re full of shit,” Caelan said with a quiet laugh.
Ardyn’s eyes glinted; he gave a low, playful growl, scrunching his face before chuckling. “Speaking of, you look lost.”
He nodded, hair brushing the pillow. “Something’s on your mind.”
Caelan’s shoulders slouched. “It’s just thoughts.”
“Because contrary to popular belief, I love hearing you talk,” he teased. His tone carried that quiet patience he reserved only for her. Vulnerability wasn’t a language either of them spoke fluently, and he knew better than to pry too hard. Some wounds of the mind had to be unwrapped with care, not cut open. He knew that because he was the same as her.
Caelan inhaled slowly, catching the scent of him—leather, sweat, and something faint like cedar. On her exhale, she shifted closer, reading the unspoken questions in Ardyn's eyes. He didn't need to say them aloud; she already knew his silences. He saved his words for what mattered. She wished she had that grace, but the gods didn't grant her any favors there.
“I feel like everything that happened a few hours ago—it’s not real. What we said to each other feels like something we conjured up to make ourselves feel better.”
“Beg pardon?” His voice was gentle, inviting rather than defensive.
“I mean…” She bit the inside of her lip, tasting copper. Gods be damned, she was doing it again—screwing it up. “We were both feeling vulnerable. Sometimes when you’re that raw, your body reacts before your mind can catch up. You didn’t have to tell me how you felt, but…I’m glad you did. I love that you did. It’s—there’s this part of me wondering how much of it was you trying to make me feel better, how much of it was reaction. And at the center of all that, there’s you—what you really think and feel without all the complexities. I know I’m not making sense, maybe my head’s still in the clouds, but—”
“Cahl.” His fingertips brushed her lips. The touch quieted her more effectively than his voice. “I’m going to stop you right there. Look at me.”
Caelan frowned. “I am looking at you.”
“You’re looking through me,” he corrected, tone soft but sure. “You’re already ten steps ahead. Stay here. I need you to see me.”
Caelan didn’t fully understand, but she nodded anyway.
Ardyn shifted upright against the pillows, and she followed, the blanket slipping slightly, allowing a cool draft to enter the warmth between their bodies. The quiet that filled the caravan was not empty—it respired with them. Caelan could feel the heat of his gaze like a slow burn against her skin, and in his flame-colored eyes was something ancient and grounding—one truth that tethered her before doubt could retake hold: trust. Trust he didn’t offer anyone else.
“I’ve been around long enough to know what I feel,” Ardyn said, fingers sliding into her hair, tracing its waves as if memorizing them. “And the last thing I need is your doubt. I wish to vanquish it.” His thumb brushed her temple. “I didn’t say those things because I had to. I said them because they’re true. All of them. The way I feel about you, this thing between us—I can no longer pretend it’s false. You and I, right now…we are the truth of it.”
“I adore you,” he interrupted, voice almost a growl. “And there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to assure you of that. So, may I ask a favor?”
Caelan blinked. “Yeah. Anything.”
“Tell me what you said before. I want to hear it again.”
Ardyn drew her into his arms before she could breathe another word, pulling Caelan flush against him until her legs tangled with his. His nose brushed the curve of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the tension in his shoulders melt into her hold. His heartbeat pressed against her ribs, and when he exhaled, it came out as a shuddered sigh that spoke more than words could.
“Do your fears match reality, Cahl?” he murmured against her skin.
He didn’t have to say anything else.
“No,” Caelan whispered, closing her eyes, nuzzling into him. “Not anymore.”
