In Vino Veritas.
Meals, wines, and fragility.
It's a quiet evening. You're not too sure the day, but that doesn't trouble you much. You rest, as you usually do, upon a chair built just for you - tailored to your shape, crafted exquisitely from the luxuries accrued from the reunification. Your hand idly traces the edge of the cushioned armrests and where the lavish, lacquered mahogany meet in a masterwork of carpentry and joinery.
You wager two Custodians were the craftsmen, given how eloquent and regal the design is. You gaze upon the vaunted ceilings - the countless support beams, holding this place, your home, intact.
A plate rests in front of you before long. Marble, you wager - perhaps porcelain? The Custodian by your side seems eager to serve your food in particular. Your mind briefly ponders if the Blood Games are on. You aren't ever really apart of them, but you have promised to play as the kidnapped victim from time to time.
You see Him enter, coming to rest by your side. It takes Him a moment to settle - to take in the scent of the food, to rest His hand over yours.
"Do you like it," He starts, the voice rolling over your body like a wave breaking across rocks, "the selection for the evening?" His gaze is to the meal but a moment (you feel He is grading it silently), before turning to gaze at you.
"Every meal is delectable," you respond softly, smiling (it's impossible not to), before He carefully pours the wine into your glass. It's red, a deep red. Fulgrim's selection? He raises the glass to you, and you take in the rich bouquet. Definitely Fulgrim's, you wager, as your hands slide in His.
This must be the galaxy to Him, as your hand overlaps His own, twigs compared to logs - the fragility of your hand, and the brittleness of the wine glass, held in the way an artist would hold the finest brush. Humanity in His hands, humanity as the fragile glass that holds blood-like-wine. You take a moment, as He helps you drink it. It's supple, spiced... yet, a moment more, and you feel the complexity rush across your throat, changing to something more... elegant.
"A vintage," the Custodian besides you states, "to pair with the roast." It takes you a moment as the alcohol warms your form, as He moves to sip from the same glass. You wonder, briefly, if He did so to taste your lips indirectly, or wished to try the wine in the same environment.
"It should be chilled more," He finally responds - though you can see the faint smirk curling His lips. "An excellent choice, however."
Soon, His plate rests before Him. How much more He must need, yet, He eats as carefully as He commands. You, in turn, require so little, yet, all of it is important. One could be picky with food, push aside greens, or ignore the wine. He, however, has made sure the meals are properly prepared for you, to the exact amounts, to ensure you would be cared for.
You gaze at the wine a moment as your fork rests. How fragile were you, even surrounded by walls and buttresses and pillars and warriors and He Himself?
You did not think long, as His hand rests atop yours. "You are safe." He assures. "Safe, here. Safe no matter where you travel." Your fragility was tested then, as His hand gently squeezed yours, feeling the warmth of His skin. Nothing broken. Nothing damaged. Just... a moment where you finally relaxed, your head resting upon His shoulder, as you took the wine glass in your hands.
In wine, there is truth. You were fragile, yes - but deserving of the love and protection He cushioned you with - nay, strengthened you with. All of humanity, you wagered, would one day find this peace. It was a hope you shared with Him.
If only the wine wasn't so strong - you laugh after a moment, and He shares it with you, as the evening light fades, and the fragility He has is cushioned by your love.