Title: journey to the end of the shining stars
Ship: Rachel/Ramge
Content Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Pining
Word Count: 5298
Summary: Rachel waited.
After Captain Rudley left, Rachel remained in the Great Hall, waiting for the other rookie to come and introduce himself.
Rachel had noticed him hovering uncertainly during his conversation with Rudley, like a little stray staring in the window and wishing to be let in. Rachel bit back a grin at the mental image, which fit the meek profile of the First Prince of North von Frosty.
Of course, Rachel already knew who he was, previously scouting all members of the King's Guard, old and new, before his arrival. Familiarity with the unfamiliar quelled Rachel's paranoia to manageable levels when surrounded by some of the most powerful political figures on Exos. He didn't have his father's protection if he went a little trigger happy here in Lenombe.
The melancholy facade of Ramge didn't match the tyrannical reputation of his family, and the brief introductory meeting between the King's Guard did little to convince Rachel this was an act. All accounts stated that the son of Shufraken was a black sheep, and Rachel wondered why Shufraken had sent Ramge to receive the highest distinction afforded to a royal scion.
So Rachel waited, pretending to examine the diamond-studded stars embellishing the lavish tapestries lining the Great Hall of the Emperor's palace, watching Ramge hem and haw from the corner of his eye.
Rachel wasn't the type to wait; patience was foreign to him, to his father's exasperation, but he wanted to see if Ramge had even the courage to greet someone who had already established themselves as sympathetic. Ramge hadn't spoken at all when Xiakhan was trashing him, relying on his talking(!) cat—and eventually Rachel—to defend him, and Rachel could tell Ramge had been ashamed and embarrassed by the entire ordeal.
But Rachel could also tell Ramge had very much wanted to denounce Xiakhan and prove him wrong. As Xiakhan had droned on, a spark had begun smoldering in those red eyes—a burning desire to be accepted and respected in this new place—but it was soon smothered by insecurity. In the end, nothing had passed Ramge's lips, head bowed low in humiliation.
So in Rachel's mind, this was a test. Surely this mouse of a prince, dreaming of becoming a lion, could manage a hello.
It took a few minutes and a few false starts, but Ramge did finally come over to awkwardly express his gratitude. By the end of their short conversation, Rachel, who, in his own loneliness, might've projected too much on a boy he had just met, felt the wait had been justified.
…
The hour was late and the training yard empty, save for himself and the practice dummies. It was well past the time he had ordered Ramge to be here, but surely Ramge would arrive at any moment. Rachel did neglect to explain the purpose of this late night rendezvous, but that wasn't important anyway. He had told Ramge to be here and, in Rachel's opinion, that was all that was needed.
Time continued to march forward and Ramge continued to be absent. In an effort to remain awake and entertained, Rachel broke into the weapon's shed to retrieve a wooden sword, expelling his drowsiness and boredom on the innocent dummies. The night patrol swung by once at the noise, but didn't interfere; he was King's Guard after all, even if he was still a greenhorn.
Greenhorn King's Guard or not, he excelled in physical activity, especially swordsmanship. So he felt he was more than qualified to give Ramge some extracurricular training. He liked Ramge and wanted to help him. Ramge was a funny guy under that meek exterior. And smart, really smart, even though he tried to hide it. He could be a bit stubborn too, but that made things more fun since Rachel was used to getting his own way with little pushback. And though Ramge regarded Rachel with a bit of admiring awe, they actually had a lot in common, even if Ramge didn't realize it yet.
Rachel never had a friend the same age (or a friend at all) and he wondered if it was okay to have one, even though he was far from Saint West. He was a little afraid that something might happen and it'd be his fault again.
No. He was stronger now, built upon the corpses of assassins. Nothing to be afraid of; he could protect himself and others now. He wasn't a child any more. He would protect Ramge. The idea of giving Ramge up, despite the short time they knew each other, made Rachel lash out harder at the dummies.
The moon rose and set and the stars slowly sailed across the foreign sky. He recognized a few of his mother's favorites, but they were in different positions than he remembered. The spring air in Lenombe wasn't as sweet as Saint West; it carried a sharp tang hinting of the cool winter which still lay to the north, brought down by Lenombe's many tributaries fed by snow melt. It chilled the sweat he worked up, which worsened his disposition, so he trained harder to stay warm as he continued to wait.
The hollow thuds of his practice sword striking wood and straw echoed into dawn, each thud pushing his patience more and more taut. Although Ramge had many positive qualities and many endearing flaws, he had one major frustrating aspect: he was a coward.
The sun fully arose from her slumber when his sword finally snapped along with his temper.
…
A sudden summer rain burst that afternoon; typical Lenombe weather. The rains would come without warning and leave drowned streets steaming in rainbows and sunshine as the only evidence they had happened. It was easy to separate the locals from the tourists by who carried umbrellas despite clear afternoon skies.
They were supposed to meet near their favorite diner for supper after they had finished their respective duties. Despite the quickly forming clouds, Rachel thought he could beat the rain without an umbrella and chose not to return to the barracks outside Khuntara in fear of running late. The skies unloaded on him for his misjudgment and now he huddled, sodden and pathetic, under a small eave of the pawnbroker neighboring the diner, waiting for Ramge.
At least the rain was warm, the air sweating humidity. No thunder or lightning disturbed the heavy pour blurring everything into a soft pastel mist. Rachel kicked a puddle growing under his feet to send droplets out to meet their falling brethren, capturing in their beads the likeness of couples huddled together under colorful umbrellas before they were swallowed by water and swept away.
"I'm sorry I kept you wait—Rachel, what happened?"
He smiled at Ramge, dry Ramge under a somber umbrella with Sia draped over his shoulders. Rachel thought about the intimacy of the couples he had witnessed, cuddled close under their meager shelter, limbs brushing, heads bent together, sharing breath.
"It's just water." Rachel flicked drops at Sia and she hissed, swatting in his direction.
"Did you lose your umbrella?" Ramge asked.
As was becoming too common, Ramge saw right through him. "Yeah."
Ramge shook his head, shuffling to include Rachel under his umbrella. Rachel could feel the heat of Ramge's body in their closeness, and it was pleasantly uncomfortable combined with the humidity and his soaked skin.
"I'm already drenched, you know. Bit pointless now."
"You could catch a cold." Ramge frowned at Rachel's blase dismissal.
"And then Master Ramge would have to look after you," Sia sniffed.
"Aw, you would look after me if I get sick?" Rachel asked, teasing.
"Of course." Ramge sometimes missed Rachel's humor and would instead answer earnestly. "Though… I wonder if I could keep you bedridden long enough to care for you."
"I'll do anything you ask of me," said Rachel.
It was only a moment's hesitation, an internal uncertainty of the meaning, before Ramge made a face. "I doubt it. You can't keep still even during serious meetings."
Rachel smirked widely at Ramge's misunderstanding, cynically grateful his words would never be understood. He tackled Ramge and they stumbled together, the umbrella slipping from Ramge's surprised fingers. Sia screeched at the onslaught of water, drowning out Ramge's yelp and Rachel's laughter.
Ramge looked like he wanted to scold Rachel when the sky emptied the last of its grey. The sound of water trickling from gutters replaced the gush of rain. Sunshine breaking through the dissipating clouds reflected off the droplets nestled like stars in the midnight of Ramge's hair.
Like the weather, irritation drained from Ramge, replaced by droll acceptance of Rachel's carefree antics. He lifted his arms and mournfully regarded his dripping clothes. Rachel decided wet was a good look on him.
"We can't eat out like this…" Ramge sighed and Sia yowled in agreement.
"Why not?" Rachel smiled, winsome and innocent, retrieving the umbrella. He closed it and shook it free of rain.
"Dripping over the seats, floor, and table, as we shiver and dine?" Ramge raised a brow as he took back the proffered umbrella.
"We'll sit by each other and share a bowl of stew to keep cozy."
"...I'll just ask them to pack it up and we'll take it back to the inn…" Ramge said, another earnest answer which missed the point. "I'll go place our orders."
…
Leaning against a wall outside Ramge's dressing room at the palace, Rachel glanced at the large clock hanging over the small waiting area for guests. It sure was taking a while. The last maid had left almost an hour ago and they had to be at the Great Hall in fifteen minutes.
"Ramge, hurry up!" Rachel yelled at the door beside him. "What are you even doing?"
After a moment, the door cracked open. "I… I c-can't do this…"
"Do what?" Rachel asked, a little annoyed. He personally didn't want to go, but Ramge had been nervously excited about attending his first real gala and Rachel didn't want him to attend alone.
"Th-this…" However, instead of opening to reveal 'this,' the door began to shut.
Swiftly, Rachel slammed a hand against it and shoved it open, barging in.
Ramge always dressed primly as befitting an aristocrat, but this was the first time he looked so princely. Sometimes it was easy to forget Ramge bore such high status due to everything about him, but the tailors and maids did their best with what they had and it came out magnificent. Perhaps losing most of his belongings upon his arrival in Khuntara had been a blessing, given the artistry of the glittering galaxy of starlike gems swarming over the breast of his fitted coat of silver and wine.
Ramge spun away with an embarrassed moan, shielding his face with his hands. "I-I knew I-I looked r-ridiculous…"
Shit, Rachel had been staring. "You look fine." The back of the coat was cinched and split to spill long gauzy ruffles which fluttered with Ramge's anxious trembling.
"See?" Sia chirped from her seat on the vanity. "Rachel also thinks you look nyaice!"
"N-no, this is—"
"You wear finery better than me." Rachel shrugged. "It's fine. You're fine."
"Everyone will s-stare—"
"That's the point of wearing this kind of showy garb at these parties," Rachel scoffed. "You want people to look and talk. Why dress up if you don't get scandalized comments?"
Sidling up to Ramge, Rachel peered over Ramge's shoulder and into his flushed, covered face.
"Who's this mysterious, tall, dark, and handsome stranger?" Rachel stage-whispered behind a hand into Ramge's ear, enjoying the shiver it sent through him. "What?" Rachel staggered back in exaggerated surprise. "That's the First Prince of North von Frosty?!" He dramatically pressed one hand to his chest and another to his forehead. "Be still my heart! Is he available?!"
Ramge half-turned, peeking through his fingers almost petulantly. "Y-you're mocking me…"
"No." Rachel laughed, slapping Ramge on the back. The coat's fabric was silken and soft; he let his hand rest there, Ramge's muscles twitching beneath his palm. "I guarantee that's exactly what'll happen at the party. I'll bet you on it. Loser has to buy those new tarts at the bakery. I hear you have to get in line before dawn if you wanna snag some before they sell out."
Slowly, Ramge faced him and Rachel's hand slid down to settle on Ramge's waist unnoticed, as if it belonged there. "That… that means I'll have to go to the party…"
"Well, unless you trust my word on what happens." Rachel smirked.
Ramge's face scrunched up at the cheeky admission, but he refused to budge.
"If you really don't want to go, then we'll leave and play draughts the rest of the night or whatever, but you were looking forward to this all month. You sure?"
"I-I just…" Ramge bowed his head, but since his hair had been partially pinned back, he couldn't completely hide under his bangs. "...looking like this… I look… strange…"
"You're purrfect, Master Ramge," Sia said, pacing up beside them. "Rachel's the one who looks strange." She eyed Rachel's overwrought regalia distastefully.
Rachel snorted. "For once, the cat's right. I look weird. You look fitting."
Shyly, Ramge lifted his eyes. "You… you do look a little… out of character..."
"Right? This ruffled collar isn't just itchy—I really believe it's trying to strangle me." With his free hand, Rachel tickled the ends of his lone long lock of hair, now bedecked with elaborate ribbons and bows, against Ramge's nose. "And did you see what they did to this?"
A ghost of a smile touched Ramge's lips, edging away his anxiety. "It matches the bows on your sleeves and trousers…"
"For the record, I didn't pack this," Rachel grumbled. "My mother did and this was the least offensive of the lot." No need to inform Ramge he deliberately wore this outfit because of its absurdity, for Ramge's sake. "So even if you don't believe us that you look great, at least know that standing next to me, no one's going to laugh at you. You have nothing to be worried about."
Ramge looked Rachel over more closely, his small confidence returning as he assumed his role as Rachel's handler. "You… you don't look that terrible… maybe…"
"When I'm King, no way anyone is going to catch me wearing any of this. I think I'll outlaw it."
"Ha…" Still smiling absently, Ramge adjusted Rachel's collar and then tucked an errant curl behind Rachel's ear.
The gesture was unexpected and the brush of the smooth material of Ramge's gloves on Rachel's skin left a trail of heat which drove his heart to surge blood into his ears and cheeks.
Rachel quickly hid his reddened face under the pretense of a cough. "So are we going? We can always duck out early if it's too much."
Ramge hesitated, glancing down at Sia, before finally nodding.
…
It had been a hectic week playing escort guard and diplomat. By the end of it, Rachel was tired of both the frippery of aristocrats and the flippancy of Baraka, his assigned companion. Another day and there would've been murder. So it was with no small haste and the greatest relief when he all but fled Rudley's office after the debriefing.
The moon was already high in the starless sky when he left the palace, bone-tired and grumpy. Sour he still couldn't house in the palace, Rachel took the most direct route to the inn, cutting through fenced lots. The night was hot and windless, alive with crickets singing for the moon, and he wanted nothing more than to wash up and fall into bed—after he took care of one urgent matter.
A restless feeling which had been slowly bubbling up upon his return to Khuntara hastened his steps with a fresh reserve of energy as he barged through the doors of the inn and took the stairs up two by two.
Ramge wasn't in his room despite the late hour, so Rachel let himself in, believing Ramge had only stepped out for a short while. Zarienne, his mother's bodyguard, had taught a too-curious young Rachel the basics of lockpicking (not realizing the hell she would unleash until his mother intervened) and once again it came in handy. This wasn't the first time he had broken into Ramge's quarters, so he was sure Ramge wouldn't mind.
He turned on the tin glow-lamp on the table, casting a weak yellow glow over the room. It was a mirror of his own: a bed in a corner by a double-door window and a simple table with a chair, but the cheap furnishings were embellished with clutter, from clothes to books to cat toys—a reflection of the mind behind Ramge's meticulous appearance. Typically Rachel would do his best to organize the disarray, but he was just too exhausted to bother tonight.
Rachel drew aside the thin curtains of the window and propped it open to relieve some of the stuffiness, before plopping onto the hard, rumpled bed with a sigh. Ramge's bed felt more comfortable than his own, though objectively it was the same flat mattress and creaky bed frame. He bounced once experimentally and felt that in further pursuit of knowledge he should take off his boots and lay down.
The lumpy pillow was covered in cat fur and smelled faintly of Ramge's floral shampoo. Burying his nose into it, Rachel stretched to his full height, relishing the unwind which comes after a hard day. His feet dangled off this bed's end just like they did with his own; no doubt Ramge's longer legs poked out even further, and the image made him laugh. The small bed was barely made for one, much less two, but as Rachel curled up into his favored fetal position and closed his eyes, he felt he could make it work, even with Ramge's height and poor bed manners.
He must've drifted off because a scraping noise jolted him from sweet oblivion. He bolted upright, alert but somewhat disoriented, not immediately recognizing his room but still searching for a threat.
Ramge, dressed in plain and homely work clothes, stared at him from the doorway, arms full of cat and a small bushel of peaches. His surprised face was long with exhaustion. "R-Rachel…? I didn't think you'd return today…"
"Ramge!" All weariness drained from Rachel at the sight he had been starved for, rejuvenating him into high spirits. "I got sick of Baraka's insufferable smugness and the infinite neediness of the aristocracy, so I pushed to finish the trip more quickly."
"And… you came straight here? At this time of night…?" Ramge shut the door with a bump of his hip and placed both bushel and cat upon the table, rolling his shoulders in relief.
Eager to touch him, Rachel leapt up to help massage out the kinks, earning a grateful groan. "I wanted to see you."
Ramge's brow furrowed and he glanced over his shoulder. "It couldn't wait? Is something wrong…?"
"Not anymore." Rachel grinned. "So where were you? 'At this time of night?'"
Wrinkling his nose at Rachel's toss-back of his own words, Ramge shrugged out of Rachel's grip to gesture at the bushel of fruit.
"I was helping Mrs. Lievere—you remember, the grocer by the central square?—with the store today... She gave me these as thanks. Take some with you."
Rachel peeked into the bushel from around Ramge. The plump fruits were just the perfect mix of flesh and blush. "Looks like she gave you the best of the lot. Isn't she the one who wants to set you up with her granddaughter?"
"She doesnyat even knyow Master Ramge is a prince!" Sia said. "Making him do menial labor."
Ramge laughed nervously, lightly elbowing Rachel. "D-don't be ridiculous, you two. I wasn't busy and she needed help… and she just wants her granddaughter to have some friends…"
"Uh-huh. With the handsome bachelor who's always so helpful and sweet."
"Rachel…" Ramge said in that exasperated way he only used with Rachel.
"That's my name." Rachel wrapped arms around Ramge's waist, delighting in how snugly he fit, and tugged him backwards toward the bed. "Come on, sit with me. I want to talk about all the fun things you missed."
"Complain, you mean," Sia said, trailing.
"Well, Ramge is such a great listener."
Ramge sighed good-naturedly as he let Rachel drag and drop him onto the mattress. Sia immediately claimed her spot on his lap while glaring at Rachel as he sat down to face them, resting against the headboard and stretching his legs out behind Ramge to hog the bed's remaining space.
"Rudley should've sent you with me instead," Rachel said, ignoring Sia's dirty look. "He knows I work better with you."
Ramge smiled faintly as he removed his shoes, careful not to jostle Sia. "I'm sure he had his reasons. Captain Rudley always works with a purpose."
"So what if some of the nobles were from Wasted Red?" Rachel waved around a hand dismissively. "I personally think he just wanted some peace and quiet by getting Baraka out of the palace for a while."
"And you too."
"Hey." Rachel poked Ramge in the side with a foot.
"It had been more quiet with you gone," Sia said
"But was it any fun?"
Ramge tilted his head. "I didn't have to run any extra laps this week…"
Clicking his tongue, Rachel tried to shove his foot into Ramge's face and Ramge ducked, laughing quietly, pushing it away.
"Just for that, you really will get to listen to me complain."
Ramge smiled faintly, as no one had not been under the impression they were going to get anything but Rachel's complaints about the mission. "If my eyes shut, that means I'm just resting them."
Pausing, Rachel leaned forward, peering into Ramge's face. "That long a day?"
"A little… it was somehow more exhausting than training."
Rachel pursed his lips before drawing Ramge toward him, settling once more against the headboard with Ramge and Sia between his legs and Ramge's head upon his chest.
"R-Ra—"
"I don't want to leave," Rachel said, looking at the ceiling so he wouldn't have to look at Ramge, "and you're tired, so just rest there and indulge me. I had a long week."
Gradually, Ramge's rigid body conceded into a more comfortable position, too tired to protest, and, just like Rachel had imagined, his legs did hang off the bed. Rachel pulled Ramge up higher against him, resting his chin atop Ramge's head.
"Better?"
"...mm." The vibration of Ramge's assent rumbled against Rachel's ribs.
Ramge tried to keep up with Rachel's venting narrative about the 'fun' of being trapped with only Baraka for company, murmuring wordless acknowledgements to Rachel's rhetorical statements, but eventually he went limp with slumber, steady breaths tickling the sensitive skin on Rachel's neck to distraction. Sia, cocooned between her master and Rachel, was already busy sawing logs.
With no one awake to listen to his complaints, Rachel settled for watching Ramge sleep. It was one of the few times Ramge's skittish, guarded expression would disappear. Even when he was with Rachel, that look would still be present in his eyes. Brushing hair from Ramge's brow, Rachel wondered what secrets Ramge kept to make him wary around his best friend. Sometimes it seemed like Ramge would want to confide in Rachel only to clam up—not for a lack of trust, but because some greater will held him in thrall. Rachel surmised those secrets had to do with why Ramge joined the King's Guard, so the only thing Rachel could do was wait for Ramge to gain the courage to break free.
Rachel leaned over, close enough to see the individual hairs intertwined in Ramge's thick lashes despite the dim light.
"One day we'll both be free," he whispered so softly not even the stars heard, his lips barely brushing warm skin.
…
The room was dark and quiet as he waited with everyone in a large parlour set aside for them at the palace. Occasionally there was a whisper of conversation or someone scolding Rera for sneaking bites of the hors d'oeuvres. Light from the hallway bled from under the closed double doors and flashed like fireflies across the glintzy decorations set up for the party.
It was strange to wait with others for Ramge. Rachel had been waiting the longest, so he felt it was a bit unfair for others to suddenly hop the queue. But today what he felt wasn't important. These were people whom Ramge had accepted and Rachel in turn had to accept that.
"Come on, Master Ramge!" Sia's voice floated from beyond the doors and everyone inside immediately silenced. She had been tasked with leading Ramge here at the appointed time.
The doors slowly swung open, a growing line of light in the darkness. "... wait, Sia, is this the right—"
"Surprise!" A chorus of voices flooded the room as Estoris glow-lamps sprang to life, Rachel's voice loudest of them all.
Ramge remained framed in the doorway, hands full of the papers he was ostensibly ordered to fetch. Rachel wouldn't ever forget the flow of confusion into epiphany into a tangle of overwhelming emotions twisting Ramge's face, culminating in him turning away, papers fluttering to the floor like fallen leaves, as he hid those vulnerable feelings behind his hands.
Rachel didn't move as the others flocked around Ramge in goodwill and cheer. Today Ramge needed to know other people cared about him too. Rachel would wait.
The party was fun: good food, good games, and relatively good company—for once there were no quibbles between certain members of the King's Guard. Even Xiakhan managed to be civil during his toast.
"To Ramge," Rachel said when it came time for his own speech.
Ramge's radiant eyes were upon him, the silly conical hat festooned with tinsel and star confetti Rera foisted on Ramge askew on his head like a jester's crown. He looked beautiful despite it. Rachel could say nothing more.
…
He didn't wait when Ramge was in danger. Maybe he should've, but by then, the Emperor was already dead.
It was the Emperor's own fault. He shouldn't have tried to take what belonged to Rachel; it was akin to a declaration of war between their nations. The only remorse Rachel felt was the loss of Ramge's peaceful life, but given the circumstances, that would've come sooner or later, though maybe not so violently. He wished Ramge had gained the courage to confide in him.
Regardless, it would work out. Ramge wouldn't have to fear his father's cage if he flew into Rachel's.
…
He waited in a sparse sitting room in this cold fortress at Ramge's behest, eager to see him again. It had been the longest he had gone without seeing Ramge since they had become friends. He wanted nothing more than to touch Ramge and hold him tight and never let him out of his sight again. Earlier, he couldn't indulge his impulses with those annoying strangers around, so now he impatiently paced about as he waited for Ramge to arrive.
Tomorrow, Rachel would take him straight to Saint West—no arguments accepted—and all would be well. He had been anxious when he couldn't locate Ramge after their parting that fateful night in Lenombe; he had become even more anxious upon discovering Ramge was headed north toward his homeland and not south to Saint West, as they had agreed. He didn't understand what Ramge was thinking.
Rachel paused by the lone, barred window overlooking the courtyard of the bleak fortress and watched a troop of soldiers march through the snow as ghostly sounds of revelry wafted from the central hall. Downy flakes filled the hollows their footsteps made in the snow until they disappeared, returning the courtyard to a pristine slate. Rachel had never seen snow like this. It didn't snow in Saint West and Lenombe's winter consisted of frost and slush. Here, the snow fell and stuck, an unpleasant, starry powder which muffled and blanketed and blinded, hiding many secrets in its frozen white embrace.
Another troop of guards crossed paths with the first. Rachel knew the fortress lay on the border, but there did seem to be an excessive amount of soldiers on patrol—more than necessary for a banquet for the lord's nephew and his guests. Rachel's paranoia watched their movements, attributing them with sinister purpose, and as always, Rachel deferred to it.
A soft sound like muffled snowfall came from somewhere behind him, carried on the wings of bloodlust which brushed the hairs on his neck to attention. His eyes flicked to the reflection of the room in the window. His grin knifed through what he saw.
Assassins were his favorite.
…
Since Ramge didn't come, he went to Ramge. Sheltering behind his sister on that cold, white mountain, Ramge wouldn't look at them—at him.
Rachel had waited all this time and… hahaha, that fool wouldn't come because despite everything Rachel had shown and taught him, Ramge was still a coward.
Did Rachel need to kill Shufraken too?
But Rachel's ego was greater than his ability. Never had he been so humbled; the realization that, for all his strength, there were still others so much greater was frustrating as he remained bed-ridden from the almost mortal wounds delivered by the King of North von Frosty. How could Rachel protect anyone, much less himself, if he was still so damnably weak?
Patience was once foreign to him, but it was the one thing Ramge had inadvertently taught him and Rachel learned the lesson well. He could be good at anything when he put his mind to it and his mind had been filled with Ramge while in Lenombe.
Now the lesson was put to the test, since the only thing he could do was wait. Ramge had made his decision and Rachel had other problems and tragedies to attend to.
Rachel would wait. Rachel had accepted that he'd still wait (be waiting) even when the last shining star in the heavens flickered and died.
Someday Ramge would stop running away, even if it was at the end of the world.
…
A cataclysm had devastated the continent.
Rachel had long lost the familiarity of sleep. When he went out with a regiment of coalition forces to meet a potentially hostile army bivouacked across a field of neutrality, he thought he was dreaming. This Ramge standing under a banner of acquiescence before ragtag and hungry North von Frosty exiles didn't quite look like the Ramge Rachel knew. Part of his dark hair had turned to frost. A permanent crease furrowed between brows drawn low over steady if tired eyes. The bend of his neck was only from exhaustion.
But everything else seemed real: the smell of steel weapons under the acrid air, the scorching sun beating sweat from Rachel's flesh, the loud silence of nervous men wondering if they were to fight not dragons but an enemy kingdom, the burned earth beneath his boots as he broke rank to skeptically, hopefully, desperately approach that apparition, because even if he would wait forever, he didn't want to now.
Questing fingertips tentatively touched an arm, grasped firm its shoulder, and squeezed until Ramge flinched with a beloved, rueful expression. Convinced, relieved, comforted for the first time in a long time, Rachel jerked Ramge forward, swallowing him in a hug and pressing his face into Ramge's unforgotten warmth.
"I missed you," Rachel choked out, his chest as tight as his grip. "Welcome back."
Hesitant hands crept up his back before clutching tight, digging and bruising, as if the unrestrained, loving greeting was finally enough for Ramge to accept what Rachel (had always) offered.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting."