I don’t know whether I’m the first to write them since KoA but I stan these stubborn nerds. Also:
And now I shall sleep. Enjoy!
“Are you sure you want to help me do this?” Borte’s grandmother scoffed, even as Yeran had to steady her climb through the pass to the top of the mountain. The sulde’s (some new and stained black from the recent war, some old and weathered and clean) stood firm against the late spring snow storm that had shocked them all last week. Yeran had braved the storm with the Eridun tribe matriarch, his furs tucked tight against his neck. But this was for Borte, so he’d brave it a hundred times over.
“This is for my granddaughter. And her mother.”
He hadn’t expected Borte’s confession a month before. It was the first time they’d seen each other after the war, after they’d agreed to take time to heal, to truly think on whether they wanted this marriage or whether they would be forced into it. They were cuddled in his bed when she confessed that she hadn’t wanted to get married without her mother beside her. As fathers were held in the highest regard in his tribe (an honour he would love to have, if Borte decided to grant him such) mothers were the most important people to Borte’s clan. They were also who walked their daughters down the aisle. Borte had said it was fine, that her grandmother could just give her away, but he knew her and knew it bothered her.
So he trudged through the thick layer of fresh snow with Houlun behind him, guiding him to where her daughter’s sulde was buried in the snow, the horsehair blowing in the wind.
“Are you sure I’m allowed to do this?” He pulled her to a stop just before they reached it. Houlun watched him for a second before sighing and looking at her daughter’s sulde.
“Before her mother’s death, Borte used to take every opportunity to watch any and all weddings. She used to drag Dochin with her, would glow when she saw the mothers giving their daughters away. That light died the day Dochin did. So if you think that doing this will bring back that light, then I will help you do it.”
They stopped at the sulde and Houlun nodded. Yeran placed his gloved handles around the pommel and pulled, feeling the snow give way.
Borte sat at the dresser as Nesryn stood behind her, letting out the braids she had slept in. Borte had noted last night how odd it was to have her commander and almost empress doing her hair for the wedding. But Nesryn had insisted that Borte let her be maid of honour. Her grandmother had arrived minutes ago, with stray pieces of snow in her hair. Borte didn’t ask, dismissing it for the storm that she knew would blast through the mountains last night.
She stared at the mirror and blinked. She was happy, she was. She was surrounded by her friends (even Aelin had shown up, even when Borte hadn’t expected it) and marrying the man she loved...
but her mother wasn’t there.
Just before Aelin started the soft paletted makeup Borte had asked for, a knock sounded. Nesryn opened the door to a young warrior holding a long, thin box in his arms.
“Captain Yeran asked that this be given to Miss Borte for her to wear down the aisle. He says that he knows it may not go with whatever she wears but he would like her to have it for today,” Nesryn took the package and laid it out on the only space it would fit. The floor.
Borte crouched next to the box, her dressing gown pooling around her, and ran a hand over its lid before closing her fingers around the latch and opening it.
To reveal her mother’s sulde in red velvet. She lifted it out by the hilt and laid it into her palm, making sure not to cut herself. She didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, instead choosing to pick up the note written in Yeran’s handwriting in the bottom of the case.
Borte,
You told me that you wanted your mother walking down the aisle with you and as much as I wish I could bring her back in order to meet the woman who raised you to be the beautiful and strong individual you are today, I sadly cannot. But I still wanted you to have her with you down that aisle.
Plus, I think it would be pretty excellent to see you walking up to me with just a sulde at your hip. Although I would love you either way.
I’ll see you soon,
Yeran
She didn’t realise she was crying until her grandmother was wiping the tears away.
“Today is a happy day, my love. And she wouldn’t want you to be upset,” Borte looked up with a small watery smile. All she had wanted to marry was someone who listened to her, understood her. She wouldn’t have expected him to go above and beyond just listening to her wishes. But this was...
“I’m not sad. Not at all... how far did he go to take this? Was this why he wanted the wedding here?” Houlun smiled and held her shoulder.
“That man would go to the ends of the earth for you. And yes, that was why. So that you couldn’t talk to her last night, so he could bring her to you,” Borte stood and walked to the cupboard that held her sulde sheath. She replaced the suldes before approaching her grandmother and hugging her.
“I love you but... I... I... I think the aisle belongs to me and her,” all Houlun did was kiss her forehead.
“Why do you think I helped him?”
Yeran was nervous as shit. His hands were sweaty and his chest felt tight as a hundred and one terrible possibilities raced through his head, most of them involving Borte realising that she deserved better than him and leaving on Arcus (ignoring the fact that Arcus was behind him at the altar.)
Who knew weddings were this scary. Especially when Houlun came into the hall and down the aisle by herself. The music started and Aelin Galathynius waltzed through (how Borte managed to get her as a bridesmaid, he’ll never know) followed by one of her fellow Eridun clan riders and then Nesryn.
And then Borte appeared, radiant as the glowing sun from the cave mouth just behind her. She had thin flowers braided into her black hair and she wore...
A white dress. He had said last year, when this betrothal had been new to both of them, that there was no way he ever thought she’d wear a dress.
She always could surprise him.
The dress sat across her collarbones and was translucent lace reaching to the top of her breasts where it then became beautiful white layers. The dress fell in soft waves into a short train that flowed behind her. But the most jilting thing was the fact she was alone. Except for the sulde at her hip, juxtaposing the rest of her golden visage. She looked truly heavenly. His mouth pulled into a bright smile at the sight of her and she smiled back, all the love in the world shining in her eyes.
She reached him and he took her hands. Yeran couldn’t tell whose hands were shaking more as his father began the ceremony.
“Thank you, by the way,” he had been leading her in their first dance together when she had said it.
“Whatever for, Borte?”
“You know what for. My mother’s sulde,” he leaned down to place his forehead against her own, keeping them moving all the while.
“I don’t need thanks for making you happy. I’d do it even if my reward was you spitting in my face. Like with the Sartaq incident,” he spun her out under his arm and then pulled her back in closer, the flowers tickling his forehead.
“In my defence, I was still really pissed at you and your father. And I wasn’t in love with you then,” Yeran smiled, that soft smile that she loves so dearly, the one that says I love you with my life. She gave him a soft kiss before letting him spin her again.
Yeran closed the door behind them as Borte stood at the dresser in his room and kicked her heels off, sighing as her feet laid flat on his rug covered floor. She began to pick at the braid holding the flowers in her hair but Yeran walked up behind her and stopped her hands, laying a kiss on her neck.
“Leave it. Every goddess needs a crown,” she blushed. But he just kissed her neck again and again until her head leant back to rest against his shoulder. His fingers made circles on her lace clad hips.
Borte went to reach for the buttons at her back but he stopped her again.
“I’ll get it, my love,” Yeran moved her hair over her shoulder and kissed the back of her neck and then slowly lower and lower as he unbuttoned her dress, stopping only when he seemed to notice something. “You seem to be missing an article of clothing, Borte,” she laughed and planted her hands on the dresser in front of her.
“I’m not wearing underwear either,” Yeran made a sound similar to a wheeze.
“What?”
“Well, it’s the only time anyone’s going to see me in a wedding dress and I refuse to have lines in such a tight dress.” She turned and Yeran sank to his knees. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”
“It is the first time that we’re married.” She ran a hand through his hair.
“Well then, I expect you to make it count,” Yeran smirked, raising to his feet, his hands skimming her sides as he went.
“You know I will,” Borte turned back around and he undid the rest of the buttons before pushing the dress down until it pooled on the rug. She turned to him and looked up and down him.
“You are still unfortunately clothed. We need to change that. Now,” she pushed his suit blazer off his shoulders and began to attack his button up while he got his pants off. It had been weeks since they had had time to do this and she missed him. Missed the feel of him.
She ran her hands over his bare shoulders, learning him again. She dragged her hands into his chest and guided them down, down.
Before she could get too far, Yeran scooped her up, letting her legs wrap around his hips, and kissed her, softly, passionately as he walked them to the bed and laid her down, her hair spreading around her like a halo and her flowers a crown. She truly was a goddess. Yeran couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that she was here, that she was his wife, that she would be with him and he with her for the rest of their lives.
He kneeled on the floor, moved one of her legs to sit on his shoulder and kissed the inside of her thigh, sending shivers running down her spine as moved closer and closer to where she wanted him. Borte let out a small whimper at the feeling when he reached the apex of her thighs, her hand coming down to grip his hair as he licked up her slit experimentally. She was so, so wet that it was easy to work her open with his tongue, relishing the taste of her as she mewled, her hands tightly fisted in his hair, her leg wrapping around the back of his neck as she shook above him.
It took nearly no time at all for her to find her release and he yet he still kept going until she came again. He was going to keep going but she pushed him away by the hair, her thighs closing when he was removed from between them. Just watching her had him hard, as it had for a long time.
There was only one version of Borte he liked better than a sex-sated one. And that was Borte on her ruk, her braid whipping in the air behind her as her and Arcus raced alongside him. That was a Borte readying for war.
But if there was ever a Borte that blurred the lines between the two, this was it. And his heart felt like it was bursting with the love he felt for her. It was so full it almost hurt.
A red blush spread from her cheeks right down to her breasts that heaved as she tried to catch her breath. He leaned over her to kiss her and she held his cheeks in shaking hands.
“Yeran,” she was breathless as he kissed her neck, gently biting, not hard to break skin, just enough for it to be a mark tomorrow morning. Her hands found their way back into his hair as he moved down to kiss her still-heaving breasts. “Yeran,” she gave a soft tug and he looked up at her. She was his goddess and he wanted to spend the rest of his life worshipping at the altar of her body. She pulled him up to kiss her, opening her thighs to let him settle between them. He moved a hand from her ribs to gently rub her clit. Borte hit his hand away. “Stop teasing, you ass, and… and make love to me,” his eyebrows shot up. Borte had never said anything like that. He didn’t think she knew how to be anything but rough-spoken in bed, but she had always surprised him when he didn’t think he could be surprised.
And, so, he listened. He lined them up and sunk in just his head, making Borte throw her head back, a moan being pulled from her lips. He sunk deeper and deeper, trying not to lose it at the feeling of her wrapped around him and just go hard and fast. No, he wanted to drag this out for her. He leant over and kissed her slowly as he began to rock in and out of her. Her hands found his back and held tight, her nails digging in, as if to steady herself against him. His kissed her, losing himself in the feel of her body, of the love he felt for her with every fibre of his being. He would never understand how she had entranced him so, but he doesn’t think he could have stopped it even if he had wanted to.
He pressed his forehead against hers, kissing her nose gently.
“Borte,” she met his eyes. He could tell that they mirrored the blown-pupil, lust-addled state of hers but he wanted to say what he had to say, without all the pomp and circumstance of their wedding. “I love you,” he thrust into her, pulling a whimper from her lips. “I think I was born to love you,” another thrust, “and I will love you until our lives end,” another thrust, “and I will love you even after that,” he kissed her and thrust again.
He laid his forehead against hers again and had her coming with a cry when he pressed his fingers against her clit. He thrust out his climax a second later, still trying to work her through hers, his lips on hers, her crown of flowers tickling his forehead, her fingernails digging into his shoulders hard enough to break skin, his name on her lips and her name on his.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Borte stroked his hair with her lithe fingers and kissed him softly as he lay above her, braced on his elbows.
“I love you. So much it makes it hard to breathe when I see you sometimes. God, I nearly had a heart attack seeing you when I came down the aisle,” she kisses his forehead as he finally has the strength to move. His wife lets out a tiny whimper as he pulls out of her. He kisses her before walking into the bathroom and wetting a small towel. He took care to clean them both up before sitting against his headboard and pulling her against his chest, beginning to gently unweave the flowers from her now severely knotted hair.
“I love you, Borte,” he murmurs against her neck when he’s finally done. He lays them down and pulls her to him, letting her place her head against his chest and sink into his warmth, falling asleep to the rhythm of their hearts beating in time.
Tomorrow, he thought as he ran a hand through her hair, we’re going to wake up and do this again, and then, we’ll start our lives together.
Yeran fell asleep cradling his wife in his arms, with a smile on his face and love in his heart.
