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It’s always too dark and too damn cold. That’s what Alanna comes back to every morning like this. She always has to leave early to get the most travel in before dark, and even in the summer it’s just plain cold.
George is still asleep, though he won’t be for long. She knows he probably stayed awake even longer than she did. He’s still curled around her like he can protect her (or maybe keep her), his warm strong arms automatically pulling her back in when she tries to sit up. Gods she wishes she had a choice.
She wishes she was the sort of person who could let others do what needs doing. Wishes she could slip back into George’s arms and forget. In the quiet dark last night her memories of the last war had blended into what she knew of this one and she hadn’t been able to escape the vision of Scanran war parties carrying her younger son off to who knows where, or the screams as strange magic destroyed villages.
Somehow, though she’s certain she didn’t move or make a sound, George wakes and knows what’s on her mind. He sits up too, wraps an arm over her shoulders, kisses her temple.
“Ye can’t stop it just by thinkin’ about it, lass. Let it come when it comes.” His voice is sleep-cracked and deep, a comforting weight to it that eases her bones.
Alanna just shakes her head and leans into his bulk.
“It’s our last mornin’ together for a long while, and ye’re spending it all gloomy”
That gets her to crack a smile, and to both of their surprise, tackle him into the pillows while attempting to tickle him. He’s not ticklish and there’s nothing she can do about that, but he startles into laughter and picks up a pillow to wap her in the face.
She grabs her own for revenge and soon they’re laughing madly and tumbling around like children and Alanna definitely thought she was fit enough to not have sore muscles from a bit of laughing.
They’re interrupted by Telin the serving girl coming to make sure they’re awake for breakfast. She stops dead in the doorway and stares at the lord and lady all rumpled and covered in feathers.
George remains adaptable to everything and merely says “We’ll be along in a minute, thank you Telin.”
She flees without a word, and they erupt back into laughter.
Alanna is no longer sure what they’re laughing about, only that it feels so good and she never wants this to stop. But George is already getting up and finding his breeches.
“So you forfeit then?” Alanna asks, grinning and brandishing her pillow.
George scoffs. “Of course not, you’ll just have to come back and finish this in a few months. Something to keep you from finding a pretty new lad with a big sword.” He winks at the last bit, like a scamp.
She rolls her eyes, but also steps closer. He wraps her up in a hug without a word.
“I’ll keep those lads busy chasing Scanrans so they don’t have time to think about the size of their swords.” She mutters into his chest. He smells like wool and fresh air and wood smoke and she feels like a silly child who’s scared of getting homesick (nevermind that as a child homesickness was the last thing on her mind).
“Aye, that you will. And you’ll come back safe to me. I’ll be upset with you if you get yourself killed out there.” His voice is gruff with the same tightness as she has in her throat, and he squeezes her like he’ll never let go.
They sit for a long moment, soaking up the feeling of being together and home. The sky is brighter than it should be when they let go, and they have to rush to breakfast and to grab the rest of Alanna’s things.
At the gate, George gives her one last kiss, sweeping and dramatic and accompanied by the usual whistles and cheers. It’s a Swoop tradition, after all.