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“I spy something green.”
“Oh for Mahal’s sake, m’not playin’ this game with you again,” Dwalin growled, his accent even heavier with his frustration.
Kili ignored him fabulously, if Bilbo said so himself. “It’s not the grass.”
“Oh, well that’s a relief.”
“The trim on your horse, perhaps?” Legolas asked innocently, but the look in his eyes was a mischievous one.
“’Course you’d be on his side.”
Thorin snorted from where he rode beside Bilbo. They were in the middle of their caravan, Kili and Legolas to the front, with Dwalin right behind them, and Tauriel and Bifur bringing up the back. It was odd, given that the two should have been mortal enemies, though much had changed on the long journey across Middle-Earth. But Bifur’s quiet and almost calm demeanor, at sharp odds with the axe blade lodged in his skull, had left Tauriel apparently more eager to trail with him than the other dwarves. The elves on a whole were a quiet, contemplative race, and no wonder, with eternity stretched before them. Dwarves, on a whole, were quite the opposite.
Tauriel was more brash and outspoken than other elves that Bilbo had met. She, like Legolas, was young, and it showed. But when Tauriel tired of bantering with Gimli and Dwalin and any of the other dwarves, it was Bifur she would go to, or Bombur, who spoke few words but held a great heart behind them.
It was good to see a camaraderie between them, and Bilbo was more thrilled than any of the others, save for perhaps Legolas. It was good to see them all sharing a kindred spirit. Though they hadn’t shared everything: the elves hadn’t seen the long journey out to Erebor. And they certainly hadn’t been there when Thorin had almost killed Bilbo over the Arkenstone.
Bilbo pulled in a slow breath. There, he’d said it, or thought it. His husband, his Thorin, rode beside him, unaware of what Bilbo was thinking. And Bilbo shouldn’t be dwelling on the past, because Thorin had gifted him his pin once more, and they’d exchanged beads and rings, and they were married. Thorin loved him.
But perhaps Thorin was right. Perhaps Bilbo hadn’t let it go. Ever since they’d left the Shire, his thoughts would drift to Erebor and the Arkenstone. He wondered where it was, now, and he realized quite sharply that he didn’t know. He hadn’t the foggiest what Thorin had done with the stone. It wasn’t above the throne, and it wasn’t in the crown Thorin secretly detested wearing. Bilbo hadn’t seen it at all. And he’d never asked, because he hadn’t wanted to know. He didn’t want to think about the stone or Thorin dangling him over the wall’s edge or being banished or what he should’ve done differently-
“C’mon, just take a guess: I spy something green!”
“The back of your head after I’ve knocked you off your horse and into the grass,” Dwalin muttered.
Kili rolled his eyes. “It was that tree, far up ahead: the big one on the cresting hill.”
“They’re all green, Kili,” Thorin said incredulously. “All the trees are green.”
“But they’re not all that tree, now are they?”
Legolas grinned. Bilbo managed to choke back a laugh when Dwalin muttered something surely unsavory in Khuzdul, if the tone was anything to go by. Thorin just shook his head, but the amusement in his eyes was obvious.
“My turn,” Dwalin said. “I spy a nut.”
“That’s telling,” Kili protested. “You’ve got to give a more vague clue than that!”
“Kili,” Bilbo answered. Thorin coughed.
“Bilbo wins. Next?”
“Hey!”
The chatter went on and on, all of it filled with jokes and laughter, and it should’ve been a brilliant day. Even the rain had held off, though the sky looked gray. They were far away enough from Hobbiton to escape the worst of the storms, but rain would come. Still, even if it stormed, they would laugh and be cheerful and things would be good.
And yet Bilbo still couldn’t get the Arkenstone or the banishment out of his head. The past kept encroaching on his beautiful day where he was riding alongside kin, now, alongside his husband. There was joy to be had in Kili and Dwalin’s good natured ribbing and Legolas’s bright grin and Thorin’s soft laugh that remained one of Bilbo’s favorite sounds. Even Tauriel was calling out encouragement, baiting all of them with sharp remarks that made Dwalin grin even as he fired some back at her.
Yet the past remained.
So he focused on laughing with the others as best he could, though his lips felt too pursed and his face too tight. He put in a few comments of his own, earning more laughter, and he rode along as if nothing was wrong. He put his best mask on and smiled when he needed to, and if his smile was a little lackluster and never made it to his eyes, no one said a thing.
The large tree that Kili had spotted earlier in the day made a perfect place to camp for the night. The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon when they reached the tree, resting high above the rest of the terrain. With two elves whose eyes and ears could see and hear everything, Thorin held no worries about the coming night. No, he had other things on his mind.
Like Bilbo.
If Bilbo had been quiet and worried before the wedding, it was nothing compared to the forced cheer he was putting on now. There was almost a desperation in his eyes, his lips tight as if to keep something held back. And Thorin had a good idea what it was he was holding back.
The day following the wedding celebrations had dawned overcast with clouds and meddlesome hobbits, but Bilbo had still been of cheer. It had been hard not to smile when every hobbit had greeted them with congratulations and good wishes. Bilbo had smiled and laughed and been so spirited that Thorin had wanted to capture the moment, to always have Bilbo just like that. They’d been happy, so happy, those few days in Hobbiton.
They’d been happy as they’d set out, too. Gandalf had assured them that he would visit Erebor, when he had the chance, and they’d made it to Bree in good time. Then they’d set off down the road, all in high spirits. And somewhere along the way, Bilbo’s good cheer had slowly begun to disappear.
Thorin knew why. He’d even told Bilbo to do as much, or rather, to feel as much. The night of their wedding, with rain outside and tears inside, with the harsh words of his kin weighing on him, Bilbo had confessed to fear and doubts. Worries that Thorin had put there, when he’d banished Bilbo. Time had passed, love had been exchanged, forgiveness had been offered and taken.
But the past had been unspoken of, had been pushed aside into a darkened corner. The problem with that was it often grew until it was a raging beast that destroyed everything you built. Thorin had told Bilbo they would need to talk, to let Bilbo actually be mad at Thorin. Something he hadn’t truly done since Thorin had cast him aside all that time ago.
“More meat, Uncle?”
Thorin glanced at Kili, who held a pan in his hands. He shook his head, looking down at his mostly untouched meal. Bilbo also seemed to be poking at his, though he was doing so in a more convincing manner than Thorin was, as no one seemed to notice. “No, I’m quite fine,” Thorin said, and took a bite to prove it. It tasted delicious on his tongue, but weighed heavily once in his gut.
From across the fire, Legolas and Dwalin were both giving him sharp looks. Neither of them looked at Bilbo. And truly, it was so obvious that Bilbo was more distressed than Thorin, and yet they looked to him-
Because they knew. They knew that something was wrong with Bilbo, they all did. Yet they also wanted to leave him alone, to give him breathing room and space. A surge of affection flooded through Thorin in the wake of realizing the depth of their wisdom and kindness.
Except now, their silence had been noted, and Bilbo pushed his plate off of his lap and onto the ground. “Did I miss something?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, but there was that desperation again, and behind it, a small, flickering flame of anger. “Got wrapped up in the rabbit meat, sorry.”
“We, uh, were the same way,” Kili said, holding up the pan as if it were proof.
Bilbo gave him a disbelieving look. Kili gave him one right back. The burn of a possible future argument was starting to make the hairs on the back of Thorin’s neck stand up. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should begin setting out our bedrolls.”
“I’ll take mine beneath the stars,” Dwalin said. “Though there’s only a few to see, with that storm on the way. It’ll be nice to enjoy ‘em now: look like gems to me, the fairest gems you could ever find.”
“They are lovely,” Bilbo said, and he looked straight at Thorin, his face a mixture of a plea and a dare, Stop me and You asked me for this. “Gleam as bright as the Arkenstone, don’t they?”
The entire camp went silent, as if the name of the gem was too cursed to speak. Bilbo was shaking, minute trembles that Thorin could see even from the opposite side of the fire. His eyes were wide, as if he couldn’t believe he’d said what he had, but his lips were pursed with determination.
Well. Thorin had asked for it. The raging beast in the corner had finally awakened.
“Changed my mind: think I’ll set my bedroll down the hill,” Dwalin said, and as one everyone rose with him. Tauriel looked bewildered, more than Thorin had ever seen before, but Legolas and Bifur quickly took her with them as everyone left the fire. Thorin thought he saw Dwalin take some of the kindling with him, and two fires were risky, even in the safer areas around the Shire, but he couldn’t make himself voice anything.
For so long, everyone had crept around the Arkenstone, never bringing it up, never asking about it. Bilbo had barely spoken of it, and had certainly never inquired about it. To hear the word fall from his lips left Thorin almost cringing. It sounded… wrong.
Bilbo remained seated on the ground, his back against the log Dwalin had pulled over near the fire. His eyes were focused on his hands, and he was still trembling. He reminded Thorin of a wild animal, cornered and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Bilbo should never look like that, ever, and Thorin slowly rose to his feet, his own dinner long set aside. With every step he took, Bilbo seemed to shrink in smaller and smaller until there was simply a huddled mass of hobbit against the log.
He wondered if Bilbo had ever hidden like this along the path to Mordor, and that was nowhere he wanted to go. He couldn’t bear to think about it.
“I didn’t want to talk about this,” Bilbo said. His hands curled into fists in his lap, and his eyes stared at nothing. “But you put this idea in my head and now I can’t let it go-“
“Peace,” Thorin murmured as he knelt. He placed both of his hands over Bilbo’s, and some of the trembling stopped. It left Thorin encouraged: if he could still lend strength to his beloved, his husband, then they would be all right. “Speak whatever you need to.” Mahal knew Thorin deserved whatever Bilbo threw at him.
“I don’t want to say anything!” Bilbo hissed. He glared up at Thorin, but his eyes held a sheen of tears. “I want, I want it to be in the past, I don’t want to have to keep thinking about the Arkenstone and where it is and-“
“It’s in the vaults,” Thorin told him, and Bilbo stopped speaking so abruptly that Thorin almost feared for his teeth, given how they’d cracked together. “Fili put it in the vaults for me, after Bard returned it. I couldn’t…I couldn’t look at it.”
“Because you couldn’t stand the sight of it, or because you wanted to gaze at it?” Bilbo asked sharply. The tears in his eyes were gathering all the more, and some began to slip out to slide down his face, as if as an apology for speaking the words that had been stored for too long.
Thorin didn’t deserve the apology. These were words that should have been spoken long ago, for Bilbo’s sake. “Because looking at it reminded me of the true treasure I’d lost,” Thorin said. For a moment, his words seemed to settle Bilbo, and the Bilbo who had carried the Ring across Middle-Earth, who had married him just a few short days ago, was right in front of him. There was gratitude and love and awe, and Thorin felt as he had back in Gondor, when he had been reunited with Bilbo: unworthy of it but selfish, wanting the forgiveness Bilbo so easily offered, needing it. For a moment, it was all there.
Then in a blink he was gone, and the wounded Bilbo that Thorin had cast out was there instead, even angrier than before. “Was I your true treasure then, when you cast me out? Was I even a treasure of any sort before it happened?”
“Bilbo, you were-“
Bilbo pushed himself to his feet and began to pace in front of the fire. “You dangled me above the highest drop I’ve ever seen. You held hatred and fire and murder in your eyes, and that, that horrible sheen of goldlust that I knew was there just by looking at you! You would have killed me, all for a, a damned stone!”
Every word felt like a dagger in his heart. Thorin regretted even eating as much dinner as he had, feeling sicker with each word that tumbled from Bilbo’s lips. Part of him felt reassuring words rest on his tongue, words that would promise how much Bilbo meant to him, had always meant to him, that Bilbo shouldn’t doubt him now or ever. But they were hard to voice, in the face of such pain, especially when more pain continued to pour from his husband.
“You didn’t even listen! I was trying to save us all, to save you above everything else, because what else was I supposed to do? What else could I have done? I was just a hobbit who couldn’t do hardly anything-“
“That argument holds absolutely no strength anymore,” Thorin said, rising to his feet at last, “not when you singlehandedly carried the Ring of Power to Mordor and destroyed it. You are more than just a hobbit-“
“Not enough to even bargain between three leaders to stop a nonsense war,” Bilbo snapped. “Or to defend myself against you when you, when you cast me out and told me that our time together, your affections, all of it was just, just, just a-a trinket-“
He was fussing with his hair now, tucking it behind his ear over and over again as he babbled. Only after following Bilbo’s motions did Thorin realize he wasn’t tucking his hair back, he was playing with the marriage braid, his fingers gliding over the bead Thorin had woven into his hair. He was clinging to it, much as he had the wedding night, soaked and heart sick.
Thorin felt as if he was the one who was heart sick now. Some part of him tried to take hope from it, that Bilbo was clinging to his promise for security, that he believed in it enough and that they would come through the other side of this happy, loved. The other part felt wretched at the fact that Bilbo felt he needed to cling to it at all.
He finally moved towards Bilbo, almost reluctant to do so, for fear that he would frighten his husband. But Bilbo only planted his feet more firmly, refusing to move, even as his face grew more soaked with tears. And still more words fell from his lips. “If you’d thrown me from the highest part of the mountain, you wouldn’t have broken me as much as you had when you said everything you’d called beloved, everything you’d promised me was just some, some false promise, that I didn’t matter as much as that stone.”
“No,” Thorin insisted when he finally couldn’t take it anymore. “You matter more to me than any jewel, any gem, any kingdom on this earth.”
“But I didn’t then, did I?” Bilbo cried. He hiccupped and clenched his fists in front of him. “You wanted that stone more than me, and the thought that I had given it away-“
“I was wrong,” Thorin said, wishing now that he’d never urged Bilbo to think on what had happened. Because Bilbo looked more distraught, not relieved, with every word that he choked out, and Thorin felt so sick he thought he would never eat again. His chest felt tight, too tight, and he couldn’t breathe. He deserved every word Bilbo hurled at him, like a well placed arrow through his heart.
But this was Bilbo not throwing words anymore, but stumbling with them, losing his grip on them to his grief, and that was so much worse. This was Bilbo breaking after carrying this poison around for so long.
And the terrible thought that, perhaps, their short marriage would not survive this night suddenly came to mind, and Thorin thought he would die.
“I could’ve, maybe, given you up if there h-had been someone else,” Bilbo said, voice hitching with each breath, and Thorin felt his heart drop in his chest. “Someone else you cared for, someone else that was a dwarf and better than me, but I was competing with gold and a stone, and you banished me, you pushed me aside like I was n-nothing. I was, I was nothing to you, and you don’t know how it felt. Even when we started the journey to Erebor I was at least someone, though not anyone you wanted on the quest, but that day I was an enemy, someone to loathe and despise, and you had my heart, and I was just a no one, a creature you couldn’t stand, and it was, Thorin, it was horrible and I wanted to die.”
Bilbo choked out a sob, so loud and so suddenly, and he slapped his hand over his mouth to try and stop it. With it came another, a terrible thing that wracked his whole body. “I-I shouldn’t have d-done it,” he sobbed. “Should’ve, should’ve just g-given them m-my own gold to start with, shouldn’t have been so stupid, all my fault-“
Thorin swept him up in his arms, refusing to let him go on for another moment. “You may yell at me,” he said, and his throat tightened up as he spoke, barely letting his voice out. “You may rail and shout at me, but you may not pour the blame on my husband. Don’t you dare.”
Bilbo clutched at him, burying his face in Thorin’s tunic and sobbing so harshly his whole body shook. His knees buckled, and Thorin fell with him, refusing to let go. Each wet breath that Bilbo let out felt more painful than being stabbed, and Thorin shut his eyes when he realized they were burning. Tears splashed down his face, soaking his beard and the top of Bilbo’s hair.
“I was wrong, Bilbo, so wrong, and when I finally awoke from my stupor, you were gone and there was nothing but a cold stone there instead. My greatest treasure, my beloved, gone, and only myself to blame. There will never be anyone better than you, ever, no dwarf or man or hobbit who could take your place in my heart. The look on your face when I cast you out…Mahal, that memory will haunt me forever,” he choked out. Of the hazy memories under the goldlust, that one was vivid and too clear: the sheer agony on Bilbo’s face as he’d curled away from Thorin on the floor, the tears in his eyes…
“I’m so sorry,” Thorin managed. “Bilbo, beloved, I’m so sorry.”
Bilbo tightened his grasp but couldn’t seem to stop his terrible weeping. It was as if the pain had built until it could be held no more, and all of it was rushing out, unable to be contained within the small form of his husband. Thorin held on, as if he could somehow keep Bilbo together with just his arms and his will alone. It truly felt as if his husband’s life depended on his being there, his not letting go, his insistence to remain with Bilbo, and the thought that he held Bilbo’s life in his hands was terrifying.
The thought that he’d held Bilbo’s life in his hands before and had nearly thrown it over the edge of Erebor made his gut lurch. He swallowed it back. He couldn’t afford to be ill, not when it would make him have to let Bilbo go.
And there was nothing that was going to make him let Bilbo go. His husband, his beloved, his world.
Please let this have helped, he thought as he clutched at Bilbo, his husband’s keening cries shredding his heart apart. Please let this heal what I could not.
Please let me still have a husband at sunrise.
He whispered tender promises of love, of his heart, of the oaths he’d sworn to Bilbo under the heart’s tree. He whispered what he would do for Bilbo every day, if his husband would let him, and painted their future as a bright and glimmering path before them. He spoke until his voice cracked, from use and tears.
Then he hung on.
The sun would rise soon; he could feel it. It crept under his skin, a warmth that promised a sunnier, if cooler, day. The wind that whispered of a rainshower was still off in the distance, and if they kept at their steady pace, it would never reach them, for they would be near to Rivendell by then.
It was easier to think of the new day before Legolas instead of the night that had passed.
No one had slept. Bilbo and Thorin’s voices had risen, just enough for the dwarves to wince at the harsh tones, though they had not heard words. They had understood enough from the pain in Bilbo’s voice and the matching pain in Thorin’s.
Legolas had heard every word. He had tried to block it out, but every attempt to silence their voices had failed. He had seen Thorin’s pain, on the journey through Middle-Earth, and had heard Bilbo speak hesitantly of his own hurts and doubts. But to hear it was much different.
Tauriel had also heard everything, but had only known of their troubles through a brief history. She had not truly witnessed Thorin and Bilbo’s pain, having joined them only right before the final battle. If Legolas had heard their pain without having followed it, it would have stunned him and left him feeling even more bereft and chilled. Watching Tauriel huddle around herself had been almost agonizing to watch.
Apparently, the dwarves had felt the same. It had not taken them long to realize the reason for the elves’ pain, and they had immediately begun gently bantering with one another, reaching out to Legolas and Tauriel both. Dwalin especially had tried to engage her with light-hearted teasing, and when that had not elicited more than a quick nod, he had focused on speaking with her in quiet tones with reassurance.
It had been Bifur who had settled down beside Tauriel, resting a hand on her shoulder. Tauriel had pulled strength from the dwarf, and Kili had taken Legolas’s hands in his. Dwalin had mumbled about not having an elf to cuddle, then had cringed at his words, and finally Tauriel had let out a soft smile.
It had also helped that the words from the camp beneath the tree had stopped, and had only been replaced with a release of sorrow and grief. The torrent of hurt had been a long awaited release, and it had felt much as a cleansing of a wound would feel: a sharp pain followed by the slow steps towards healing.
But still they could not sleep. Legolas felt as if he were leaning against sharp needles, his nerves aching to go back to camp, to see if Bilbo was all right, to see if Thorin was well. Bilbo’s pain had been long coming, but Thorin had borne it all. No matter how deserving the truth had been, having it land on you could crush anyone.
“That’s it,” Kili finally said, pushing himself to his feet as everyone startled. “I’m going up there.”
“Kili,” Dwalin warned, but Kili was already off and hurrying for the hill. Dwalin cursed and also rose, reaching to pull Tauriel up with one hand and Bifur up with the other. Legolas was already racing after his betrothed, though Kili was ahead of him by quite a bit. The minute Kili crested the hill and disappeared from sight, Legolas gritted his teeth and moved all the more swiftly.
So swiftly, in fact, that he nearly collided with a stopped Kili at the top of the hill. “Kili,” Legolas said, but Kili held up his hand to quiet him. Only when Legolas looked beyond him did he understand.
There, lying beneath the tree, were Thorin and Bilbo. Both were wrapped around the other, Bilbo smaller than usual as he curled up within Thorin’s embrace. Thorin’s hand was brushing gently through Bilbo’s hair, and he leaned down to press a kiss to his husband’s forehead. Bilbo let out a sigh and tightened his grasp on Thorin’s hip.
The others had crested the hill by then, and their presence finally made Thorin pause to look up at them. Bilbo also glanced at them, and Legolas could see clearly what he had not been able to before: the red rimmed eyes, the tear-streaked cheeks, the weariness that hung about him like a cloak. Thorin looked no better.
But in their eyes was still life and a peace that had not been there before, and Legolas let out the breath he’d held. As much as he had feared a moment such as they had had the night before, they had come through the other side stronger than ever before. It was evidenced in the way Bilbo sat up and tugged Thorin with him, the way Thorin moved with Bilbo as they made their way to their friends.
Dwalin summed it up better than Legolas could have. “You both look the worst I’ve ever seen,” he said shortly. Behind his words, however, the elf could hear the concern.
“We’re fine,” Bilbo said, glancing at Thorin. Thorin smiled and moved his arm – his hand was still in Bilbo’s. Bilbo turned back to Dwalin and offered a sincere, if exhausted, smile. “We really are.”
“Except that it’s morning and none of us have slept,” Kili said, wiping at his eyes. The sight was endearing and left Legolas with the urge to press a kiss to each of his eyelids. “So now what?”
“We’re near to Weathertop,” Legolas said. “It will keep us safe from the oncoming rains and anything unsavory. It isn’t far.” Elves did not need sleep, not as often; he and Tauriel would keep watch.
“Pack up dinner,” Dwalin said. “It’ll make for breakfast well enough.”
“It’ll be cold,” Bilbo began to protest, but Dwalin shook his head.
“It’ll warm up. More seasoning, it’ll taste new. Unless you’re trying to tell me you ate yours last night?”
Bilbo finally sighed and shook his head. Dwalin patted him on the shoulder twice. “C’mon, we’ll get you fed, your majesty,” he added, as if unable to help himself. A snort came from Bilbo, a helpless grin growing on his face.
“’Your majesty’. I doubt I’ll ever get used to that.”
“You’ll have to; I have no intents on letting you go,” Thorin said. His voice was hoarse, possibly even more than Bilbo’s, though it had been Bilbo’s cries that Legolas had heard for many an hour. Listening to the heart-wrenching sobs that had faded into a few coughs and hitched breaths hadn’t been easy, and Legolas had wished peace for them both.
From the way Bilbo smiled up at Thorin, he was certain they had found it.
Tauriel came back with several packs, all wrapped and ready to go, and distributed them to their owners. When there were none but Thorin and Bilbo’s left, she surprised them all when she shouldered them. “The storm will be here soon,” she said, ignoring their startled protests. “We should go.”
“It would be easier with our packs-“
“Which I am capable of carrying,” she replied swiftly. She glanced at them, and in her eyes was the sorrow and the understanding of finally knowing their pain. “Carry one another. That I cannot do.”
Thorin blinked but, at last, gave her a nod of thanks. She even managed a small smile, though fleeting, and then she was off down the hill and back to the road. Bifur and Dwalin were right behind her, and Kili lingered long enough to ensure Bilbo and Thorin moved ahead before he took up the back, Legolas beside him.
His betrothed’s hand slid into his once they were on the road again, riding their horses off to Weathertop. “Will they be all right, you think?” Kili whispered.
Legolas glanced at the two ahead of him. Their horses rode almost impossibly close, and Legolas had a good idea that one horse would be left behind in Rivendell. Nothing would part them from one another again.
Perhaps they had the right idea. Legolas cherished the thought of riding with his betrothed, and the sudden memory of the pain from last night made him cling tightly to Kili’s hand. Kili frowned but returned the grasp. “Legolas?” he asked, worried.
Legolas smiled as the sun rose over the trees. “I think they’re already ‘all right’,” he said. The tension in Bilbo’s shoulders was gone, and Thorin no longer seemed as weary.
“I spy a cloud,” Tauriel said suddenly from the front.
“No, we are not doin’ that again-“
Even as Bifur chortled and clapped in amusement, even as Kili cheered her on and tried to guess which one, Bilbo let out the purest and brightest laugh that Legolas had ever heard. Thorin chuckled, but it was one of relief and joy, watching Bilbo as he threw back his head and laughed. When Bilbo glanced at his dwarf king, his eyes were still red, but there was trust, acceptance, and so much love Legolas thought he would cease to breathe. There had been so much pain pressed down within Bilbo, and hearing his fears, his self-loathing, his agony, made this new vision all the sweeter.
To see Thorin return the gaze with relief and open affection, his old regret and pain gone, was better than the fresh, welcome breeze that swept through and rustled their hair and cloths.
They were well. And the old and festering wound had been ripped open and set to heal the right way at long last.
END