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| Details |
| Author: | Luridel |
| Summary: | Gardenia's husband Amadeus returns home. The next day, the world shatters. ~2400 words. Character death. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Gardenia's husband returns home from the war late in the evening, when the children have been put to bed and Gardenia herself is in a nightdress and her dressing gown. Mr. Ancour has gone to sleep, and so there is no one to answer the door. Gardenia is sitting in the kitchen drinking a glass of water when she hears the knock at the front door.
The bells tolled ten in the evening not long ago.
Gardenia could go to Mr. Ancour's room and wake up the butler, or any of the servants, really, but something makes her hesitate. Something makes her creep to the front hall and peek out a window.
The man she sees is tall, illuminated partially by the street lamps from behind. She sees a glimpse of blonde hair and feels a surge of bitter joy in her chest. Amadeus is not looking at her, he is looking at the door. As she watches, he lifts a hand to knock again, at much the same polite volume as before.
She had the locks changed, Gardenia remembers suddenly. After the break-in, she thought it was best to have the locks changed, and now her husband is trapped outside of his own home.
Last week, Amadeus had written to her to tell her that he survived the war, and his letter had indicated to her that he would be home before the end of the month.
The month isn't over yet, Gardenia thinks, feeling the bitterness surge up to her throat and swallowing it back. He's not late. Just not as early as she might have hoped.
Amadeus hasn't seen her yet. He goes to try his key in the lock once more, and finally Gardenia feels that bitterness fade into remorse. She could have run to greet him the moment she saw him, overjoyed at seeing her husband alive and well, and instead she's standing here watching him try and fail to enter his own home.
Things will be different now, Gardenia tells herself. It's been a long campaign. Surely the army will allow him some time to rest and be with his family before he gets called back to fight the Horde.
She lets the curtain fall and goes to the door. She hears the wrong key scratching at the lock and looks through the peephole.
Amadeus has a new scar. This one cuts through his eyebrow, and it looks rather dashing, certainly more appealing than the one on his chin.
Again, that remorse: she is stalling, and whatever for? Gardenia opens the door.
Amadeus blinks at her in faint confusion, followed by recognition. "Lady Gardenia," he says, his voice deep and with an unexpected reverence to it. "My wife." It sounds, if Gardenia is being honest, almost as if he is trying to reconnect those two ideas back together. Yes, Lady Gardenia is his wife.
Gardenia can sympathize. "Lord Amadeus," she says in return. "My husband." She reaches out to take his hands, clasping them together with her own, around the ring of keys he holds. She sees something in his eyes - grief, perhaps, or a deep fatigue, or both - before it softens as he looks at her.
"Welcome home," Gardenia says. At the same exact time, Amadeus says, "Devotion is dead."
"Pardon me," Amadeus says, as Gardenia asks, "What was that?"
They share a look.
Gardenia says, "I'm sorry, go ahead," while Amadeus says, "Please, you first."
There's a brief silence, and then Amadeus chuckles. He steps fully into the house, closes the door carefully and silently behind him, locks it, and pulls Gardenia into an embrace. It feels unfamiliar at first. He smells different than he used to. Now it's like winter pines. "My horse, Devotion, fell in the battle of Icecrown Citadel."
Devotion - formerly a paladin charger, Amadeus' horse for the past five years. The sorrow in his voice is as deep as if he's telling her that his son died. Amadeus probably had a closer bond with that horse than he has with his actual son now.
"I'm so sorry," Gardenia whispers to him.
Amadeus leaves his coat in the hall, trades his outdoor boots for a pair of indoor shoes, and together the two of them walk upstairs to the hall that contains the master bedrooms. Amadeus' door is first, and then Gardenia's, and he walks her to hers. He gives her a chaste kiss on the forehead, whispers good night, and withdraws into his own room.
There is a door that connects the two bedrooms, and it is shut. Gardenia moves to stand by it and listens as Amadeus presumably unpacks some of his belongings, perhaps gets ready for bed. He is quiet, but not silent. Gardenia waits for what might be close to ten minutes before she realizes that she left her water downstairs, and just as she begins to walk away from the adjoining door to go fetch it, she hears a polite knock from behind her.
Gardenia does not hesitate, this time - she turns back and opens the door, looking up at her husband.
Amadeus has dressed for bed in a pair of dark blue silk pajama pants and matching short-sleeved pajama shirt, buttoned down the front, and he looks lost and uncertain. Behind him is the master bedroom, kept in pristine condition by the servants for his return, decorated with sheets and furniture in the dark blue of the Alliance. On his desk sits a small portrait of a younger Gardenia holding an infant Arnie, as well as one of his bags made of some kind of expensive Northrend cloth. The bookshelf holds a single row of books, one copy of every book that Gardenia has ever written, flanked by two gargoyle-like bookends. Gardenia suspects he has never read them. The hearth is cold and unlit, but the temperature has warmed enough outside this month that a fire is no longer necessary. The windows are shut; the curtains drawn.
Behind Gardenia is her own room, the large bed with its lavender canopy and matching furniture. Her own writing desk is clean of anything but her writing materials, although many of Arnie's childish drawings have been hung up on the wall above it. Stacked on the small table next to the two-person loveseat are a small pile of children's books, Arnie's favorite bedtime stories that keep getting moved between his bedroom and hers. The fireplace in her room is unlit as well, but the window is open, and a faint breeze stirs the curtains.
"I know the hour is late," Amadeus says in a low voice. "It has been a long year, and I confess my memories of you have… faded, as memories do, during that time."
It's been longer than a year since they've seen each other. Gardenia took the children to the harbor to wave when the icebreaker departed. She remembers that she stood in a crowd of other families and watched the ship disappear on the horizon and thought about how many of those soldiers might be coming back one day.
"If it would not be too great of a presumption, Lady Gardenia, I would like to renew our familiarity."
It's the vulnerability with which he speaks that keeps Gardenia from laughing. Amadeus has always seemed terribly brittle when it comes to more personal matters. She takes him by the arm and steers him to the loveseat, where he sits down on the left side. His posture is perfect, his back straight. He does not recline into the cushions even the slightest bit.
Gardenia sits down sideways in his lap.
The noise Amadeus makes is a strangled gasp, and he freezes for a moment before very gingerly setting a hand on her hip. His right hand, resting on the seat cushion, clenches into a tight fist.
"Every time you come home I have to teach you how to relax all over again," Gardenia says, amused.
"Yes," Amadeus says gravely, his eyes shining with subtle humor. "You do."
Oh, it would be so easy to love this man properly, if only he could give her time to do so.
"Relax." Gardenia kisses him. It's been too long for both of them, and Amadeus responds to her like a man who has been starving for so long that he doesn't know what he's allowed to eat any longer. He does not take the initiative to escalate the kiss in any way, but when Gardenia herself does so, he matches her at every step.
Amadeus Aspenwood is the most touch-starved individual Gardenia has ever met. Gardenia has her own circle of close friends, she has her children, and during the time that Amadeus is away, platonic companionship and innocent, friendly touches are commonplace for her. Arnie is still a snuggly boy who hasn't grown up enough to decide he's too old to hug his mother yet. Things are different for a man in the army.
There has never been any question of Amadeus' fidelity; the man would sooner cut off his own hand than dishonor their marriage. Of that, Gardenia has no doubts. And even with her, he restrains himself constantly, desperate to take anything she might offer him but reluctant to ask for anything he might want on his own terms.
But he was the one to come to the door, when she would have walked away. That counts for something. That speaks to how crushingly lonely he has been.
"Relax," Gardenia prompts him again. "I'm not made of glass, Amadeus."
His hand slides from her hip to her lower back, as he pulls her closer.
Gardenia doesn't know if she's the wife Amadeus would have chosen, but she's the wife he has. She's the only one he can touch like this. She doesn't know who he dreams of, who it is he longs for when they're separated. It might be her. It might be anyone.
"Lady Gardenia, may I… May I take your hair down?"
Gardenia had forgotten it was up, that she'd pinned it up with one of her usual floral clips before going to fetch her water. She laughs to herself, just a little, at the simplicity of the request. There's a faint flicker in his face, a micro-expression she can't quite catch - embarrassment? Shame? Does he think she's mocking him? "You may," she says with a smile, trying to reassure him.
His hand slides up her back, over the two layers of clothing she still wears, and she feels his fingertips brush the back of her neck before reaching behind her head and removing the hair clip. Her black hair falls only a little past her shoulders, smooth and straight.
"I see you've had it cut," Amadeus says, stroking her hair with that one hand. He doesn't sound disappointed, but some instinct tells Gardenia that he is, that he'd hoped her hair was longer.
"It'll grow back. Would you prefer it longer, my lord?" Gardenia cups his face in her hands, trying to hold eye contact.
Amadeus sighs, closing his eyes, and there's a long moment before he nods. "Yes," he says, honest to a fault. "I am very fond of long hair. But it is your hair to do with as you will, Lady Gardenia, and you need not change a thing about yourself to suit my own selfish preferences unless it suits yours as well."
Gardenia smiles, trying to set him at ease. "As long as my lord husband intends to be around to appreciate the length of my hair…"
"Light willing, the Horde will need time to recover from the losses of this war just as we do." Amadeus runs his fingers through Gardenia's hair, looking practically enchanted by the experience.
Bitterness creeps back into Gardenia's stomach. He's not done - he'll never be done. As long as there are wars to be fought, Amadeus will fight in them. She turns her face away and breathes carefully until the resentment has time to settle.
"Lady Gardenia? What troubles you?"
Gardenia shakes her head. "Nothing that matters tonight."
The Runaround is scheduled to be returning today. Knight-Champion Edson will be on that ship, and Amadeus wants to be there to welcome him back to Stormwind. The man has no family to return to, and is too proud for charity, but perhaps he will be able to accept dinner and a guest room for a time while he gets his affairs sorted out. Amadeus is there to offer.
Unfortunately, with the weather behaving as it has been, the ship's schedule cannot be trusted. Still, Amadeus makes his way down to the harbor in the late afternoon. It is a pleasant day, the sun warm on his skin.
Amadeus himself came home by mage portal. He is accustomed to the privilege of portal travel, but he knows there are many who are not, either for financial reasons or more worldly and reasonable fears. The Nexus War was a deeply traumatic experience for many.
His thoughts drift a little as he stands by the docks, watching the waves. Ms. Landry has returned to Redridge, and without his aide, he feels a little unorganized.
He is tired. He did not sleep much last night. It felt foreign, his wife's bed with his wife in his arms, and he did not wish to wake her by retreating to his own room.
His son, Arnold, has been doing well with his schooling. He is a clever, lively boy. His daughter, Beatrice, is not old enough to have accomplished anything remarkable, but she is speaking now. Lady Gardenia is pleased to have him home, as far as Amadeus can tell. Perhaps she will wish to be intimate again tonight, but Amadeus will not be the one to ask. It was difficult enough last night.
Out in the waters he sees a ship approaching. It looks to be an icebreaker; Amadeus cannot see at this distance whether or not it is the Runaround.
The sun is starting to set by the time the ship gets close enough for Amadeus to read the lettering - yes, it is the one he's waiting for. Docking will take time. He closes his eyes, listening to the sound of the ocean, thinking about whether he will get home in time for dinner with his family.
Screams.
Amadeus' eyes snap open, and he reaches for his halberd, which is not there. The water is gone. Did he fall asleep on his feet? He shakes his head, blinking roughly, and the water is still gone. He looks out to sea and sees a massive wall of water, a cresting wave.
Hallucinations, he thinks. He'll have to report this to a chaplain. They won't want him in the field if he isn't mentally sound.
The wave crashes down.