THE ARCANA - preferences and Scenarios

20. When He Is In The Military.

Asra: You knew it was coming: he had to leave. His Squadron had been ordered to Nevivon, to battle with an avaricious Lord that sought to dismantle the monarchy.
For days, Asra has been at your side, every moment of the day, and night desperate to avoid parting.
But is was no use.
As the church bells tolled nine times, he sighed, straightening his uniform, and standing.
You rose with him, flinging yourself into his arms, and stifling a sob in his shoulder.
"Shh, it will be alright.. I will return in six months."
Six months.
With rivulets burning down your cheeks, he places his hands either side of your face, turning it upwards.
His mouth crashed onto yours, kissing you passionately, sorrowfully.
Through your gasped breathsl, you heard him say," I love you."
And he was gone.

Julian: Six months he had been absent, fighting as a general and aiding the medics on the field. For six months, you had received a letter every three days, covered in his scrawling handwriting.
Each letter, you had pressed your lips to, and wiped away your tears, that you might read  the epistles clearly.
You thought this over, as you walk towards the harbour, catching a glimpse of a large ship in the distance, from over the hill - at which your heart quickened.

Julian is coming home.

A notion that both tore at your lineaments with joy, and compelled you to invert and wail.

Just another turn, and you find yourself on the small jetty that runs a couple of metres into the sea : blue, and cool.
The ship approaches, and you see a hoard of soldiers gathered on it's deck, some with lascerations scarring on their faces, others missing limbs, but some, physically unharmed.
There is a cheer, a universal manifestation of gratitude conmingled with relief, and happiness.

The world seems to blur as the ship is pulled into the wharf, and tied at its berth. You stand, with your hands clasped to your breastbone, Julian's weighty black coat, folded in the crook of your elbow.

Everything becomes clear.

And you see him.

In front of you: not ten yards away. Your eyes meet, his, steely yet warm, yours, stinging with incipient tears.

Crying his name, you run towards him, and throw yourself onto his arms. "Y/n! Oh, my love.."
He Catches you, swiftly tucking your legs behind his back, and smoothing your hair, rubbing a gloved hand along your cheek.
"I am here now, my darling.. I am returned.."
He uttered into your ear, his tone soothing and rich.

Tangling your hands in his titian hair, you pull his mouth to yours, and kiss him.
Your need for him has been denied satisfaction for a halfyear, and you would waste no time in making up for lost time.

Your lips breaking apart, you quickly push back, hopping back to the ground, and surveying - scrutinising - him.
His navy uniform fit tightly to his form; his broad chest and shoulders, his lithe limbs,  and muscled back, all seemed alright.
Prodding his chest, eliciting a laugh, you say, "You didn't get hurt?"
He replies with a shake of his head, and a, "many men did get injured, killed even, but that is because they did not have anything worth living for."

"You see, my darling, I do."

With a tender smile, he lifts you into his arms again, this time bridal style; you melt into his chest, heart swelling at the sensation of his hold.

As you reach the front door, Julian pauses, meeting your gaze with a rakish smile.

" Now, ohohoho, my love, I think we have some unfinished business to attend to."

Then, pushing open the door, he leads you to the bedchamber, places you on the bed, shuts the curtains, and tears off his clothes.

That was rather long, I apologise :)

Muriel: A large, carved bow slung over his shoulder; hair smoothed, hands gloved, and feet booted, you watch your husband prepare himself.
All the while, you long desperately to fall into his embrace, and beg him not to go, alas, little can be done.
He turns to you, eyes brimming with a thousand unspoken words, however, he remains silent as he envelops you in his arms, enhaling deeply.
"I will be back soon, I promise."
Pressing a solemn kiss to your temple, his hold of your hand lingers till he is fully out of the door.
Once he is gone, you collapse to the floor, and stifle your tears in Inannas thick pelt.

Lucio:
You have been stood sentinel  at the window for hours, nervously anticipating the arrival of the General's carriage; waiting see it hasten up the winding driveway, to the blaring trumpets of the court.

At last! It arrives, and a courtier, with a vehement burst of latch and panel, enters to bid you come downstairs immediately for "The Master is home."

You fain oblige, tightly wrapping your heavily embroidered shawl around your shoulders as you fly down the stairs, almost tripping over the longs skirts of your gown, in your glee!

You reach the hall as the front doors are opened, and rush at the entrant, crying your husbands name, as you throw your arms about him.
By your force, he stumbles and falls, laughing tremendously, as he pulls you on top of him.

"My love, oh Y/n!" You feel his smile against your cheek, but you only laugh, unsure whether the jerking outburst is instead a deluge of tears.

"You know not the horrors I have faced!" Lucio begins to sit you upright, as you clung to his chest, aware of how much you had really missed him.

He lifts a gilded finger to brush away your tears, perfect hair now falling into his face, as he leans forward, waggling his eyebrows.
"..I had to survive months without you - without satisfaction, you see. "

His grin is genuine, and alloyed with an inexpressible sadness, yet so, so, happy.

You had forgotten happiness..

Nonetheless, you quickly get onto your knees, between his legs, and sweep your gaze over his form, for any damage.
Of Course, he had gained a considerable amount of muscle, which strained against his generals black-and-silver uniform - but no wounds were visible.

He looks up at you in confusion, " Do you really think I, your noble, beautiful, incredibly skilled husband would get injured."
When you do not reply, he laughs, throwing his head back, as flashing two rows of pearlescent white teeth.

Then, seeing that you do not share his mirth, he quiets, takes you gravely in his arms, and whispers," I could never : I have you, our baby ; all of vesuvia to care for."

"I will always come home to you."

Consul Valerius: In vain had you attempted to stay awake till the gloaming - to welcome your husband home, with a bottle of the finest, vintage, wine you could supply, so when he slipped into the mahogany panelled parlour, and removed his dark jacket, you did not stir.

You had fallen asleep: and were nestled into one if his grey tunics, with his brooch still at your throat. Beautiful.. For a fleeting moment, he watched you, contemplating whether  or not to rouse and replace you in your bed, desperate to, himself, experience slumber.

Deciding on the negative, he retrieved a blanket from a nearby cupboard, carefully placing in atop you, then, slipped beside you, winding his arms tightly around your form.

Gingerly brushing a strand of hair from your face, he pressed a tender, forlorn, kiss on your brow, and whispered "Goodnight." into the silence.