wizard_howell | (no subject)

(no subject)

"You can open your eyes now, Sophie." Letting go of one of her hands, he takes in a deep breath of fresh air: he's led her to their flowers, to the very end of the path just before the ground turns to marsh. There, he's got a table covered in a fluttering white tablecloth. A single candle lights the scene; the table is laid out with place settings for two.

A pair of tree stumps have been fashioned into chairs; there's a crystal carafe filled with brandy next to the pair of snifters. Overhead, the stars glitter.

The night is perfect.

"I thought a few moments together. You've been working so hard and really, cariad, you deserve the very best."

Hopefully, this will be to her liking. It's a little bit safer than the trip to Zanzib, and a change of pace from an evening at the pub.

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To happily ever after, Sophie thinks, and grins, suddenly.

"As long as you don't forget to add in the hair-raising part, as well."

Their happily-ever-after may be happy, but even when Howl's being wonderful, like he is now - she is determined that she can't let herself be, well, overwhelmed by it. By Howl. She's seen more than enough women won completely over by his charm -

- but she's going to be his match. She won't be any good for him at all if she isn't.

"Hair-raising goes without saying. There's no reason happily ever after has to equate to dull."

In fact, he won't stand for that. As he serves out a portion of food onto her plate and then his, he gives her a sly little grin. "If we weren't under the restrictions the King has put down due to the impending war, I'd take you on another hair-raising adventure just now. But honestly, we oughtn't risk it."

One thing he doesn't like is having his hands tied, and both this war and being in service to the king do that effectively and without question. "But when it's over, I'll see to it that your hair gets raised on as regular a basis as you like."

Pepper that with tender, sweet moments like this and things might just be perfect.

Sophie takes a demure bite of potato, and says, serenely, "Who says it's my hair that will be getting raised?"

There's no doubt about it: if time with Howl is guaranteed to be anything, it's the opposite of dull. Either it's terrifying or heart-thumping or, as in recent days, just plain exhausting, but Sophie thinks she'll never be bored again.

Yn onest, if he has anything to say about it, any hair-raising taking place for Sophie will be a bit on the mild side. As he swallows a forkful of chicken -- he didn't do a bad job on it after all -- he watches her over the candlelight. The breeze is charmed to be quiet and warm so as not to disturb things.

He wants this moment to be perfect.

He needs it to be perfect.

What he hasn't told her (since she was so busy working and hardly noticed the fifth Royal Messenger of the day) is that the King has requested -- ordered -- him to Strangia, undercover, to... well, to spy. It's not a journey he particularly wants to undertake but he can't seem to find a way to slither out of this one: his hands are, regrettably, tied.

And he doesn't want Sophie to know: she's already got more than enough on her mind. This journey will be as perilous as his business with the Witch at midsummer... but he'll have less control.

"My hair, then. We already know how it looks under so many circumstances, don't we."

"It's not as if it's ever really been a color that's not natural," Sophie says, thoughtfully. "Black, gold, and ginger - really, you should count yourself lucky it didn't turn -"

An image of Ami appears in her mind.

"- blue, or purple! Though green would match your eyes."

She grins again, teasing.

The food is delicious, the breeze is mild enough that it's not doing a thing to disturb her hair, even without the protection of her hat, and Sophie is beginning to think that it is, perhaps, possible to have a perfect evening without something destroying it.

"You didn't know me in my wild days at university." Smug, he sits back and takes a sip of brandy: it's very good and it's a luxury these days in Ingary. Of course, he can pop round to Wales and get the things he wants, but then he has to risk Megan's wrath.

He'd rather go without most days.

"I'm teasing. I'd go with green for you, but I fear blue or purple wouldn't do a thing for my complexion." For someone who spends as much time in the bath as he does, he's got a good enough sense of his own style.

What he really wants is to marry Sophie -- sooner rather than later -- and while she's already said yes, she hasn't yet decided on a date. "How are the wedding plans going, or should I not ask? You have been awfully busy working on supplies for the King." His only regret in it is that this silly war is interfering with their lives, and he'd rather not have that happen, diolch yn fawr iawn ichi.

Sophie looks rather guilty.

(The trouble, she knows, is that either way she'd end up feeling guilty. This is the difficulty with being possessed of an overdeveloped sense of responsibility.)

"To be honest, I haven't had a moment to do anything with the wedding since the King started giving us work for the war - but of course it has to come first," she adds, with determined briskness. "It'll hardly do us much good to be married if Strangia comes marching in putting everything to waste."

Not that Howl couldn't just pick the castle up and move it - and some days, Sophie thinks he just might - but that would still leave her sisters and her stepmother and little Princess Valeria, and . . . no.

It's not an option.

He happens to think that the prospect of Strangia marching in putting everything to waste is a perfect excuse to be married sooner rather than later.

"Nothing you can say about war could possibly make me think that's more important than our own plans, Sophie." He's matter-of-fact about it; he's not accusing her of anything. They've both been busier than ever and he knows it. "If it were up to me, we'd have the wedding right here tonight."

It has nothing to do with his imminent departure for Strangia.

Nothing at all... or at least not much. It's just that for all his charm, all his wooing, all his flirtation, he's never truly been in love before. Where he used to get bored once the chase was over, things now couldn't be further from that truth: he wants to explore all manner of things, and he wants to do them all with Sophie at his side.

He loves her.

He's also never been big on following rules and protocol. However, Sophie is, and he'll bow to that; he doesn't want to see her unhappy.

"But it's not up to me, and I have the utmost appreciation for your wishes and the amount of planning a thing like that takes." All the appreciation in the world, however, can't keep him from reaching across the table to take her hand into his.

Sophie squeezes his hand, in a helpless sort of apology.

"I'm going to try harder to be able to - I want to be married as much as you do, you know I do."

She pokes viciously at a potato with the fork in her free hand. "But it's no good to rush it, either, and have it be all a muddle and us - all right, Howl, me - feeling guilty in the middle of it and the King likely sending to call us straight out again -"

If they're going to be married, they're going to do it right. And how can they do it right with times like they are?

He simply loves her.

"Don't frustrate yourself over it, Sophie. These things always have a way of... what is it, Michael?" One very red-faced apprentice comes huffing down the path, a scroll with the King's insignia evident on it.

"It just arrived, and they say it's urgent."

A small cloud flits over his face as he takes the scroll from Michael, dispatching him back to the castle with a wave of his hand: this is supposed to be their time, his and Sophie's. Still, he lets go of her hand long enough to open the scroll and read it; now a true cloud covers his eyes.

By decree from the King of Ingary, you are to leave for Strangia immediately.

The King doesn't like to mince words; Howl rolls up the scroll and tucks it away into a jacket pocket and turns back to Sophie, his jaw a little tighter, recapturing her hand.

"Point taken."

Sophie remembers herself enough to shout "Thank you, Michael!" as the flustered apprentice disappears, and then turns her attention to the parchment, squinting at the back of it as if hoping that will allow her to read what it says through sheer willpower.

"Well? What does it say? Is he sending over more shields? I could have sworn he said he wouldn't have the next batch ready for a few days -"

No shields; he shakes his head. "It says the King needs to see me right now."

It's only a little lie; he doesn't want to add to her worries by telling her he's off to spy in Strangia. As he runs his thumb over her hand, he shrugs a small apology. "It's a fine bit of timing on his part. Just when I was about to actually enjoy a quiet evening with my beloved."

His smile is wry -- no evening with him is ever really quiet and he knows that -- as he reaches for his napkin and presses it to the corner of his lips. "Be glad I don't have the guitar any longer. I might have tried to serenade you."

"You could try serenading the King," Sophie suggests, "and then perhaps he'll let you come straight home."

She looks up at him, and represses a sigh - at least it's nothing she did that ruined their evening this time, but still. Howl deserves this as much or more as she does.

"Don't let him keep you too late, all right? You'll - wake Michael."

"All right. Don't stay up waiting, cariad. I'll see you in the daylight."

He doesn't say which daylight, of course, because he has no idea when he'll be back. But he stands and leans over and plants a kiss on her lips both because he loves her and because it's easier than looking her in the face when he's lying to her.

No one's ever accused him of having an abundance of moral standing.

"Don't let your food get cold, my dear. I'll see you soon."

Sophie scowls at him, as he turns away, and repeats, "Don't be long."

Don't stay up waiting, my left foot! Sophie's hardly going to go peacefully to sleep after all this. Howl's not slithering out of telling her what's going on so easily as that.

She glares across at Howl's abandoned plate. If the food seems to cower a little in response, it's probably just her imagination.

The smile on his face lingers until he's out of sight, but it shifts quickly enough to put a grim set to his jaw. He doesn't like anything about this: being told what to do, being used as a pawn in a war, being sent to spy. Most of all, he dislikes having to lie to Sophie.

He gathers up the few things he needs; he's a wizard, after all, and a very resourceful one at that. However, he won't go without a few supplies: one of the medical kits he's been making, a spare set of clothes. Because the ones he's wearing won't do at all.

Setting the knob to red down, he nods farewell to Michael and Calcifer then steps through to Kingsbury. It's only once he's there that he changes his clothing quickly, summons a wind, and runs it all the way north to Strangia.

It's begun.

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