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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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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