POV: Ravenna
I wake before dawn and he's already awake.
Already out of bed. Already moving around the room with quiet efficiency. Checking weapons. Armor. Supplies. Military precision in every movement.
Preparing for war.
"You don't have to watch this," Theron says without turning around. He knows I'm awake. Probably knew the moment my breathing changed. "You can sleep a few more hours."
"I'm not sleeping." I sit up. "Not when you're leaving."
He turns then. Looks at me in the grey pre-dawn light. "I'll be back."
"You can't promise that."
"I can. I am." He crosses to the bed. Sits on the edge. "I've survived five rejections and a war already. I'm not dying in another war before we get married properly."
"Theron—"
"I'm coming back to you," he interrupts. His voice is absolute certainty wrapped in gentleness. "I have to. Our story isn't finished yet."
"What if—" I can't finish. Can't say the words. Can't ask what happens if he doesn't come back. If I lose him. If—
"I won't." He cups my face in those massive scarred hands. "I refuse to let your grandmother's war take what we've fought so hard to build." He pauses. "Besides, Hadrian would kill me himself if I died before giving him the satisfaction of serving at our wedding."
I laugh. Wet and broken. "That's what you're worried about? Hadrian's feelings?"
"Among other things." He kisses my forehead. Gentle. "But mostly I'm worried about leaving you alone here while I fight."
"I'm not alone. Morgana is here. Father. Lysander. The village healers." I take his hands. "I'll be safe. You're the one marching toward actual COMBAT."
"I've done this before." His voice is steady. Calm. "I know how to survive battles. How to stay sharp. How to keep Hadrian from doing something stupidly heroic that gets us both killed."
"Are you afraid?" I ask quietly.
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "Always. Before every battle. Fear keeps you sharp. Reminds you to be careful. To watch for threats. To not get overconfident." He meets my eyes. "But I'm not afraid of dying anymore. I'm afraid of leaving YOU. That's different."
"How?"
"Before, dying just meant ending pain. No more rejections. No more loneliness. Just—nothing." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "Now dying means losing YOU. Losing our future. Losing everything I survived for." He pauses. "So yes, I'm afraid. But that fear will keep me alive. Because I have too much to lose now."
Something in my chest BREAKS. "Come back to me."
"I will."
"Promise."
"I promise." He kisses me. Soft. Sweet. "I will survive this war. I will come home. I will marry you properly. And we will build the future we've been fighting for." Another kiss. "That's my promise. Witnessed by dawn and every god that still listens."
I pull him back to bed. He protests—should be preparing, army leaves in two hours, Hadrian expecting him—
"Hadrian can WAIT," I say fiercely. "I need you first."
So he stays.
We make love as dawn breaks outside. Desperate. Intense. Both aware this might be the last time. Both refusing to BELIEVE it's the last time but unable to ignore the possibility.
Afterwards, lying tangled together, I memorize everything. The feel of his skin. The sound of his breathing. The weight of his arm across my waist. The way his heartbeat sounds steady and strong beneath my ear.
"I love you," I whisper. "I love you so much it terrifies me."
"Good." His voice rumbles in his chest. "Terror means it matters. Means you won't take it for granted." He kisses the top of my head. "I love you too. More than I thought possible. More than I knew I could love anyone."
"Don't die."
"I won't."
"Don't be stupidly heroic."
"I'll try."
"Don't let Hadrian be stupidly heroic either."
"That's asking a LOT, but I'll do my best."
I hit his chest lightly. "I'm serious."
"So am I." He shifts to look down at me. "I will be careful. I will watch Hadrian's back. I will survive. And I will come home to you." His expression is fierce. Certain. "That's not bravado. That's fact. Because I refuse to waste surviving five rejections just to die in your grandmother's war."
"Okay." I cling to him. "Okay."
***
Two hours later, I stand on the ramparts watching the army assemble below.
Thousands of soldiers. Hundreds of dragons. Supply wagons. Medical units. Everything needed to wage defensive war against water kingdom invasion.
And somewhere in that organized chaos, Theron and Saren prepare to march.
Morgana stands beside me. Silent. Tense. Watching.
"They'll come back," I say. More for myself than her.
"They have to." Her voice is tight. "Saren promised to marry me. He promised."
"Then he'll keep his promise." I take her hand. "Saren doesn't break promises."
"Neither does Theron."
"No. He doesn't."
We stand there. Two women watching their men prepare for war. Powerless to stop it. Unable to fight beside them. Just—watching.
Hating every second.
The army begins to move. Marching out of the capital in organized columns. Dragons taking flight in formations. Hadrian at the front leading ground forces. Veyron flying above coordinating aerial units.
And there—there. Two dragons launching from the courtyard. One massive red-black. One deep indigo.
Havoc and Abyss. Theron and Saren.
Flying toward the front lines. Toward battle. Toward danger.
I watch until they're specks in the distance. Until I can't see them anymore. Until the entire army has marched away and only silence remains.
Morgana is crying. Trying to hide it. Failing.
I'm crying too. Not bothering to hide it. Just letting tears fall while my heart screams protests my mouth can't voice.
"They'll come back," Morgana whispers again.
"They will." I squeeze her hand. "They HAVE to."
Because the alternative is unthinkable. Unbearable. IMPOSSIBLE.
So we choose to believe the promises. Choose to trust they'll survive. Choose hope over fear even when fear feels more realistic.
"Come on," I say finally. Pulling Morgana away from the ramparts. "We have work to do. Preparing the healing station. Getting ready for wounded." I pause. "We can't fight beside them. But we can save them when they come back bleeding."
"That's something."
"That's everything."
We walk back into the palace together. Two women preparing their own war. Not fought with swords but with healing. Not won through killing but through saving.
It's not the war I wanted. Not the role I imagined. But it's the war I HAVE. The role I'm suited for.
So I'll do it. I'll heal every wounded soldier. I'll save every life possible. I'll fight MY war while Theron fights his.
And when he comes home—WHEN, not if—I'll be here. Waiting. Ready to heal whatever wounds he carries.
Physical and otherwise. He promised to come back.
I promised to be here when he does. We'll both keep our promises. We HAVE to.