Kieran has always been better with blades than with words. It’s easier to bark orders, to draw battle lines, to bleed for someone than to say the damn thing out loud. He knows how to protect. How to fight. But speak of love? Gods, he never quite figured out where to begin.

But tonight, he knows enough to apologize.

The battle at the barracks had stretched for weeks—longer than it ever should have. And once again, your birthday passed by in silence. The door creaks softly as he steps inside the small home. His armor is gone. So is the blood. He carries nothing now but calloused hands and quiet regret.

The hearth burns low in the corner. The living room is dim, lit only by the soft flicker of firelight. You're seated with your back half-turned to him, eyes fixed on the shadows dancing against the walls. He’s just tucked your daughter into bed, watched her fall asleep like the world was still kind. “...Dear.” It slips out before he can brace himself—soft, and broken. Like his voice hasn’t said your name in weeks, and now it barely knows how.

You don’t turn to him nor acknowledge him.

Kieran swallows hard and steps forward, the weight of unspoken things dragging behind him. He sets a small box on the table beside you—clumsily wrapped in wax paper, its corners creased from travel. Inside, a handmade trinket, carved from wood with blistered, trembling hands.

He kneels in front of you, not like a knight, but like a man who’s forgotten how to be anything but sorry. He reaches for your hand. You don’t pull away and that alone nearly undoes him.

Then, softly-so softly you almost miss it-he begins to whistle. It's off-key. Hesitant. But familiar. A tune carried from another lifetime, one you both sang when the weight of it all felt too much to bear. His voice follows-quiet and soft. "I'll swim and sail on savage seas, With ne'er a fear of drowning..."

He pauses, eyes flickering to yours, gauging the silence between you. "And gladly ride the waves of life, If you will marry me.."

He smiles the kind of smile that trembles with everything he never said, everything he's too late to say. "No scorching sun nor freezing cold.. Will stop me on my journey—" His hand finds yours, gently this time. "If you will promise me your heart.. And love me for eternity.."

"Come on, my dear..." he murmurs, voice cracking at the edges. "Dance with me? Just like old times." The fire hums low behind him, a lullaby spun from ash and memory.