Private Tales The Loved and Lost Club

[Cullen]

The rain lashed at Cullen’s face as he flew, soaked through and gripping the reins tighter than necessary. The healer had promised to come, had assured him with calm certainty that she would be right behind him, but Cullen had never flown Meala so fast as he did now, and the healer had fallen behind.

He hated leaving her, hated how her voice trembled beneath the weight of pain, how she looked at him like he’d carved the wounds himself. He didn’t know what else to do. Couldn’t sit there and watch her fall apart, not when his presence seemed to only make it worse. At least now he had something to offer her, reassurance that a healer was on the way. That she could go home and rest, that she wouldn't need to look at him again.

Cullen’s brows furrowed the moment the outpost came into view. There were more dragons than there should be. A surge of unease twisted in his chest at the sound of Kalyss’ panic.

He landed hard, boots slipping slightly in the mud as he leapt off his dragon, drawing his weapons as he sprinted to the tent.

The canvas of the tent loomed up, dimly lit from within, flickering shapes casting shadows against the walls. Cullen shoved the flap aside and froze.

Fedyr was hunched over Nadya’s cot, and Nadya looked.. Gods, she looked wrong. Too still. Too pale.

No.

“What happened?!” Cullen’s voice cracked, harsh with disbelief, his chest heaving as he strode inside. “What the fuck happened, I was gone for an hour!”

Cullen was already shoving Fedyr aside and sliding onto his knees beside her. His hand hovered, unsure where to touch, afraid to cause more damage, and so it settled on her clammy face, "Hey. Nad - wake up. Wake the fuck up.“

Cullen looked down at her. Her breath was shallow. Her face was streaked with tears that hadn't even dried. His heart pounded in his chest, thudding loudly in his ears in pure terror.

“I know you can hear me - you need to open your eyes.” His voice was lower now, hoarse. “Don’t you fucking dare leave after everything. You don’t get to just—”

He faltered, eyes burning. “You don’t get to go before we’ve fixed it.”

 

[Nadya]

She was leaving... but stayed in place for so long, she wondered what was keeping her from leaving.

The darkness was daunting, cold, and all she wanted to do was to keep moving in hopes she could warm her muscles and find somewhere where there was light.

She felt a tug, a presence, and she wondered if this was someone important as her subconscious noted the familiarity.

The moment his voice reached her, she knew why she stayed in place.

"... loss of blood. I cannot help..."

"Stand aside!" An impatient voice broke through the darkness.

And Nadya felt a sudden wave of warmth, one that pulled her back into the true darkness.

---

Fedyr watched the Wing Leader with a frown.

He was restless, only because of his bonded dragon's impatient of being grounded. He was a behemoth meant for the skies, and after hearing about the strange creatures that attacked on Thanasian borders, all his dragon wished to do was devour. But Fedyr had orders, Fedyr had hateful eyes on him at all times, and he needed to bide his time.

So he looked to Cullen, still beside Caliar's side as the healer he had brought back with him was dismissed by a tall and very pretty dark haired beauty. The woman pierced her knife through the side of the tent, and in the wild winds began to flap violently until a white dragon's snout gingerly poked through. The woman looked back, watching Cullen with a grave face, but it was the dragon doing all the magic.

They were one of the few dragon breeds that could harness this ability. Arcane magic only understood by them, and Fedyr got to witness first hand this dragon's work. He held qualities to heal, where his gentle purring and steamed breath warmed the near lifeless body of the Wing Leader.

Ah. Fedyr knew this woman and her dragon. As soon as he saw the clouded and blind eyes of the dragon, he knew just who this woman was. Faye Valimir. A healer for the Thanasian Army, and her own dragon an extension of her skills.

The dragon let a lick of fire touch the body, and from there, Nadya Caliar began to stir. She was not burned, but the colour began to return to her features.

"Her wound is healing. You," she pierced Fedyr with a look, "help Cullen lift her. I need to wrap her ribs."

Fedyr seemed to cross the tent in two strides, but did as instructed. He turned his head away and cleared his throat when Faye began to cut into the leathers that Caliar wore, leaving her almost bare as her undershirt was soaked through. At the sound of tearing, he knew that garment was taken away too. It took a few minutes before Faye announced she was done, to set her bad onto the cot where a blanket covered her torso. Fedyr couldnt help but stare at the woman all bandaged up.

Pretty. She was pretty...

And his blue eyes traveled to Cullen's face. "We should report to someone. She's in good hands." He said to his friend. Fedyr clapped him on the shoulder and made to go for the entrance. "Shit show out there, but we are needed back at camp. They want to send us out before dawn with this attack..." But Fedyr trailed off, seeing that Cullen had not followed.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen had been barely holding himself together, his hands still trembling with the memory of her going still beneath them, but the moment Faye arrived, everything shifted.

He backed off when told, watching as the blade flashed and the tent split open to welcome something far older, far stranger than anything the battlefield had to offer. The blind creature moved with reverence, its nostrils flaring as it breathed against Nadya’s battered form. The purring, almost melodic rumble filled the tent, setting Cullen’s heart to a new rhythm, softer and slower.

Magic bloomed. Not wild, chaotic flame, but something warm and deliberate. Living.

He caught Nadya stirring, saw colour bloom back to her cheeks, and Cullen nearly sagged with the sheer weight of relief.

He was already moving by the time Faye barked at them, slipping back into place without needing to be asked twice. He lifted Nadya as if she were made of the finest porcelain, his eyes never leaving her face. Her head lolled slightly toward his shoulder, and his breath caught again.

Still here.

Still breathing.

He didn't even flinch when her soaked undershirt was cut away. He kept his gaze locked above her collarbone, jaw clenched, throat tight. The moment Faye finished, he laid her back down with care most people wouldn’t think him capable of, the weight of her settling into the cot as if the tent itself could finally exhale.

Cullen’s hand followed, trailing his knuckles lightly over her now-warmed skin of her cheek and trailing to her throat, feeling the slow, steady pulse that hadn’t been there before.

“Thank you,” he rumbled low, his dark eyes lifting to Faye, meeting her sharp gaze, then leaned in and pressed a grateful kiss to her cheek. “Once again. I owe you more than I can say.”

He sank back to his knees, settling beside Nadya once more. The tent felt smaller now, quieter. Softer. He watched the way her chest rose and fell with new steadiness, and only then did he let out the breath he’d been holding since the moment he’d left her.

Fedyr’s words reached him from the tent’s entrance. Cullen didn’t even turn to look, nor did he move.

“I don’t give a fuck where I’m needed,” he said quietly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was unshakable. “I’m not leaving her again.”

He shifted slightly, resting his arm on the cot, gaze fixed on Nadya’s face.

“Not until she wakes up.”

 

[Nadya]

When Nadya realised she was waking up, the first thing she saw was red. It wasn't blood red, but a far livelier crimson of light behing her closed eyes. The sun's warmth was the next thing she became aware of, and she breathed it in deeply in hopes to warm her lungs.

Her eyes fluttered to wakefulness, taking in imagery of familiar surroundings.

Home. She was home.

Not her private home in the sacred bowels of Thanasis, but the room she grew up in in the Caliar country house.

She tried to sit up, but dulled pain and stiff muscles caused her to groan softly and remain on her back. A face appeared, that of her sister Stasya. If Nadya was beautiful, then Stasya was ethereal in her dark features and green eyes. Even the way she smiled stunned Nadya. "Good. You do live. Perhaps you can tell Katerina to not get her hopes up of bonding to your new dragon."

Nadya stared at the second eldest daughter, and Stasya laughed. "Do not fret. Kat is downstairs waiting for her sweet bread to cool. I daresay she may even force feed it to Cullen..." Here, green eyes peer down to meet Nadya's grey. "He was very worried. Insisted to have you brought here and not the Wall or in the Inner City..."

Nadya sighed, trying to lift her head to find a more comfortable angle to converse with her sister. "He is still here?" She asked, doubtfully.

Stasya lifted a brow. "Yes. Although It is just Kat and I here at home. Mother, father, and the little lamb have gone to the city to meet with the handlers of the clutch of Storm Dragon eggs you have brought home. We are to meet them this evening... but please. Stay and rest. You have traveled great lengths to return home, only to be thrown back into duty..." And that concern on her face reminded Nadya of the future Stasya was bound for. She was not suited for a dragon. She was not suited to be fearless and riding in the skies, not when her gentle nature would make her a good wife.

Nadya wanted to pass on inheriting the title of Lady of the house to her. Allow Stasya to carry that weight when all Nadya wanted was to advance in her career.

"Don't leave me alone with him." She had meant it a plea, but exhaustion weighed on her enough to sound bitter.

Her sister seemed to clicked the pieces together, and smiled. "If you both are going to be miserable, at least talk it out. You two always forgive each other eventually. Now, stay in bed and I will go fetch him."

And Stasya did not turn around even at the loud protests that came from Nadya.

With a plate of fresh sweet bread shoved into his hands, Stasya would tell Cullen to go see Nadya. The sisters would give them privacy as they cleaned the kitchen, and soon after that, they would be on their way to meet their parents and youngest sister in the city.

There were only two souls left in this house, and all the while she waited for Cullen to come up, she wished that he simply changed his mind and left.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen stood in the doorway, silent for a heartbeat too long.

The sweet bread in his hands was still warm, its honeyed scent drifting through the air between them. His damp hair clung to his face and the nape of his neck, he wore fresh clothes, loose black linen shirt and breeches, comfortable when his posture was anything but. Rigid, coiled, uncertain.

He held his breath as his eyes settled on her, assessing her, reassuring himself that she was awake. Safe. It was like staring at something once thought lost to the dark and found again in a place so familiar it didn’t feel real.

Her eyes, though tired, were open. She was alright.

He cleared his throat as gently as he could, voice lower and more unsure than anyone would ever associate with the battle-hardened man.

“Can I come in?” he asked, almost sheepishly. “Stass thought you might be hungry.” He glanced down at the plate in his hands, then added with a quiet huff of a laugh, “Kat’s already made me eat three..”

He paused, then rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes dropping for a moment. “They also insisted I bathe.. Apparently I smelled like a swamp rat that'd crawled up a dead jarlax' arse and died there."

His mouth quirked, a weak attempt at levity, but behind his eyes the relief was raw, genuine and palpable. The last kernel of fear that had lived in his chest, even as she breathed beside him, finally loosened its hold.

He didn’t step in. Not yet. He stood there waiting, arms lightly tensed with the plate held between them like an offering. Awaiting her verdict, whether she'd send him away, or let him in to face the impossible chasm that had grown between them.

 

[Nadya]

Something ached within her, deeper than any wound she sustained and healed from. This ache was not one that could be cured by a healer or dragon's magic. It was an emotional response seeing him there, and the longer she stared at him at the threshold, the more that inner wound opened to bare her.

"Kat wants to be your favourite out of us sisters." She replied. A small smile tugged at her lips, remembering that Katerina was talented as a baker. Everyone reaped the rewards whenever she wished to make something, but it had been Cullen eager to try anything she made when she was younger to pursue it. Kat enjoyed his animated critique on flavours and textures. "Rather unfair when the rest of us are useless with cooking or baking..."

She tried to sit up again, but her body felt battered and with no wounds or bruises to show for it. Exhaustion. That was all she could account for.

"You can come in." Nadya gestured to the chair beside her bed. It had been brought up from the dining room, and the embroidery project left on her nightstand told her that Stasya had been occupying it beforehand. "I cannot turn you away when you are holding fresh sweet bread." And suddenly, her stomach growled it's hunger. Loudly. Nadya looked sheepish.

But she looked to Cullen and saw the storm that raged inside him had subsided. He looked like her old Cullen. The one that loved her for the sake of loving something in thjs world that was made to be against him. Her love never left. It only blossomed and grew, tilting towards him as if she were a flower unable to resist the sun that he was to her. "Cull... I am so sorry..."

Fuck. Tears. They flowed freely down her cheeks, as if released from a dam.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen crossed the threshold the moment she allowed it. His steps were slow, careful, as though any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment between them. The corner of his mouth twitched in something like relief when she spoke of Katerina.

“Mh.. She’s dangerously good,” he murmured in agreement, easing into the chair beside her bed with the reverence of a man kneeling before an altar. “And I’ve learned my lesson. Never praise a Caliar girl’s baking unless you’re prepared to eat it for the next decade or two.”

He placed the plate gently on her nightstand as he watched her try to sit up, and something behind his eyes winced, as if her pain mirrored in him. He would have helped, he desperately wanted to, but knew her pride would sting more than any ache in her muscles. So he waited, hands clasped loosely, body leaning forward like he was preparing to catch her if she so much as swayed too far.

And then her voice broke, and he watched her unravel in front of him. Not the strong dragon rider, not the Commander of iron will, not the shield between Thanasis and chaos, but the woman. His Nadya.

Tears ran freely down her cheeks, and he reached for her hand without thought or hesitation. Calloused fingers folded over hers with a tenderness that belied the strength they carried.

“Don’t,” he said softly. It wasn’t a reprimand. It was a plea. "I know.."

His voice wavered like the flicker of flame about to be extinguished. “We don't need to talk about it.. I thought I lost you and I couldn't...”

He shook his head, throat working as if it physically hurt to contain the emotion. A breath escaped him, ragged and low, and he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles with all the gentleness of a man begging forgiveness he wasn’t sure he deserved.

He looked up, grey eyes meeting hers, stormy and unguarded. “You don’t need to be sorry, Nadya. You just need to be here.”

 

[Nadya]

The moment he held her hand was the tipping point of all her tears. The sobs came in a rush, her other hand going to shield her eyes so that she could dilute the devastation outpouring from her. So that Cullen didn't have to truly see her like this.

Nadya could not remember the last time she felt like this. Had felt grieving when she had no idea what to grieve over. She hadn't cried like this when Octavian Stonehill slept with her and told everyone that would listen how good she was in bed. She always had responded with strength and might. No one pitied Octavian after Nadya humbled him on the training grounds.

But she could not be strong or mighty now. Not when she was tucked into her childhood bed. Not when she felt as if she tumbled through thunderous clouds and lashing winds. Not when she had almost lost Cullen for good.

For that had been agony. To have that rift between them was the worst heartbreak she endured.

"I'm sorry." She repeated. For crying or for what had happened between them, when she did not know what else to do, the words were sure and ready on her lips. "I am so sorry."

 

[Cullen]

Cullen couldn’t sit still, not when her sobs hit him like a blade between the ribs.

The moment she crumpled behind her hand, trying to shield him from her grief, something in him gave way. The chair scraped back just a little as he stood, and then he was beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat gently on the edge of the bed.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t need permission.

His arms wrapped around her carefully but firmly, pulling her against his chest like he could anchor her there and hold her together with his embrace alone. She smelled like the storm, something uniquely Nadya, something familiar enough to make his throat burn.

A kiss, soft, steady, was pressed into her hair, and his cheek rested against her crown. “Hey,” he whispered, one hand slowly stroking her back, the other curled protectively around her shoulders. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he reminded her, his voice was low and warm.

“We can work through it. All of it.” He held her tighter, chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths, because one of them needed to be steady.

“I’m just relieved that you’re alright,” he murmured into her hair. “That you’re here. That I get to hold you.” His fingers gently curled in the fabric of her sleeve. "I can't claim to understand... but we can get through this."

 

[Nadya]

She held him tight and close. An unmoving mountain despite the storms she could cast. The sobs grew louder, wracking through her worn body at being held by him after so long, she wondered if she would break right here in his embrace. The way he cradled her to him was a wave of calmness, and after a few minutes of being there in his arms, she began to settle the storm of emotions.

"I hated leaving." She sniffled. "I hated being so far from home."

Thanasis was not her home. No, she had told him once when they had flown to the meadow in the forest after she had made Squad Leader, and the two of them drank in celebration and laid on the blanket to watch the clouds. She had told him then and there she was home. That whenever he was with her, she was home.

Just how many times in the past had she said 'I love you' to him in many, different ways?

"I missed you, Cull." The sobs threatened to return, but Nadya gave out a gasping breath to stifle them. "I picked a fight I was not prepared for... going to Ilir."

She had always thought him to be spoiled, to take what he wanted, but he was born and raised a Malennis. He was a crook hidden behind gilded gates.

"When I went to see you... in the tower... he—"

A gasping breath interrupted her, so sure that she would not be able to tell Cullen what had happened... but Nadya took several deep breaths. She wanted to lean back and see his face, but there was something safe about being in his arms. "He choked me. Held me down against the rise of the steps and crushed my throat. Fedyr interrupted him... but I have wanted to kill him ever since. I thought it could undo all that I did..."

But would it get him back Eira? Would Leovold willingly return something that was once in the hands of Cullen?