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The days, weeks, and months following Laios's coronation were a whirlwind of activity. Marcille felt like she had to be everywhere at once–she had to study the lingering effects of the dungeon's expansion, help chart and update Melini's millennia old infrastructure, write letters to magical institutions across the world seeking information on this or that...every night, she fell into bed exhausted.
Falin's presence kept her sane. No matter how much she had to do, Marcille forced herself to make time for Falin. After spending what seemed like an eternity without her, she could barely stand to let a day go by without at least a few moments in her friend's embrace, or a shared meal, or a bath together.
They danced around the feelings they were both feeling, each afraid of hurting the other, of something changing in their dynamic. Their new world still felt fragile and unformed. Marcille sometimes longed for the simple, easy days at the academy, but even looking at Falin, feathers peeking out above her shirt and fangs shining when she smiled, put to rest any illusions of returning to those times.
Of course, Marcille still fussed over her constantly. Every wayward bruise or ruffled feather was caught by her critical eye and attended to. It was an excuse to touch, an excuse for closeness, an excuse for intimacy without having to admit what she really wanted. Falin sometimes fidgeted in her care, distracted or a little overwhelmed by the attention, but she never complained.
Soon, they formed a comforting routine. The winged lion had devoured Marcille's desire to care for her own hair, taken away her years of practice braiding and tying it. But her desire to care for Falin's was untouched. In the morning, they'd sit in her room, and Marcille would slowly re-learn her old skills by braiding Falin's hair.
It wasn't quite the same as working on her own. Falin's hair was a little thinner, silkier than her's, and of course, much shorter. But standing over Falin seated at Marcille's desk–humming and kicking her legs happily–working her fingers through the tall-man's locks filled her heart with so much love she thought she would burst.
"You're getting better!" Falin told her as Marcille held up a mirror to show her the latest result. It was tighter, neater than yesterday's attempt, two little braids framing either side of Falin's face.
Marcille happily put her arms around Falin's shoulders, her fingers nestling in the feathers under the other girl's neck. Sometimes, Falin's body still gave her pangs of guilt, whispering voices in her head saying it's your fault she's not quite human anymore. But at the same time, Marcille loved the feathers, loved how pretty and soft they were, loved preening them.
Tracing Falin's collarbone with a fingertip, she remembered the grim work of digging those bones out of the red dragon's fuel sac, sorting and assembling them. It had been dark, grim work...but also intimate. That night, when she had held the hand whose bones she herself had fit together just hours earlier, it made her feel things she couldn't describe. Longing, sadness, love, other emotions she didn't even have a name for.
"Marcille?" Falin craned her head to look up at her, and Marcille realized she had spaced out, not responded to what Falin had said.
"Oh–sorry. I was thinking."
Falin smiled and reached up to hold the hand that was playing in her feathers. Marcille blushed instantly, fully aware of how obvious her reaction was. "What about?"
The half-elf opened her mouth to answer and could only stutter. About you, about holding your skull in my hands, about standing by your quiet bedside and painstakingly rebuilding your lungs, your heart, your liver and your intestines. About standing before your body, frozen in ice, with my heart hurting. About what it will be like a hundred years from now, when you're gone and I'm alone again, when there will be no spell or book to bring you back, and I will simply have to live and move on as if I hadn't buried myself beside you in your grave.
"Marcille..." Falin whispered, seeing the pain on her face, the tears welling unwillingly in her wide green eyes. "It's okay. I'm here." She reached up to touch her face, cupping her cheek and wiping away a lone teardrop.
"Falin...!" Marcille cried. It was too much, everything was too much. With all the work she was doing for Melini, every day, she hadn't had very much time to sit down and pick through her emotions, sort through her guilt and her fear and her love. It was all still a jumbled mess, a knot of pain and longing and, still, happiness inside her chest.
Falin looked at Marcille with wide eyes, and then she leaned up, and she kissed her. Marcille melted into her lips immediately, kissing her back even as her tears slipped down onto Falin's chin. Her hand clasped Falin's tightly, holding on to the girl she had fought to remake and never wanting to let go again.
It was a long moment before they finally pulled apart, each of them reluctant to draw away from the other's wanting mouth.
"I don't..." Marcille sobbed. "I don't ever want to lose you again...!"
Falin gently caressed her face. "I'm here," she repeated. "I'm yours."
Marcille collapsed onto her, burying herself in Falin's shoulder, holding her tight and crying, finally letting it all out. And in that moment...it was okay. No matter what sorrows the past and the future held for the girl who would live a thousand years, right now she was with Falin, and they were alive and together and they belonged to each other. And there was nowhere either of them would rather be than the other's arms.