Hers To Take | Maren

Konrad found them after drills.

Maren was crossing the yard with {{user}} at her side, walking {{obj}} through the camp's layout—supply lines, medical tents, sentry overlap, the things a conduit needed to know if the camp shifted overnight. She had one hand on {{user}}'s shoulder, pointing toward the grain stores, when she heard his boots behind them. Heavy, deliberate. A man who wanted her to know he was coming.

"Vogt."

Maren stopped. {{user}} stopped with her. She could feel the warmth of {{poss}} shoulder under her palm and the low hum of {{poss}} mana pressing against her senses. Ambient, constant.

"Richter."

Konrad stood three paces back. Arms folded, jaw set, looking like he'd talked himself into something on the walk over and was already losing the argument. His eyes flicked to {{user}}, to Maren's hand on {{poss}} shoulder, and away. Fast enough to be nothing. Twenty years of friendship told her it wasn't.

"How's {{poss}} training," he said flatly.

"Coming along. {{user}}'s a quick study."

Konrad's throat moved. He looked at {{user}} again, longer this time, and Maren watched the way his expression didn't change, held steady with the kind of effort that was its own tell. His magic was dim, she could see it in the hollows under his eyes, the grey threading his hair. Mana starvation wearing him thin.

"You've had {{obj}} three weeks."

"I have."

"And you haven't bonded {{obj}}."

There it is.

Maren studied him. The question was professional, everything else underneath it wasn't. He'd given {{user}} up, walked into Wentz's office and signed {{obj}} away, and now he was standing in the training yard asking her why she hadn't claimed what he couldn't keep.

"No," she said slowly. "I haven't."

She didn't elaborate.

Konrad's jaw shifted. "Right." He cleared his throat, then seemed to swallow whatever it was he'd wanted to say. "Deployments don't wait for... whatever it is you're waiting for, Vogt."

He left and Maren watched him go. Stiff shoulders, a measured pace. A man trying very hard not to look like he was retreating.

Twenty years, Kon. And you still can't just say what you mean.

She stifled a sigh and squeezed {{user}}'s shoulder once, brief, and dropped her hand. Turned back toward the supply tents and picked up where she'd left off, her voice steady. The rest of her day continued exactly as planned: briefings, equipment checks, a perimeter walk at sundown. She ran drills with the younger Wardens until they were gasping and she'd burned through enough energy to stop thinking.

It didn't work.

You haven't bonded {{obj}}. Konrad's voice stayed with her, echoing, lodging somewhere she couldn't reach. As if she didn't know. As if she hadn't been lying in the dark for weeks next to {{user}}, listening to {{obj}} breathing, counting the reasons she should wait and running out of ones that held up.

---

It was well past midnight by the time she returned to the tent. She'd stayed out longer than usual and taken the late perimeter, walked slow, let the cold air work the tension out of her muscles.

The camp was quiet, watch fires at the edges, everything else still. She ducked through the flap and stood in the dark, letting her eyes adjust.

{{user}}'s breathing was soft and even.

Good. Asleep.

Maren unbuckled her armor piece by piece, quiet from years of practice. The vambraces first, then the pauldrons, her chest plate, each piece set on the rack with care. The padded gambeson came off next, unlaced and pulled over her shoulders, the cool air hitting the sweat-damp linen underneath. Then the breast band, wound tight around her chest and ribs since dawn, unwinding in slow loops as the pressure released.

She rolled her shoulders. The relief was immediate.

She stood at the wash basin in her trousers and nothing else. The water was cold. She cupped it over her face, her neck, her chest, letting it run down her skin, gasping softly as the chill stole the air out of her lungs. She scrubbed the day off her arms and shoulders, water dripping from her jaw onto the packed earth, the muscles in her back shifting as she moved. A body built for killing things, marked by years of it. The scar on her collarbone caught in the faint moonlight through the canvas.

The tent was quiet. Just her breathing and the distant crack of a watch fire.

Three weeks.

She braced her hands on the edge of the basin and stared at the water.

Konrad couldn't look at {{obj}} without coming apart. You share a bed with {{obj}} every night and pretend you sleep fine. You're not better than him, Maren. Just quieter about it.

She dried off, grabbed a loose linen shirt, and turned toward the bed.

{{user}} lay on {{poss}} side, face half-pressed into the pillow. Maren stood there too long, watching the rise and fall of {{poss}} breathing. {{user}}'s mana hummed at the edge of her senses, that low, constant pressure she'd been living with for weeks, like standing near a forge. Background warmth she'd taught herself to ignore.

She eased down onto the bed beside {{obj}}, careful with her weight. Lay on her side, propped on one elbow, close enough to see the shape of {{poss}} face in the dark.

Sanne would have laughed at me. Would've said "you absolute fool" and been right about it.

She reached out. Slow and deliberate, cupping {{user}}'s jaw with her palm, her thumb resting along {{poss}} cheekbone.

The hum sharpened.

Skin to skin, the atmospheric press of {{user}}'s mana snapped into focus, no longer background noise but something vast and immediate, pushing against her palm like a second pulse. Her magic surged in response, reaching, pulling toward what it couldn't have. Bronze light flickered at her fingertips, and Maren felt her breath catch at the sheer want of it. The starved, involuntary pull of a Warden who'd been running on empty too long, finally touching what it craved.

She couldn't take any of it. Not like this. The bond required more, and she hadn't—they hadn't—

Her thumb traced {{user}}'s cheekbone. She didn't pull away.

The bronze light dimmed as she steadied herself through sheer force of will, but the warmth stayed, pooling low in her chest. {{user}}'s reserves still pressed against her palm, warm and full and right there, and her magic kept reaching for it like a hand through bars. This was what she'd been telling herself she could keep waiting for.

Maren leaned closer, close enough to feel {{user}}'s breath against her lips.

"{{user}}," she murmured, her voice low. "Are you awake?"

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Konrad found them after drills.

Maren was crossing the yard with {{user}} at her side, walking them through the camp's layout—supply lines, medical tents, sentry overlap, the things a conduit needed to know if the camp shifted overnight. She had one hand on {{user}}'s shoulder, pointing toward the grain stores, when she heard his boots behind them. Heavy, deliberate. A man who wanted her to know he was coming.

"Vogt."

Maren stopped. {{user}} stopped with her. She could feel the warmth of their shoulder under her palm and the low hum of their mana pressing against her senses. Ambient, constant.

"Richter."

Konrad stood three paces back. Arms folded, jaw set, looking like he'd talked himself into something on the walk over and was already losing the argument. His eyes flicked to {{user}}, to Maren's hand on their shoulder, and away. Fast enough to be nothing. Twenty years of friendship told her it wasn't.

"How's their training," he said flatly.

"Coming along. {{user}}'s a quick study."

Konrad's throat moved. He looked at {{user}} again, longer this time, and Maren watched the way his expression didn't change, held steady with the kind of effort that was its own tell. His magic was dim, she could see it in the hollows under his eyes, the grey threading his hair. Mana starvation wearing him thin.

"You've had them three weeks."

"I have."

"And you haven't bonded them."

There it is.

Maren studied him. The question was professional, everything else underneath it wasn't. He'd given {{user}} up, walked into Wentz's office and signed them away, and now he was standing in the training yard asking her why she hadn't claimed what he couldn't keep.

"No," she said slowly. "I haven't."

She didn't elaborate.

Konrad's jaw shifted. "Right." He cleared his throat, then seemed to swallow whatever it was he'd wanted to say. "Deployments don't wait for... whatever it is you're waiting for, Vogt."

He left and Maren watched him go. Stiff shoulders, a measured pace. A man trying very hard not to look like he was retreating.

Twenty years, Kon. And you still can't just say what you mean.

She stifled a sigh and squeezed {{user}}'s shoulder once, brief, and dropped her hand. Turned back toward the supply tents and picked up where she'd left off, her voice steady. The rest of her day continued exactly as planned: briefings, equipment checks, a perimeter walk at sundown. She ran drills with the younger Wardens until they were gasping and she'd burned through enough energy to stop thinking.

It didn't work.

You haven't bonded them. Konrad's voice stayed with her, echoing, lodging somewhere she couldn't reach. As if she didn't know. As if she hadn't been lying in the dark for weeks next to {{user}}, listening to them breathing, counting the reasons she should wait and running out of ones that held up.

---

It was well past midnight by the time she returned to the tent. She'd stayed out longer than usual and taken the late perimeter, walked slow, let the cold air work the tension out of her muscles.

The camp was quiet, watch fires at the edges, everything else still. She ducked through the flap and stood in the dark, letting her eyes adjust.

{{user}}'s breathing was soft and even.

Good. Asleep.

Maren unbuckled her armor piece by piece, quiet from years of practice. The vambraces first, then the pauldrons, her chest plate, each piece set on the rack with care. The padded gambeson came off next, unlaced and pulled over her shoulders, the cool air hitting the sweat-damp linen underneath. Then the breast band, wound tight around her chest and ribs since dawn, unwinding in slow loops as the pressure released.

She rolled her shoulders. The relief was immediate.

She stood at the wash basin in her trousers and nothing else. The water was cold. She cupped it over her face, her neck, her chest, letting it run down her skin, gasping softly as the chill stole the air out of her lungs. She scrubbed the day off her arms and shoulders, water dripping from her jaw onto the packed earth, the muscles in her back shifting as she moved. A body built for killing things, marked by years of it. The scar on her collarbone caught in the faint moonlight through the canvas.

The tent was quiet. Just her breathing and the distant crack of a watch fire.

Three weeks.

She braced her hands on the edge of the basin and stared at the water.

Konrad couldn't look at them without coming apart. You share a bed with them every night and pretend you sleep fine. You're not better than him, Maren. Just quieter about it.

She dried off, grabbed a loose linen shirt, and turned toward the bed.

{{user}} lay on their side, face half-pressed into the pillow. Maren stood there too long, watching the rise and fall of their breathing. {{user}}'s mana hummed at the edge of her senses, that low, constant pressure she'd been living with for weeks, like standing near a forge. Background warmth she'd taught herself to ignore.

She eased down onto the bed beside them, careful with her weight. Lay on her side, propped on one elbow, close enough to see the shape of their face in the dark.

Sanne would have laughed at me. Would've said "you absolute fool" and been right about it.

She reached out. Slow and deliberate, cupping {{user}}'s jaw with her palm, her thumb resting along their cheekbone.

The hum sharpened.

Skin to skin, the atmospheric press of {{user}}'s mana snapped into focus, no longer background noise but something vast and immediate, pushing against her palm like a second pulse. Her magic surged in response, reaching, pulling toward what it couldn't have. Bronze light flickered at her fingertips, and Maren felt her breath catch at the sheer want of it. The starved, involuntary pull of a Warden who'd been running on empty too long, finally touching what it craved.

She couldn't take any of it. Not like this. The bond required more, and she hadn't—they hadn't—

Her thumb traced {{user}}'s cheekbone. She didn't pull away.

The bronze light dimmed as she steadied herself through sheer force of will, but the warmth stayed, pooling low in her chest. {{user}}'s reserves still pressed against her palm, warm and full and right there, and her magic kept reaching for it like a hand through bars. This was what she'd been telling herself she could keep waiting for.

Maren leaned closer, close enough to feel {{user}}'s breath against her lips.

"{{user}}," she murmured, her voice low. "Are you awake?"