A Truth For A Truth ( Scaramouche X Fem Reader )

| The Vow |

By the time my body felt strong enough to move without help, the sun was showing signs of rising. We had successfully evaded our pursuers and found a safe spot to rest up after an exhausting amount of running. Not to mention the fact that Scaramouche and I finally had the opportunity to clear some things up between us. I would have liked for Scaramouche to get some more hours of sleep because his pale complexion was worrying me but he was a little occupied and didn't seem to want to let me go.

After a while, I forced him to nap whilst I kept watch. My gaze flickered down to the Harbinger's sleeping form as he used my shoulder as a pillow. His hand held mine tightly, fingers entwined and warming my skin in a way no other person could. I smiled down at him as he shifted a little in his position, his hair tickling my cheek and the scent of him easing my nerves. I pressed a kiss on top of his head and returned my sharp gaze to our surroundings.

We had moved to a small area nearby the lake where trees circled us like knights protecting us from danger. It was certainly comforting knowing that we were hidden from sight but every so often, the winds would warn me of mercenaries edging closer to our position. Sometimes, I could hear them conversing and checking with one another for updates. It was severely nerve wracking but I only hoped they would stay away long enough for me and Scaramouche to safely escape Sumeru once and for all.

In the early hours of the morning where the stars still twinkled and the moon still shone whilst the sky blended from black to shades of blue, I let my thoughts run loose. I thought about every single moment that had built up to this point and compiled it all into musical notes and melodies that would one day be played for another audience in the not so far future after me and Scaramouche parted ways (still debating that one). I thought about how I confessed to not understanding myself and being confused about my purpose and reason for living. The melancholic silence was a great atmosphere to ponder.

I knew that it would be a long time till I could experience another break like this one in the havoc that is my life. So I took the opportunity and tried to sift through my thoughts. Scaramouche told me that we will never be able to know ourselves entirely because we change and adjust so often. I completely agreed with this notion but I also desperately wanted to find the song that I could play him to show him who I really was.

Not to mention the fact that I desperately wanted something solid and perceivable to represent me in some way. The idea of it was like a dream. Every time I shut my eyes, I could almost grasp the way the notes would follow one another and tell the story that shaped me. The only issue was the moment I opened my eyes and brought my fingers to the strings of my precious lyre, I would frown to myself and wonder why the sound never came out the way it was supposed to be.

Another thought branched from this one. It stemmed from the idea that my inability to share physical touch was just a measure put in place to ensure me and the man slumbering on my shoulder would wrap each other in an embrace and find something so invaluable between us. It was true that this was greatly exaggerated and phrased in a way only story tellers would describe but it was important to me.

And so, my next thoughts were debating the idea that only when I truly find myself will I be able to play the song freely. I felt sure somehow that this was the condition I had to meet and suddenly, I felt the resolve within me harden. My goal (alongside doing my best by Scaramouche's side) was to discover all the things that make me who I am and how I can shape them into a symphony. Who knows how long it will take? Either way, now I had something to work towards.

With that thought process wrapped up, I let my gaze slide back down to the almost God warming my side. He slept soundly and beautifully. I felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness after what he had told me about himself. The grief in his words and the way his hands curled into fists at the way life had thrown rocks and blades at his heart every time he had attempted to search for his place in the world. It was another type of pain having to witness him recall such horrid memories but the moment he was done, his eyes widened just the slightest with a realisation. Scaramouche stared at the ground with a conflicted expression but saying it all out loud had done something for him. It was necessary and he hadn't known it till it was plummeting out of him.