Chapter Text
“Why must you drag me all the way up here?” Marjorle Thiv was not happy. After defeating Oryx, she’d decided to take a break from guardian-related activities. Maybe try out painting, or taking one of those knitting classes that so many titans raved about. Point being; the legendary Hivebane needed a break.
Yet, here she was, halfway up Felwinter Peak at the urging of her fireteam.
“This is for your own good! You’ve hardly left the apartment in months!” Isobel shouted over her shoulder. The titan was always so energetic, so lively. Marjorle didn’t understand how.
“You’ll like this. I promise.” A hunter stated as the trio crossed yet another bridge. Moray-3 was a quiet one, but kind-hearted all the same. They entered a stone tower with a burning bonfire in the center. Marjorle stopped near the pit, her hands held out to soak up the warmth. Her inner solar light reached out to greet the flames in a friendly dance. But before they could get well acquainted, the warlock was dragged away by Isobel.
“Come on, we’re almost there!” Majorle grumbled as she was pulled back out into the cold. Her steps were slow as she mounted a set of stone stairs; wary of hidden ice. On one side of the path, however, sat a pair of wolves. Marjorle practically cooed at the sight of the fluffy canines. She crouched down and held out a hand, like she would when encountering a stray cat. The smaller wolf looked to the other before approaching and sniffing her palm. Grinning, the warlock gave it a scratch behind the ears.
“Is this why you brought me here? I have to admit, they are pretty fantastic.” Now the other wolf had come over, demanding its own pets. Marjorle laughed gleefully.
“No, but I’m glad to see that they like you,” Isobel joined the warlock on the ground, “come here, Skuggi!” At her call, the small wolf leapt into the titan’s lap, eagerly licking her rosy cheeks. Moray joined them, her movements silent. The huntress held out a gloved hand to the other wolf.
“This is Senna,” Moray remarked, “ she’s Skuggi’s mother.”
“The rest of the litter didn’t make it, so these two are especially close.” Isobel added as she ruffled Skuggi’s mane.
“Saladin doesn’t really like people to pet the wolves—,” Moray started,
“But he’s just trying to act tough, I swear.” Isobel said with a grin, glancing over at the exo huntress, who returned the smile before looking away nervously. Marjorle shook her head at the interaction, amused at their little dance. It was obvious how Moray felt about the titan, yet Isobel was oblivious to her affections.
“What did I tell you two about the wolves?” A gruff voice demanded. The trio looked up, faking coyness, to see Lord Saladin standing over them, arms crossed. Everything about him, from his tone of voice to his posture, radiated displeasure. But the smile in his eyes betrayed his amusement. He glanced at the pair of wolves, and they skulked off with their heads down, although their tails still waved playfully.
“I see you’ve finally decided to join us, Hivebane.” Saladin remarked as the three stood up.
“Hate to break it to you, but I’m not here to help with the whole SIVA thing.” Marjorle stated, dusting snow off of her robes. At her reply, one of the iron lord’s brows rose in curiosity.
“Then why are you here?” He asked, gaze shifting over to the other two women, “besides to pester the wolves.” Isobel snorted at the accusation.
“It’s Shipwreck business only, sir. We really should be going,” the younger titan quickly waved her farewell at Saladin before ushering Marjorle and Moray ahead. He could have spoiled the surprise, and she couldn’t let that happen.
As they mounted one final staircase, a small crowd came into view. Marjorle groaned, inwardly hoping that the throng of guardians wasn’t their destination. Fortunately, they stopped a short distance away from the congregation. At a gesture from Isobel, Moray backed away and disappeared among the horde. Marjorle raised an eyebrow, sending a pointed glance at the titan, who simply shrugged in response. One by one, the crowd broke up to reveal Moray and another exo hunter. He was leaned cooly against a stack of crates, cyan eyes shining. His cloak was familiar, bright yellow and…
“Shiro!” In an instant, Marjorle had blinked forward to stand with her old friend. He laughed at her at her eagerness and reached out to clasp arms in greeting. Marjorle accepted the gesture, although it didn’t seem like enough to relay her joy. Ah, screw it , she thought before pulling the bladedancer into a hug.
“Missed you too,” Shiro murmured close to her ear. His voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she just hoped that he’d think it was from the cold. The embrace ended, but the pair remained with their arms still locked. Looking into his optics, Marjorle could feel herself melt. Void, she’d missed him. A gentle squeeze from his hands brought her back.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you’d returned?” She questioned, lightly punching his shoulder. It’d been so very long since she had seen him; he’d left for a mission before Oryx showed up and they hadn’t had any contact since. Where he went it would have been difficult to communicate, for the Darkness was so thick that his ghost could hardly receive orders from the vanguard, let alone a message from her.
“I would have, but a certain pair wanted it to be a surprise.” At that, Marjorle whipped her head around to glare at her fireteam. Isobel was close to tears from laughing at the warlock’s murderous expression.
“You! I will take away your Party Crasher!” That got the titan to shut it.
“And you,” Marjorle shifted her wrath onto the quietly snickering Moray, “you know what I’ll do.”
“We’re, um, we’re just gonna go patrol the plaguelands now.” Moray grasped Isobel’s hand, much to the human’s surprise, and dragged her away to the transmat zone.
“So, Hivebane, huh?” Shiro’s voice grabbed her attention and Marjorle turned back to face him, an over exaggerated frown on her face.
“Oh, don’t you start that too.” It was always titles and nicknames for her. Nowadays it seemed like few called her by her actual name.
“Deny it all you want, but you’re a two-time god-slayer! That’s impressive!” Hearing him sound so enamoured with her deeds didn’t feel right. Just because she led the team that slew Oryx didn’t mean that she was someone to put on a pedestal. She hadn’t changed.
“Technically, Moray killed Crota,” she muttered quietly. It was true, the huntress has been the one to wield the sword, although Marjorle had been in charge of the entire mission.
“Besides, I don’t want to talk about me. What have you been up to?”
“Oh, you know. Some intel gathering, a couple of assassinations here and there. The usual.” Shiro was as humble as ever, understating his skills in espionage and stealth.
“Uh uh. You’re not getting away with that.” He’d been gone for nearly a year, and surely had some stories to tell. Shiro chuckled fondly and led her inside the temple. On the way, they passed Saladin, who simply gave the hunter a nod. Shiro saluted the old titan in return before leading Marjorle back to his room. They had a lot to catch up on.
She’d missed this. Just the two of them, and endless banter as the day wore on. Truly, she could never tire of hearing his voice, no matter what story he was telling. Although, the tales of his adventures were entertaining as well. They’d shored up in his room, with her on the bed and him on a chair that he’d pulled away from the desk. Still, Marjorle wouldn’t have minded if he sat next to her. Because he was warm, that’s why. Totally not because she desired his closeness, to be able to feel his light mingle with her own. Nope, not at all.
Damn her feelings. Shiro was a friend, nothing more. She doubted that he could ever look at her like that. Who’d want a giant grumpy warlock anyways? The awoken shook her head and focused back on Shiro’s tale.
“Are you really still using that old thing?” Marjorle asked, gesturing at the Trespasser at his hip.
“Of course I am!” Shiro feigned being wounded, as if insulting his weapon was a terrible crime.
“You’re one to talk. I see you still have that Queen’s Choice.”
“Yeah, but I never use it. I keep it for… sentimental reasons.” She struggled to find an explanation. Why did she still bring that sidearm with her?
“Marjorle, I never realized you had emotions!”
“You!” Sputtering with indignance, she threw a pillow at his head. It missed, of course. She was a warlock after all.
“Do you really want to go there?” Shiro queried. Marjorle felt the urge to kiss that stupid smug little grin right of his face.
Damn it! These thoughts had to stop.
“No, but—” Her words broke off into a yawn. Was it really that late?
“More tea?” Shiro joked. She simply nodded in reply. There was no time for sleep, not when she could spend time with him.
When he returned, Marjorle was out cold.
“She passed out as soon as you left.” The warlock’s ghost, Spectre, stated from where he hovered nearby.
“Should I wake her?” Shiro asked, a fresh mug of tea still in his hand.
“No. She needs the rest.” Spectre replied, his shell spinning fondly.
“Well, looks like I’m sleeping on the floor. I’ll be right back.”
After giving the tea to Tyra, and retrieving an armful of pillows and blankets, Shiro returned to his room. Spectre had changed Marjorle from her armor into a loose shirt and shorts. As he set up a makeshift bed, the warlock let out a shiver. Of course. The temple was cold, especially at night, and she had no blanket. Shiro sighed and laid one of his own over the warlock. Even in her sleep, she clung to the warmth like a lifeline. Her expression soon settled into one of peace. He couldn’t help but tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She was beautiful like this. So serene and delicate and content. For her, that was such a rare thing.
“Goodnight, Marjorle.” Shiro whispered as he left a gentle kiss on her forehead.