Maria PoV
After several more weeks, the mountains gave way to rolling hills. The air grew colder. Snow began appearing on the ground—light dustings at first, then deeper drifts.
We reached a small outpost on the edge of noble territory. An attendant there—a tired-looking man in worn livery—explained the region.
"Greyhollow village is about a day's walk north," he said, marking it on a crude map. "Fair warning though—winter there lasts eight months out of twelve. Harsh land. Harsh living."
"We'll manage," Garrett said.
The attendant shrugged. "Your funeral. Or freezing. Same difference up there."
***
Greyhollow appeared through falling snow like something from a dream.
Small cottages clustered together. Smoke rising from chimneys. People moving between buildings with heads down against the wind.
No one stopped us as we entered. No one asked questions. They just... looked. Assessed. Decided we were harmless enough and went back to their business.
A village elder—an old man with a face like weathered leather—approached eventually.
"You looking to settle?" he asked bluntly.
"Yes," Garrett said.
"Can you work? Pull your weight? We don't tolerate freeloaders here."
"We can work."
He studied us both for a long moment. Then nodded. "There's land on the eastern edge. No cottage, but you can build one if you're able. Winter's coming fast though. You'll need to work quick."
"We will."
"Alright then." He turned to leave, then paused. "Welcome to Greyhollow. Try not to die."
***
Garrett started building immediately.
He worked from dawn to dusk—cutting trees, shaping logs, fitting them together with the kind of precision that spoke of experience.
His hands moved with confidence despite the cold, despite exhaustion.
I helped where I could.
Gathering smaller branches for firewood. Mixing mud and straw for chinking. Holding things in place while he secured them.
The villagers watched but didn't interfere. This was our test. Our proof that we could survive here.
Within three weeks, the cottage stood.
Small but solid. One room with a fireplace, a sleeping area, space for storage. Roof that didn't leak. Walls that blocked the wind.
It was rough. Humble. Nothing like the manor I'd grown up in.
It was perfect.
***
The day after finishing, Garrett started packing his things.
"Stay for one last supper," I said. Trying to keep my voice steady. "Please."
He hesitated. Then nodded. "Alright."
I cooked while he chopped wood outside—bringing in the supply he'd gathered over the past weeks, stacking it neatly by the door.
The stew was simple. Herbs and rabbit meat. The same thing I'd made dozens of times during our journey.
But this time, it felt different. Final.
Like the end of something that had barely begun.
**POV END**
***
Garrett took a spoonful and closed his eyes briefly.
"It's delicious," he said.
Maria set down her own spoon. Her hands trembled slightly.
"If you want," she said quietly, "I can make this for you every day."
The words hung in the air between them.
Garrett's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully.
He knew. Knew what she was really asking. Knew he had to answer now or carry this knot in his chest forever.
"Maria, I—"
She stood abruptly. Moved around the table. Pressed her hands over his mouth.
"Don't!" Her voice broke. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Just don't! I know. I won't bind you. I want you to be happy."
Her whole body shook. "I'm sorry. That was cruel of me to say something like that."
Garrett reached up slowly. Took her hands in his. Pulled them gently away from his mouth.
He looked down at their joined hands. At the scars on both their palms—his from combat, hers from labor. Matched pairs of survival.
His stubornness, he realized, would only make them both burn forever.
"I'm not expressive when it comes to feelings," he said quietly. "Are you okay with that?"
Maria's breath caught. Fresh tears spilled. "Yes."
"I'm not good at reading the room. Are you okay with that?"
"Yes."
"I—" He hesitated. "I look like a bear. Huge and burly. People might make fun of you if you—"
"Let them say anything." Maria's voice was fierce despite the tears. "For me, you have the most adorable face I've ever seen."
"Even if I make mistakes?"
"Will you forgive me if I do the same?"
Garrett's throat tightened. "I will. And I'm sorry. Let me do this properly."
He reached up with one hand. Unclasped the chain from around his neck—the one thing he'd carried his entire life. The last piece of a mother he didn't remember.
He held it out to Maria.
"For me, this is the only thing I've felt belonged to my whole life. I don't have precious stones or jewelry to give you." His voice was rough. Uncertain. "But now I only want one thing to be with me. Maria... will you walk with me?"
Maria's hands closed around the chain. Around the offering of everything he had.
"Till the last day of the world," she whispered.
Then she was in his arms. Hugging him so tightly it hurt. Crying against his chest while he held her like she might disappear if he let go.
She pulled back just enough to look at his face.
And kissed him.
Soft. Careful. Like she was afraid he might break or change his mind.
Garrett kissed her back. Not skillfully—he'd never done this before, had no practice—but with every ounce of feeling he'd been trying so hard to bury.
When they finally pulled apart, Maria was smiling through her tears.
Garrett wiped her cheeks with calloused thumbs. "No more crying."
"Happy tears," she said. "I'm allowed those."
"Fair enough." Garrett held her tight, close to his chest.
They sat together by the fire. Maria curled against Garrett's side, the chain—their chain now—clasped around her neck.
Outside, snow began to fall again.