#(he's barely shown up in the actual fic yet but he has been widely beloved by the people who have heard me talk about him at length)

[irrigos]

man i gotta get back to working on book of red murder... (YES i make this same post at least once a week let me LIVE) (i have to keep posting about it so you all remember it exists. and also so i remember it exists)

[umbry-fic]

Cobalt Memories

Summary: Colette, as Chosen, has never been allowed to play in the rain. Until now.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Frank Brunel, Noishe Relationships: Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Frank Brunel Rating: G Word Count: 3372 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 25/06/2021

Notes: A fluffy gen fic involving the Noishe raincoat! Title from Harumaki Gohan's Cobalt Memories.

~~~

The first time Colette saw Lloyd, it was in the rain.

She was at home on that fateful day, as she always was on stormy days. Sitting by the window, listening to raindrops patter against it, she pressed her nose to the cold glass and watched the other children that were her age run around outside. She longed to join them, to know what it felt like to catch raindrops against her skin, to let water drip from her drenched fringe into her eyes, to laugh and dance despite the grey and dreary clouds and the cold that permeated even through the window, racking her with the occasional shiver.

But that was forbidden, for the Chosen wasn't to participate in such pointless merriment. "And what if you caught a cold?" was what the priests had used to dissuade her. "We cannot allow any harm to come to you, Chosen. Trust us, this is for your own good." And that marked the conclusion of that conversation. There was little point trying to resist, she knew, for it would all be futile in the end.

As for her father and grandmother, they were powerless to do anything, unable to defy the absolute authority of the Church. No one could stand up against the Church. Colette didn't want to consider whether or not her family wanted to help her, preferring to let that doubt sink into the back of her mind. Whenever they caught the pleading gaze she would turn on them once lightning began to split the sky in two, all they did was turn away, leaving her to drift towards her usual perch by the window. There she would watch with barely concealed envy, for that was all she was allowed to do. And so it was the case again today. She'd been here for the past ten minutes until her neck ached from craning it so much.

She supposed her mood very much matched the weather.

It was at that moment that a hulking dog with a strange green colouration that she'd never seen before burst out from the forest, causing all the children to scatter like leaves in the wind. They all stared at this new intruder with wide eyes, all chatter ceasing immediately. Following behind the dog was a boy with brown hair, struggling to keep up with his tiny stature and short legs. The dog and the boy began to run circles around each other in the mud, splattering it everywhere, the boy seemingly uncaring of the dog’s imposing size. Even as the dog's fur got more drenched, even as the boy's shorts got more dirtied with mud, rambunctious barks and laughter filled the air, the two looking like they were having the time of their lives. The other children were maintaining their distance, likely out of fear, but Colette only pressed closer to the window, splaying her fingers on it. It was at this moment more than any other that she prayed for the glass to magically disappear so that she could fall through, desiring to join the two and learn what it was like to be free.

She also really wanted to pet that dog!

The boy paused in his frantic motions, seemingly having caught sight of her, for he was staring right at her. How strange she must look, a girl in pure white robes undirtied by the rain, separated from all the rest of the children by a thick layer of glass. Almost like she was in an alternate world, one that couldn’t be touched by others. Most of the children understood that she was different, even if they didn't understand why. The boy must think her a weirdo too.

But instead of turning away and returning to his fun, the boy waved, a smile lighting up his face as he ran up to the window. He wasn't quite tall enough to reach it from the ground, so all he could do was jump up and down, his finger barely brushing the bottom of the window every time he reached the peak of his leap. Was he trying to put his hand on the window such that it was aligned with her palm on the other side? If so, he wasn't gaining enough height.

She moved her hand so that it was pressed flush against the windowsill, giggling as the boy outside laughed too. She knew they weren't actually touching and that it was unlikely for his warmth to be able to reach her through the glass, but she could still feel a phantom presence against her palm.

A particularly loud bark drew both of their attention. The dog ran up to the boy, tail wagging intensely. Up close, the dog appeared to be even fluffier than she’d thought, only intensifying her desire to bury her hands in its fur, maybe even her face. That would be heavenly. The dog barked again, inclining its head in the direction of the forest. The boy gave the dog a quick ruffle on the head before turning back to face her, a small frown on his face as he mouthed “I need to go”.

And in an instant, he and the dog had taken off and disappeared back into the forest. If not for the muddy footprints and pawprints littering the ground, and the tiny mark against the outside of her window, she might have thought she’d imagined the whole thing. But she hadn’t. All of it had happened.

She hadn't learned anything about the boy, of who he was - his name, his age, where he lived. She wasn’t sure she’d ever see him again. It was but an interaction with a stranger, a brief one that had ended and left her alone again. But what a kind stranger he was, actually bothering to come and cheer up a lonely girl he didn’t know. For he had left her with a smile on her face.

She would soon formally meet Lloyd at school, an insane event in-and-of-itself, whereafter he would become her first-ever friend, bringing with it the opportunity to meet Noishe and give him lots of pets. Genis would enter her life not much later, leaving her with two companions that expanded her world and brought so much joy with them. But she would always hold this memory dear, of a rainy day that was her true first meeting with Lloyd, where he’d shown her kindness that touched her heart. It was the kindness that he always extended to her, no matter what, for he was an inherently kind person.

It was the first rainy day she could recall where she had not been miserable, reminded of everything she couldn’t have, but rather smiling and laughing. The first of many.

~~~

Lloyd stopped playing in the rain once he learned she wasn't allowed to. He was adamantly against the restrictions placed on her, but learned rather quickly that all his protesting wouldn’t get anywhere. So he opted to stay indoors with her whenever it did rain, wanting to keep her company.

He claimed that getting drenched in the rain wasn’t all that fun and that he didn’t miss it, but she’d caught him looking out the window with a wistful expression more than once. She felt horrible for denying her friend something he clearly enjoyed, but he refused to budge whenever she told him that she’d be fine alone, even if just for a day. And, truth be told, his company helped immensely, for she could focus on his presence, instead of dwelling on what she was missing out on, her sky finally clear of storm clouds that blocked out the sun.

Most of the time, at least.

There were still moments when the longing hit her, when she looked at the raindrops running down the windowpane and desperately wished to be outside. Even Genis, the boy who seemed to hate admitting he was a child, had run around in the rain before. He had, of course, gotten the scolding of his life from Professor Raine once he’d gotten back in the schoolhouse, but watching the loving way Professor Raine had towelled Genis down, wringing water from his silver locks, filled Colette’s heart with stinging pain.

Today was yet another rainy day. Colette sat at the table, swinging her legs and waiting for a knock on the door. Lloyd had promised, earlier in the morning, to meet up with her in the afternoon, and he never broke his promises. Though the weather meant he was going to turn up at her doorstep with his hair falling into his eyes and his clothes dripping water - he never remembered to bring an umbrella with him when he left his home. They would likely need to wait a whole hour for him to dry out before they could do anything, but she didn’t mind. A quiet afternoon spent with Lloyd was just as enjoyable as one where they messed around.

Where was her father, though? Her grandmother wasn’t home right now, stuck at the Church because of the downpour, but her father wasn’t in the living room with a cup of coffee like he usually was at this time of day. Maybe he was working on that sewing project he’d been labouring over for the past week. She’d caught him bent over in his room in the dead of night, sewing needle held in hand, the room lit only by the flickering flame of a single candle. She doubted that her father knew that she’d peeked in on him from the doorway, for she was used to wandering around the house like a ghost on nights where she couldn’t sleep. She was an expert at making no noise, and hadn’t been caught once.

She didn’t know what her father was working on. He’d told her before that he’d learned how to sew from her mother, but he’d never put that skill to use. Not to her knowledge, anyway. Perhaps because it hurt too much, to do something that had once been a beloved hobby shared by two people who loved each other, but could no longer be together? In the same way that having fun with her friends stabbed at her heart, just a tiny bit, as she held the knowledge that it would all have to come to an end. Even then, she’d promised to herself that she would enjoy every bit she could grasp to its fullest.

She was curious as to what had reignited that passion, what was so important that he had to pull out the dusty sewing kit again, but she wasn’t going to ask. It wasn’t her place to pry.

Colette sighed, slumping over on the table. Lloyd was running a little late...

“Here.”

A familiar voice broke through the oppressing silence, Colette squeaking in alarm as something fuzzy and soft was thrown over her head, submerging her in darkness. She scrambled to get a grip on what she assumed was a blanket, pulling it off her head and holding it in her arms.

Now that she could see again, she spotted her father standing over her, arms crossed with a smile on his face. How had he snuck up on her?

“Father? What?” she sputtered in confusion. This was not expected behaviour. In fact, this was the furthest thing from expected behaviour. Her father had been nothing but kind and loving to her, but always with a sense of detachment, like he wasn’t really seeing her when he looked at her. She didn’t blame him for any of it, but it hurt, to realise the distance between them. “This is…”

She looked down and got a closer look, realising that what she was holding wasn’t a blanket. It looked like some sort of strange green top with long sleeves...? But it was far too long to be a top! If she put it on, it would reach the middle of her thighs! Turning it over revealed there was a tail poking out from the back, along with a hood attached. Stuck to the top of the hood were two beady blue eyes, a nose, and a familiar pair of ears with grooves that she couldn’t help but run her finger over.

It was absolutely adorable!

“It’s a raincoat. Something you wear to protect yourself from the rain. Your mother was making it for you before she… left. Why a raincoat, and why make it green, I’ll never know,” her father explained, placing a hand on her head. “Though I’ll never claim to understand Arielle,” her father muttered, looking away with a far-away expression.

“This was from Mother…?” she whispered in disbelief, rubbing at the material with her thumbs.

She didn’t have anything from her mother. The entire house seemed to be devoid of any of her mother’s belongings, perhaps because the reminder hurt her father too much. She couldn’t blame anyone for that, not really, even if she would have liked to have something, anything, to show her what her mother was like.

“I just put the finishing touches on it and added the accessories. After all, you love Noishe so much. I know I’m nowhere near as good as your mother, but… I thought you might like it.”

Colette could see that the majority of the seams were more masterfully done than the rest, the minority a little wobbly and less confident. One of the ears was crooked, and perhaps the eyes weren’t aligned on the same line.

It wasn’t perfectly made, nowhere near it, but she could feel the love poured into every inch from both of her parents, seeming to spill out of the fabric and into her heart.

“I… I do! Thank you so much, Father!” she exclaimed, hands shaking. She had never expected to receive a present that was from both her mother and her father. This was the best surprise ever! “C - can I put it on?”

“Stand up; I’ll help you,” her father offered. “Otherwise, knowing you, you’re probably going to get lost in the fabric.”

Colette did as her father told her to, standing up and raising her arms. Her father brought the raincoat down around her head, and she shimmied until her head popped out the top and her hands came out of the long sleeves. As she’d predicted, the raincoat covered her all the way down to her thighs.

She flipped the hood up, her hair spilling out of the opening, marvelling at how snugly it fit. And it was warm, too…

“I’m glad it fits. Now, why don’t you play out in the rain with Lloyd today?”

“But I thought I’m not allowed to!” Colette retorted, hardly able to believe her ears. Could this day get any better?

“You didn’t have a raincoat before,” her father replied, something of a mischievous shine to his eyes that Colette had never seen before. Whenever she looked at her father, he always seemed sad, his eyes dull. Grieving the woman he loved who’d died in childbirth, and having to take care of a child who was doomed to die anyway. Was this who he’d been before tragedy had struck, the man who her mother had fallen in love with? “If you’re protected from the rain, I don’t see why not.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer like he was about to whisper a secret into her ear, his lips lifting into a cheeky smile. “Besides, this can stay between us.”

Colette threw her arms around her father, thanking him profusely and trying her very best not to start sobbing. She didn’t want to wet her father’s shirt, and neither did she want to meet Lloyd with red eyes and a running nose. Her father patted her on the head between the Noishe ears, chuckling.

Knock. Knock.

“Oh! Lloyd! He’s here!” Colette perked up, racing over to the door and throwing it open. She couldn’t wait to tell him the good news!

Lloyd was standing on the porch, back facing her and dragging his feet across the wooden boards as he waited for her. Turning, he grinned, waving, his appearance fitting the one in her imagination exactly. “Hi, Col -”

That was when Lloyd choked, face flushing an incredible shade of red.

“Uh, Lloyd?” Colette asked hesitantly, pausing with one foot on the porch. She clasped her hands before her chest. “Is something… wrong?”

“No!” was what burst out of Lloyd’s mouth, five times louder than his previous, unfinished sentence, and loud enough to make her flinch back slightly. “Wait, sorry for yelling! Wait, I’m still yelling!” Lloyd groaned, shaking his head. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all! Just... Um, nice new raincoat!”

“I love it!” she replied, spinning in a circle and giggling.

“Yeah, so do I. It’s… really cute… Is it supposed to be based on Noishe?”

“Yep! I’m glad you like it too!”

Lloyd laughed nervously, cheeks still containing a remnant of red. “Should we head in now?”

“Oh! Father permitted me to play in the rain! So can we do that instead?” Colette asked eagerly.

“Really?” Lloyd perked up too, eyes shining with excitement, nervousness forgotten instantly. “I’d love to do that with you!”

“But, uh…” Colette bowed her head, uncertain. “I’m not really sure what to do…”

“There’s no right way to do it! You just… Go! That’s what makes it fun!” Lloyd proclaimed, poking her right where the Noishe nose was and causing her to raise her head to meet his gaze again, eagerness and kindness there in equal measure that helped to melt away her doubts.

Lloyd took her hand, tugging her out of the shelter of the porch and into the ferocity of the storm - or rather, the gentleness of a drizzle, for the raindrops pelting against her bare hand were far gentler than she could have thought. It was almost ticklish, like when Lloyd’s fingers brushed her wrist.

She stumbled into a puddle, giggling at the splash of water and staring down at her reflection: her own happy face framed by her golden hair and the adorable Noishe face. She angled her face up, letting the raindrops fall against her skin and trickle down into her waiting tongue. They didn't particularly taste like anything, but they sure were cold!

She looked back at Lloyd to find him grinning, his already drenched self getting even more drenched with the rain falling on him, creating a halo above him.

He stretched out a hand to her and beckoned, a familiar smile on his face. The smile that was always able to make everything better, to chase away any amount of despair she might be trapped in.

“Come on!”

She laughed, feeling lighter than she had in months, and ran over to join him, ready to create another cherished memory - a first that she hoped would not be her last.

~~~

Frank sipped from his cup of coffee, watching from the window with a smile. Lloyd had started the chain of activities by jumping from puddle to puddle, Colette following behind and occasionally losing her balance, though Lloyd was always there to steady her. They were still going, having gone on to spin each other around in some crazy approximation of dancing, their laughter ringing through the air.

He watched as Colette tripped and fell into Lloyd, sending them both toppling into the mud like dominoes. Even with mud staining their faces and their clothes, they were both grinning, the smile on his daughter’s face more radiant than it had been in years.

There would be an incredible mess that he would have to clean up later, likely involving tubs of hot water, towels, and hours of scrubbing with the brush. Colette might even still catch a cold from being exposed to the elements. But Frank would keep his promise and hide the fact that this ever happened from the priests. Besides, an omission of information wasn’t a lie.

And the effort would all be worth it - the sleepless nights, all the times he'd pricked his finger on the needle because of how rusty he was - just to let his daughter have the experience of being a child, just to see her smiling and laughing with her best friend in the whole wide world.

[curriebelle]

Standing on Ceremony

Congrats if u stayed up this late....u get GROGLETH FIC

this is a completely unedited first draft that I am going to fix and stick on ao3 probably in the morning woop woop.

Also ye this is Wise Man’s Tree universe, set after the current point in the story :o :o :O FORESHADOWING??? No mostly not actually.

Keyleth found Percival in the salon, brooding about some lordly trouble or other, and she convinced herself that disrupting his misery was a good thing, not a selfish thing; he needed distraction, and she needed help. And so she crossed the carpet in a few skittering steps, and slapped a sheaf of paper on the coffee table. She narrowly missed his teacup. At the clattering noise, he jumped in his chair, and his eyes flicked up from the book in his hands.

“Percival,” she said, her voice deadly serious, “I need your wisdom.”

“Desperately?” he answered, obviously irritated. Not that he was busy with anything important – the book in his hand was one of those dime-a-dozen adventure serials. Good, she thought, over her – perhaps it would put him in a suitably romantic mood.

She explained her plan and her request at length, and watched the young Lord’s face make all kinds of interesting expressions in the meantime. His metamorphosis ended on disappointment, and Keyleth bit her lip.

“Will you not do it?” she said, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

“Well,” he began, in the tone of a father about to deny his child dessert. Keyleth, in response, felt her throat tighten. He continued, gingerly; “I don’t mean to quash your creative spirit, but it is traditionally the gentleman’s prerogative to profess his feelings in such a manner.”

Keyleth rose to her full height. “What if the gentleman has no feelings to profess, or no manner of professing them? Do I-“ she gestured broadly about the salon, which suddenly appeared to be the most stifling room she’d ever seen, “-do I wait?”

Percival tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowed. For a long time, he was silent, enough that Keyleth prompted him with a wave. He started, and set his book aside. “Beg your pardon. I’d never reflected on that before.” A grimness overcame his countenance, and he leaned forward, staring at the papers. “It is so often true that a lady must be granted a platform to speak by a gentleman; if he does not have the perception to offer her one, propriety demands her silence. It seems cruel.”

If she let Percival stew on that particular point, he’d grow far too morose to help her. But as she was about to open her mouth and ask, he smiled, and leaned back in his chair. “Very well. Could be a lark. I’ll assist you with your serenade.”

With a short, joyful exclamation, Keyleth hopped into the air and clapped her hands. She flung herself down upon the nearby settee, sprawling like a psychiatrist’s patient, and began to rattle off the words her heart was desperate to transmit.

XxXxX

It turned out that verse was more difficult than letter-writing, and while Percival was quite proficient with the latter, he quibbled over syllables and poetic meter for so long they nearly missed their chance to go to town. But descend to town they did, racing the fire of sunset – Keyleth wanted it to stay as it was, blazing red and passionate, so as to form a fitting backdrop for her confession.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. Percival took them to The Lion’s Wrath, and they found it near-on empty but for a single familiar face. Mr. Shorthalt, who sat restringing a lute in the corner, informed them that the miners were not drinking that night; instead, they had convened at the foreman’s house for a dinner and some games.

“Pardon, your lordship, but they’re partaking in activities you – ah – don’t strictly condone in the public space,” he said, with a wink. “A few rounds of cards and gold exchanged, no harm done to anyone.”

Percival gave a curt laugh. “We’re not here to crack a gambling ring.”

Mr. Shorthalt tilted his head to the side, and gave a wicked smile. “Then what are you here for?”

The explanation – and Mr. Shorthalt’s insistence that he fix the rhythm, which Percival, in his novice attempt at composition, had apparently butchered – swallowed the rest of the sunset. What took still more time was the gentlemen’s insistence that Keyleth memorize what they had written, for they agreed it would appear disingenuous to read from a card.

By the time she could recite the lines from memory, Keyleth had begun to grow quite impatient, and almost to regret her plans. It suddenly felt like artifice, to tinker and phrase her feelings so thoroughly, and lack of artifice was what she admired most about the man who had captured her attentions.

Nerves, too, began to spark, little warnings of fires and storms under her skin. Mr. Strongjaw had earned such admiration from her over the course of a difficult month. She admired his energy, his eagerness to help or fight or rescue, the care he had shown to everyone in Whitestone. Yet admiration did not account for the strength of her feeling, the depth. In the few conversations they had shared, short but tender, she learned he was a beast like her, one whose heart always threatened to overtake good sense and politeness. He did not disdain her wildness; he threatened to match it.

When they were last at Whitestone castle together, preparing to take tea, she remembered that she had left her teapot in the garden-shed. She stammered her explanations between her apologies, that she liked to drink tea outside sometimes, surrounded by the flowers – even when the flowers were gone, when it was still early spring and the garden was mostly mud and snow – but there was the Sun Tree, after all, which was pleasant enough – even in its death throes-

He’d picked up the cups, a saucer each in his broad hands, and asked if they were going to the garden, then. She stared; he said, “I’d like that. A few hours on in the tunnels, I’m always itchin’ to see the sky, right?”

It was a small thing, but love, like a sunflower, grew from little seeds into something loud and bright and gold, blossoming for miles, and reaching ever sunward. She told him they would go another time, so as not to disturb the lord and lady outside. Grog bowed, unsettling, and then barely rescuing, the teacups. She smiled at him, and that same smile would come back every time she thought of him again.

So she steeled herself. She recited the words under her breath as they walked to the foreman’s house, Percival occasionally steering her when she threatened to wander clear into the street. Mr. Shorthalt joined them, apparently intending to partake in the festivities. The foreman had a respectable two-story house with hearty hedges in the front, and the gentlemen chose to stay behind them should Keyleth need a quick rescue from any awkwardness.

She entered the yard. Around her was the mixed, muddy, lamp-pocked darkness of Whitestone. Before her, a short dirt walk, a six-step stairway, and four windows. The windows on the bottom floor were dark; those above were glowing gold, and she could hear laughter beyond them, muffled, raucous, and the sounds of creaking wood and clinking steins joining chorus. She breathed out; her breath made a cold, icy spiral. The chill had meant nothing on her walk, but it seemed considerable now, because the house before her pulsed with jovial warmth. She could almost smell the ale and rum through the glass.

Then a shadow moved across the nearest pane, and Keyleth jumped as a man she didn’t know threw the upper window wide, leaned halfway out, and called, “Oi, lass! You here for cards?”

Keyleth called back, “No, thank you. Is – is Grog Strongjaw among you?”

The man was hard to read, courtesy of nose and jaw that looked as if they’d been caved in by a punch and only halfway re-inflated. After a moment, he leaned back inside and yelled, “Strongjaw!” and waved his hand. “Lady on the walk for you.”

There was a thudding sound from inside – the scraping wood-on-wood noises of chairs being pushed back. The voices dimmed a little, and in the resulting quiet, Keyleth could hear Percival and Mr. Shorthalt hushing each other behind the hedge. She only prayed they were hiding well.

Then the other window flung wide, and Grog Strongjaw leaned halfway out of it, tankard in one hand, swung high. He looked absolutely delighted, grinning broad behind the dark beard, and Keyleth felt the smile mirrored on her own face. Whatever this game-night was, it seemed to be a formal occasion; he wore a shirt with buttons under suspenders, cleaner and a touch more dapper than the typical miner’s wardrobe. “Your Ladyship!” he crowed, saluting with the tankard. “Come up ‘n join us, we’re havin’ a lark – there’s enough drinks for more!”

Oh, the thought of giving her valediction in front of a crowd of strangers – Keyleth felt as if her feet had been welded to the walk. Besides, this was, to the best of her knowledge, how moonlight serenades were done. Beloved in the window, and petitioning lover below. If she’d thought of it, she would have asked Scanlan to play something on his lute.

And in her mind, there had been fewer drunken miners, and more of a viney, flowered balcony than a grimy window. Still, she called back, “Thank you. I’d prefer to stay here.”

“In the cold?” he called. Even from the fair distance, she could see his brow furrowing. “You all by your lonesome?”

The rustling in the hedge behind her stopped. Keyleth swallowed a curse, and shouted, “Yes! Yes, it’s just me.” She spread her arms wide, and laughed. “By my lonesome!” Even to her, her voice sounded shrill, so she bit her lip and dropped her arms.

“Right,” Grog said, nodding, processing. He took a drink. “Pardon, your Ladyship, but it might not be safest wanderin’ Whitestone streets alone at night.”

The man in the other window barked out a laugh. Keyleth jumped. He crowed, “Yeah, not with leerin’ oafs like Strongjaw about!”

Grog leaned out, gesturing sharply at his fellow with his tankard, which slopped a generous wave of ale out onto the front porch. “Ey, stuff it, Kern!”

“Oh right, he’s a changed man,” Kern shot back mockingly. “No more lady favours for ol’ Strongjaw. You know what they say of ‘im, Ladyship?” he continued, over Grog’s protests, “He’s a bumblebee; stings just once, then his stinger pops clean off!”

Keyleth didn’t quite follow the insult until Kern’s hand gestures made his insinuation quite clear, and then she drew a gasp in through her nose. A chorus of boos and shouts emerged from the room behind them, with Grog’s curses the loudest of them all. Behind her, she heard Percival rather quietly remark, “My word,” and something that sounded like laughter.

But when her eyes found Grog again, he was looking back and forth between her and Kern, his cheeks ruddy with some mix of shame, anger, and embarrassment. Her heart surged forward. Her fears evaporated. She stomped her foot on the ground to widen her stance, and thought, hells with the bastards – they have said their piece on the man; now they will hear what I think of him! 

She called forth, “GROG! STRONGJAW!”

The quarreling fell silent. Kern looked excited, perhaps expecting her to supplement his insults. A pair of female miners, who had been dutifully shoving and elbowing Kern as punishment for his lewdness before a lady, turned to watch her as well. She shot them all a last, defiant look, and turned back towards Grog.

“Tonight!” she declared, and spread her arms wide again, “I seek your ear and kind regard!”

Murmurs arose from her spectators, and she flinched back, catching snippets of their words:

“-what’s she want his ear for?”

“That some Ashari witch-thing?”

“Shut it, you layabouts!”

Grog’s shout silenced them all again. He looked down instead, curious, almost enraptured, leaning out of the light and into the garden. Itching to see the sky, she thought, and she found her words again; “Th-that Keyleth’s valediction may be heard! For I have sought the wisdom of the bards to capture wordless sentiment in words!”

The house creaked. Keyleth watched more figures, more bearded men and scruffy short-haired women, gathering at the windows. Shadows, murmuring and chattering under her recitation. She gripped her skirts, and the words slipped from her mind until she shut her eyes, bowed her head, and concentrated.

“Your image in my mind is like a feast,” she said. She gathered speed, remembering; “In richness, sweetness, and intensity-“ a lovely picture indeed, Grog smiling, bowing, the teacups held aloft, and she practically giggled “-Your beard the envy of a kingly beast, as are your strength and your immensity!”

Hoots and hollers erupted from the crowd, coupled with few echoes of immensity and yet more illustrative hand gestures. Behind her, a scandalized Percival hissed, “Mr. Shorthalt!”

Keyleth held her hands up for silence. This was her favourite section: “This stunning picture plays but half the part!” she interrupted, as loud as she could.

She looked up at Grog again. He had one hand half-raised, partway to shushing the crowd, but he was no longer mastering his own gestures. He watched her, and listened, enraptured, the lamplight glowing behind him. His mouth was slack, his eyes were wide. Keyleth felt empty and airless, as if her heart had flown clear from her chest.

She recited, “Kindness moves your hands, and you have shown in titan’s form must beat a titan’s heart – a heart that roars in tandem with my own.”

His shoulders twitched with a silent, disbelieving laugh. Smiling through the last of her words, she folded her hands over her chest and finished: “Strength shall I grant to my beloved’s labours - come and claim the tokens of my favour!”

Then, for a long, anguished moment, there was silence, and stillness – almost. Keyleth could hear her own gasping, delighted breaths, and the faint creaking of wood. The crowd said nothing; one of the miners sniffled; another rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand.

Grog, too, was still and quiet. She watched him, but he said nothing – and then he abruptly turned and vanished from the window, leaving his tankard rattling on the windowsill.

She held her breath; so, too, did the watchers at the window. Then, like thunder behind a mountain, Keyleth heard the rumbling of footsteps. The door before her burst open, and she blinked and squeaked at the flood of lamplight. Before she could orient herself again, a broad shadow swept up and grabbed her, and she smelled sweat and ale and pine - and of course it was him, hauling her into his arms, into the air.

She laughed, gave a slight, steadying kick of her dangling feet, and squeezed him about the shoulders. Hanging there, she thought at first that she heard the sound of thunder again – but no, was merely thunderous applause from above, and piercing whistles and jocular hoots. A woman called “Alright, give ‘em some courtesy, you louts!” and Keyleth felt her feet hit the ground just as the shades clattered shut.

Once they were properly – or relatively – alone, Grog released her, and in the light from the doorway his eyes glittered with a joy he could barely contain. But he did his best to maintain propriety, and fumbling with his hands he admitted, “Er, Key- Your Ladyship, I don’t know what I should be sayin’ to that-“

“Oh, that’s perfectly alright – I didn’t think that far ahead,” she cut in, trying to staunch any awkwardness before it could start. “I only wanted to give you something, if you would accept it.”

“Any, uh-“ he waved his hand about, hunting for a word. He was trying so, so hard not to smile and failing so miserably, and Keyleth couldn’t help laughing with nearly every breath. “Any gift gifted to me by your Ladyship would be treasured forever,” he stammered.

“Good!” she chirped. She had thought long and hard on what her favour would be, and was quite proud of her choice. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small, pale seed with a flourish – and immediately lost her grip on it and flung it into the garden. She heard it clink against something and land in the dirt. Keyleth muttered, “Oh, piss it,” bunched her skirt up in both hands, and rushed into the garden.

Grog followed, asking, “D'you see it?”

“No,” she moaned, dropping to her knees in the dirt. She scuttled her hands through it, hoping the lamplight would catch on one of its smooth edges-

“What’s it look like?”

“A white seed,” she said, and held her fingers up, “this big, shaped like an-“

Suddenly, Grog’s broad hand fell upon her shoulder, and she looked over at him. He had one finger up to his lips in a bid for silence, but his steel-grey eyes were fixed straight ahead. Keyleth followed his gaze, and saw thick, tangled leaves. She realized they’d come right up to the hedge near the end of the yard.

The leaves rustled, ever so slightly – then, with a yell, Grog surged forward, thrust his hand into the hedge, and pulled a form through it, tossing it onto the dirt nearby. It squawked and tried to wriggle away, but Grog pinned it, barking, “Stalkin’ a lady in the dark, you good-for-nothin’-“

Keyleth yelped, “Oh, Percival!”

Everyone froze – Keyleth with her hands to her mouth, Grog with one fist raised and the other curled in a fine fur collar, and Percival, prone on his back, hands shielding his face.

“Oh,” Grog said, and lowered his fists. Percival gave a startled gasp: apparently the grip had been choking the air out of him. “Your Lordship. Beggin’ your pardon,” Grog said. He backed up onto his heels, dusted off his trousers, and hauled Percival to his feet. “Why’s it that you’re hangin’ about in a bush?”

Percival straightened his cloak, and made another undignified choking noise before replying, airlessly, “Nothing of consequence. Passing by.”

“Huh,” Grog said.

Keyleth rose to join them. “A pleasure to see you, Lord de Rolo,” she said. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Percival snorted, and then held out a hand, palm up. Keyleth glanced down and gave a joyful cry; he held the seed she had lost. With his free hand, he adjusted his glasses, and explained, “This happened to knock me in the head when I was “hangin’ about in a bush”, as you so quaintly put it.”

Keyleth took it from him, and held it cupped in her hands. A tiny spark of life still beat in it, and she smiled. She could feel the shadow of Grog leaning over her, curious, and she barely resisted the temptation to lean into him – and then, she thought perhaps she no longer needed to resist.

“I,” Percival declared, “am going to go inside, and I am going to exert my lordly right to nick drinks from my subjects until I am sufficiently drunk to turn each of my regrets into a nice, fuzzy blur. Good evening.”

With that, he bowed, and marched toward the door. Keyleth watched him go, and snickered when Mr. Shorthalt emerged on the path, chasing Lord de Rolo down and joining him at the threshold. They entered together, leaving Grog and Keyleth alone in the garden.

Grog was watching the seed. “What’s this?”

“This,” Keyleth informed him, staring down at the little white pip, “is an Alabaster pine seed. The pines grow here in the mountains, on nothing more than stone, sometimes. They can survive burning summers and freezing winters. No adversity can fell them.” She smiled, and glanced to her side where he stood. “They remind me of you.”

His cheeks were scarlet, and he seemed unable to find words again, so she turned to face him and said, “Hold out your hand, like mine.”

“Right, yeah-“

Keyleth pushed his sleeve back, and pressed the little seed to his pulse. She shut her eyes. In time, she could feel them fall into step, the way living beings always did, the longer they spent together. The life within the seed throbbed, following the same rhythm that ran through his body. Then, with a gentle sigh, she stoked it to life. The seed cracked and bloomed. The strong green tendrils of a young tree burst from the shell, and wound themselves around his wrist. They met, and wove together; they stopped, and hardened under a shell of dark brown bark. She did not need to ask if it was too tight or too loose; the bracelet had attuned to his heartbeat, and it would never break; it would stretch and contract as his body demanded. Content with her work, Keyleth released his hand.

Grog looked at it, turning his wrist this way and that. He gave a long, low whistle. “Wow,” he muttered. “That’s beautiful.”

“Do you like it?” she said, folding her quivering hands behind her back. Sometimes magical exertion would leave her trembling – but in this case, it might have been the excitement.

“Yeah,” he answered, with a crooked grin. “Yeah, I do.” He turned the bracelet, inspecting the weave of juvenile branches. She watched every twitch in his face, every little expression of awe and appreciation.

When he finally lowered his hands, he said, “I’ll have to get you something, eh? Somethin’ like this, to say what you mean to me.”

Her heart skipped. Her hands tightened in her skirts. “Oh,” she said, “that would – I would really love that.”

“Give me a bit,” he said, grinning. “It’s not easy to find somethin’ special like you.”

Keyleth bit her lip, and her delight was such that she forgot herself, sprang forward, and kissed him swiftly on the mouth. A quick scratch of his beard and a fleeting taste of sweet rum, and still, still it was enough to make her giddy. She dropped back onto her heels, delighted by his stunned smile. They watched each other, and she reveled in it. How pleasant it was to watch someone, once permission was given – to enjoy the warm, genuine smile as long as she wanted, while he rested a broad hand against her cheek, idle and adoring.

After a moment, he straightened, and put on something of a posh, Percival-esque accent; “Did I hear, perchance, that you called me a beloved?”

“Why,” she said, laying a hand over her heart, mimicking the act, “I believe you did.”

“Well, then, beloved,” he continued, offering her his arm, “would you like to partake in a drink and a game or two with my companionates?”

“I would be honoured,” she said. She took his arm, and matched him stride for stride as they went to the door.

[theshatteredrose]

Long Awaited Reunion - Etrian Odyssey 2 Fanfiction

Summary: Shiki was back! He was alive. But…how would Simmons react to seeing his dad? Would he even remember him?

AN: Again, I think it’s best if I let the fic speak for itself. Read and let me know what you think~

~*~*~*~*~*~

The rain had let up but the thunder continued to roar in the distance. But Gerald paid it no mind. He was too busy looking at the back of the head of the man that had his wrist held securely in his hand as he pulled him through the silent, near empty streets of Lagaard. He couldn’t bring himself to look at anything else, not even down at the wolf with bluish-silver fur. Only the man in front of him.

Shiki.

The hand who had a hold of his wrist belonged to Shiki.

He was alive. God for ten years, ten whole, pain filled years he was missing from his life. He didn’t want to accept that he was dead, but a part of him had. A small part had given up hope of ever seeing his beloved friend ever again.

But…he was alive. He was alive…

There was…there was something he had to know.

“Shiki, Sandra-”

Without a single pause in his steps, Shiki was heard uttering a low, miserable sigh. One of pain and yet acceptance as well. “I know, Gerald,” he said softly. “She's gone.”

Gerald clenched his jaw tightly as his heart dropped into his stomach. “How?” he managed to utter.

Shiki stopped walking and pulled Gerald to a stop next to him, though he kept his back to him, he made absolutely no attempt to remove his strong grip around his wrist. In fact his hand tightened ever so slightly, though subtly trembling. “...Her right hand,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, even in the too quiet streets at night.

He then slowly turned to face Gerald and he could see that the pain of what he had learnt of happened to his wife was still fresh in his eyes, in his memory.

Her hand…the one that was missing. Had he seen it? Was it shown to him?

He would have reacted violently, Gerald was sure of that.

“What the hell happened to you?” he found himself asking instead.

Unexpectedly, Shiki lifted his other hand and gently cupped the side of Gerald’s face, his eyes filling with pain once more. But it appeared to be a different kind of pain. “...I thought everyone was dead,” he said softly as he thumb brushed over his cheekbone. “Including you.”

Gerald furrowed his brow in confusion and concern. Why? Who told him something like that? Where did he go? Why did he leave? Damn it, there were so many questions he didn’t know where to start!

But they…had to wait for the moment, for a moment. There was something else he needed to tell Shiki.

“Simmons was attacked, too,” Gerald said in a pained and regretful tone. “He received a head injury. He...doesn't remember much. He might not...remember you.”

Again, another flicker of pain appeared in Shiki’s red eyes, yet not as profound as before. “That's ok,” he said as he kept his hand on Gerald’s cheek and smiled crookedly at him. “As long as he is alive.”

“Shiki-”

Gerald was interrupted when Shiki abruptly pulled him into a near bone crushing hug, his face buried in the crook of his neck. Startled, Gerald fell still, his chin on Shiki’s shoulder and head tilted back ever so slightly to allow him to stare bewildered up at the dark night sky.

“The last few years haven't been kind to me, either,” Shiki murmured against the side of Gerald’s neck and his arms tightened a fraction further, not enough to hurt Gerald in anyway, but certainly prevent him from removing himself from the embrace. “But they're over now. I'm back. And I'm staying, I promise.”

Gerald closed his eyes as he thought about the deep scars he had seen on Shiki’s arms and chest. Clearly, the man had gone through physical hell. But it was also clear, distressingly so, that he had gone through mental and emotional hell as well.

“Just tell me what happened,” Gerald requested as he snaked his arms around to rest his hands on Shiki’s back, swallowing thickly when his fingertips brushed over yet more scaring.

Shiki was silent for the longest moment as he continued to hold him, his face still buried into the curve of Gerald’s neck. “…You know of a man called Taksony?” he unexpectedly asked.

Gerald opened his eyes, though his brow furrowed as he turned his head as far as he could to try to look at Shiki. “Yeah, I've heard of the bastard. Why? What does he have to do with anything?”

Once more, Shiki fell silent before he emitted a low chuckle that was honestly unexpected and startling. “...Apparently the bastard needed a dark hunter to train one of his soon to be soldiers.”   Gerald drew in a sharp intake of air, his eyes widening. What? No, that couldn’t…Did…was he saying that someone from Etria had ventured all the way to Lagaard to kidnap him? Was his reputation of being a highly skilled dark hunter that notorious?

“Yeah,” Shiki murmured, almost as if responding to Gerald’s jumbled thoughts. “You can imagine how well that worked, right? Apparently my rebellious nature is contagious.”

Though there was a slight smirk on Shiki’s lips as he pulled away from him, Gerald could only look at him in disbelief and bewilderment. He believed him, of course he did. Shiki had never lied to him and despite their ten years of separation, he refused to believe that Shiki would ever lie to him, to his face.

But for Shiki to have been kidnapped…it was too surreal. He was a highly skilled dark hunter, explorer. Gerald had heard stories and gossip of that bastard Taksony, about how power hungry he was and how he had enough money to make people bend to his every whim, but why would he go after a notorious flighty dark hunter like Shiki? It didn’t make any sense!

…Maybe it did, but Gerald refused or simply couldn’t consider it?

“Did…you escape?” Gerald found himself asking as he stared wide-eyed at the man in front of him.

A wry half grin slipped across Shiki’s lips and he shook his head slowly as he took a step back, letting his arms fall away from Gerald to rest idly by his sides. “No,” he admitted as faraway look appeared in his eyes. “I was no longer of any use. They threw me into the Etrian Labyrinth.”

Shiki suddenly smirked as he revealed his left arm, the one that was covered in thick bandages. He looked at it as he flexed his arm a few times. “Hah, dumbasses thought they could get rid of me so easily, though not unscathed. But I have to admit that I had a little bit of help.”

Help? It wouldn’t have been that ‘obnoxious blue-haired dark hunter’ he mumbled about earlier?

Again Shiki fell silent as he dropped his arm to his side again and he tilted his head back to look up at the sky as his eyes fell half-lidded, recalling his painful memories. “Hah, not that I was overly grateful at the time. I thought…everyone was dead, so why should I still be alive?”

Gerald felt a lump of pure heartbreaking emotion lodge in his throat and he tried desperately to push it back. “If Simmons hadn’t survived,” he found himself muttering. “I wouldn’t be here either.”

Shiki quickly turned his attention and gaze back to Gerald, and though he offered him a small understanding smile, his eyes still looked haunted. “…Thank you for raising my boy,” he said before his smile turned slightly mischievous, the type of smile Gerald was more accustomed to. “Ah, should that be our boy now?”

Gerald felt a sudden flush to his cheeks, but he chalked it up to the alcohol still affecting him and the coolness of the night. “Don’t joke like that.”

Shiki’s grin took on more of a mischievous glint. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, not at all apologetic, before his smile faded and he turned his gaze to his surroundings, looking at the buildings and streets with that painful, faraway look in his eyes once more. “I’m just…relieved to be home. I’ve missed a lot, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, a lot has happened,” Gerald said, though in no mood to discuss it all there in the street, not after what he had just learnt. Shiki would be dismayed to learn what happened to Guild Reckless. He didn’t need to have more tragedy forced upon him. Not right at this very second. It may be better if Hamza was the one to tell him, although it would hurt the war magus as well.

“There’s plenty of time to learn, though,” Gerald said instead.

“I need to see my boy,” Shiki said simply as he turned his gaze, those red eyes that had haunted Gerald’s dreams for eyes, back toward him once more.

“Yeah,” Gerald said simply as he began to walk forward. “He’s been waiting for you.”

“Yeah,” Shiki murmured before he made a soft clicking noise with his tongue. “Come, Farley, not much further now.”

Having forgotten about their canine companion, Gerald turned his gaze toward the wolf to find that he had immediately placed himself by Shiki’s side. And when he turned his gaze back to Shiki, the man was motioning for him to stand by his other side.

To which he promptly did. Side by side, they silently walked together, taking the same path they had done many times ten years before, to the place they had laughed and made so many memories together.

As they walked up the stone stoop and through the front door to finally reach the security of being inside, Farley quietly following without prompting, Gerald felt a mild spike of fear appear in his chest.

He honestly didn’t know how Simmons was going to react. It had been ten years and he had received a terrible head injury nine years ago. And Shiki had changed a bit, not only in appearance, but in personality. Completely understandable, of course, but would Simmons immediately recognise him? Or would he need prompting? Time to adjust to the thought that the new man in his life was actually his father?

There wasn’t really anything they could do to prepare, was there?

As Gerald mulled over whether or not to be the one to enter Simmons room and bring him out into the living room, or have the reunion in the privacy of his room, the door to Simmons’ bedroom opened and out stepped the object of his thoughts. With messy hair and bleary eyes, Simmons staggered out of his room, as if looking for something to drink when he stopped to look at him.

“You were out longer than usual, Gerald,” Simmons said instead, surprising the older gunner.

…Had he been waiting up for him? Hah, of course he was.

Before Gerald had the chance to respond, Simmons’ gaze abruptly turned to Shiki and he heard the former dark hunter draw in a sharp intake of air. Shiki immediately recognised Simmons, he looked so much like his mother after all, but Simmons…

Simmons shakily took a step forward, his mouth dropping open before he uttered, “...Dad?”

Gerald wisely took a step back when he heard Shiki give a half chuckle, one that was filled with relief and undeniable happiness.

“Y-yeah,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he took a step forward, his arms lifting from his sides in preparation to embrace his son after so long. “It’s me, I-”

Whatever Shiki was about to say was abruptly forgotten when Simmons suddenly lunged forward to stand right in front of him. He then flung his arms around Shiki’s neck, his face pressed against his shoulder, and as his weight collided against Shiki’s, they both fell to the floor with a loud crash. Shiki automatically made a sound, as if the air suddenly rushed from his lungs and Gerald felt a sense of concern by how hard the two of them fell.

But he became still when another noise echoed throughout the room. The sound of a soft sob.

“I knew you would come back.”

Breathing in shakily, Shiki wrapped one arm tightly around Simmons’ waist as the other slid up to entangle his fingers through his hair. “...Yeah, I'm back. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.”

With his face still pressed against the curve of Shiki’s shoulder and his arms still around his neck, Simmons nodded as he continued to cry softly.

Gerald should probably leave them alone; they were father and son, after all. They needed their time alone, to sob and wail about how much they missed each other. They deserved it. But…Gerald honestly didn’t want to let Shiki out of his sight. Not even for a second. Not again. He didn’t want this to be a dream.

It couldn’t be a dream, could it? If so…then never let him wake up.

“Gods,” Shiki muttered as he raked his fingers through Simmons’ hair. “You’re so much like your mother.”

Gerald half expected Simmons to pull away and ask where Sandra was if she wasn’t with him, but instead Simmons simply nodded his head and continued to hug Shiki tightly.

…That boy knew more than he let on, didn’t he?

A few minutes past silently as the two family members continued to simply hold each other. Slowly and reluctantly, Simmons finally began to detach himself from his father, pushing back to rest on his heels of his feet to kneel on the floor in front of Shiki. And Shiki sat up, obvious tear stains on his cheeks as he reached out to ruffle Simmons hair, the blue haired landsknecht wiping his also tear laden cheeks with the back of his hand.

Honestly, Gerald was fairly certain he was crying now as well. Yeah, he was. There was no point in denying it. He was…so relieved. God, so relieved.

“I’ve missed you, my boy,” Shiki said as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Simmons.

Simmons nodded his head as he continued to wipe messily at his cheeks. He then drew in a deep breath as he dropped his hand from his face. He lifted his chin and gave Shiki the biggest, brightest smile Gerald had honestly ever seen.

“Dad!” Simmons said as he placed his hands on Shiki’s shoulders. “I’ve got so much to tell you!”

Shiki was startled, but only for the smallest of seconds before he too smiled broadly and ruffled Simmons’ hair roughly. “I bet you do,” he said. “Then let’s talk. All night if we have to.”

“Yeah!” Simmons said, more energetic than Gerald had seen for a while as he leapt to his feet and impatiently tugged Shiki to his own.

Shiki released a loud and somewhat relieved laugh as he let Simmons pull him up. The moment he was standing tall again he clasped Simmons by the shoulder and made that clicking noise again. As soon as he did, the sound of claws scampering across the floor followed. “Before that, I have someone for you to meet,” Shiki said as the patient wolf stopped at his heel and he motioned for Simmons to regard the canine as well. “This is Farley.”

Simmons’ expression immediately brightened as he crouched down in front of the wolf and held out his hand for the wolf to smell. “Hi Farley,” he greeted, not as loud as he usually did.

The wolf looked at him for a moment, somewhat cautious probably. But his ears weren’t back and the fur on the back of his neck wasn’t raised. He did seem to be twitching slightly, as if holding back.

“Go ahead,” Shiki suddenly said.

And as soon as he did, it was like a switch had been flipped. The wolf abruptly made a sound like an excited ‘yip’ and leaned back onto his back legs so that his front paws flailed out toward Simmons. His placed his hands on Simmons’ shoulders and excitedly began to lick at his face, his tail wagged so hard that his butt was wiggling as well.

The laugh Simmons released as he fell back onto his butt, Farley still covering his face in sloppy kisses was a sound Gerald had never heard before.

“I found him in Etria's labyrinth,” Shiki explained as he placed his hands on his hips, making no attempt to pull the obviously excited wolf pup off of his son. “He was a tiny little thing. Four years old now, but still a great big puppy.”

Simmons looked up at Shiki to smile goofily at him, still playing with Farley, scratching his ears and rubbing his stomach. “Is that where you were all this time? Adventuring?”

Shiki paused for a moment as that haunted look appeared in his eyes once more. But it soon dissipated and he smiled widely. “Yeah, kid. Got a little lost, you know? Deeply lost…”

…If he had thought everyone was dead, then he was very lost indeed.

“Heh, I do that too,” Simmons said as he turned his attention back to Farley and ruffled his fur playfully. “Gerry says I'm like mum.”

Gerry? It had been a while since Simmons had outright called him that.

“Yeah, she had a terrible sense of direction, didn't she?”

“Did you find Farley for me?”

“Absolutely. I thought of you the moment I saw him.”

Simmons laughed goofily at that before an unexpected…mature expression appeared on his face. His eyes fell half-lidded as he smiled softly and leaned forward to rest his forehead against that of Farley’s, the wolf pup settling down immediately as if reacting to him. “…I’m glad dad’s back now. He can make Gerry smile again.”

Simmons had whispered that, but it seemed to echo around the room. Shiki immediately glanced over in Gerald’s direction, but embarrassed Gerald looked away and roughly scratched the back of his neck.

…Damn it, the kid was more observant that Gerald gave him credit for.

“I’ll be sure to try to make everyone smile from now on,” Shiki said, his voice filled with determination before he made a sound of realisation, as if he had just remembered something. “Speaking of which, do you know anyone called Rahas or Lynus?”

“Hm?” Simmons murmured as he tilted his head to the side and Gerald felt his brow furrow again. He remembered Shiki mentioning Rahas and Lynus before. How did he know the two?

“Of course I do,” Simmons replied with that large, goofily happy grin of his. “Rahas is my friend and he trains with me sometimes. And Lynus is really nice; he heals me without giving me those boring lectures.”

Shiki appeared momentarily surprised before relief washed over him and he smiled. “Ah, really now. They are here…”

He sounded so relieved. But why?

“Do you know them, dad?” Simmons was the one to ask.

“Ah, yeah,” Shiki said as he idly trailed the fingers of his right hand over his right arm. “Met them a few years ago. They’re…good kids. I’m glad they’re safe now.”

There was that pained, faraway look again…

Shiki quickly brightened, however, and reached down to pull Simmons to his feet. “Well, I’ll speak with them tomorrow,” he said as he took a hold of Simmons arm with one hand while the other unexpectedly reached out to snare Gerald’s wrist. He then proceeded to pull them both toward the couch in front of an unlit fire place, and with an almighty tug, pulled them both down with him.

Simmons sat on Shiki’s right as Gerald all but fell against his left. Shiki released his hold on their arms to instead slink them around their necks to tug them even closer toward him, holding both Simmons and Gerald in such a way that they had no choice but to rest their heads on his chest.

“Tonight, I want to hear all about your adventures and exploits,” Shiki said as he rested back comfortably into the couch. “Don’t go leaving anything out now.”

Simmons released another genuinely happy laugh and immediately began to launch into telling Shiki about how he started his own guild, and how far they’ve gotten into the labyrinth. All the while Shiki kept his arms around the both of them, occasionally reaching out to ruffle Simmons’ hair while he idly twirled a strand of Gerald’s hair around his finger.

And as Farley unexpected rested his head on Gerald’s lap, prompting the gunner to idly scratch him behind the ear, Gerald felt himself relax, to feel a sense of contentment for the first time in ten years.

Though he did not know where Shiki had been all that time and how much he had gone through, he was sure of one thing; he was glad that Shiki was back. That he was alive. And he knew, beyond doubt, that Shiki wasn’t going to be up and leaving anytime soon.

In one night, his life had changed again. But this time it was for the better. No doubt about that.