#and last night i got to hear mara talk about sjur and how she loved her. i truly picked the perfect time to finish this season's story huh.

[wolfwarrior142]

I just now finished the Season of the Wish story tonight, because I was putting it off...for no actual reason I just was. But not only is this the absolute perfect time to finish it, on the eve of the Final Shape (can't play on the 3rd cuz of the servers so it's basically the eve), but I also got to hear the convo between Osiris and Saint. Got to hear them talk about just spending time together, for themselves rather than others. They literally said I Love You to each other omg. On the second day of pride month too. It legit made me tear up omg it was so fucking sweet. AAAAAHHHHHHH.

[youngster-monster]

Day eleven // memories

As soon as Petra tells him Uldren is alive, Jolyon has no choice but to go see for himself. She knows it, too. That’s why she doesn’t say anything as she watches him leave, but her pitying look is heavy on his back, charged with meaning.

Why do this to yourself? Why bother? Why can’t you let it lie?

And Jolyon knows, alright? He knows he's only hurting himself with this. But he can't help it.

Uldren's madness had been an open wound, left to fester for as long as Uldren had been locked up in the Prison of Elders. His death had been an emptiness, a void, the hole left after digging out the dead flesh. It kept him awake at night, feverish with grief, regrets like a lump in his throat.

(Uldren has always been like a sickness in his blood, burning him from the inside out. He never learned to resent him for it.)

His resurrection is like an itch. A scab he can’t help but to pick at. It would be healthier to leave it alone, but it feels wrong after all the two of them have been through, like he owes it to Uldren to lay his memory to rest once and for all. Bury him himself. He can’t do that if someone’s walking around wearing Uldren’s body.

Pain is an integral part of the Sov experience, anyway. Uldren left scars like marks of ownership: once upon a time, Jolyon readily accepted them like proofs of affection, of battles won and quicksilver smiles in the privacy of a sniper’s stake-out. Mara was much the same if Sjur was to be believed, though more subtle than her brother — as was usually the case. She said I love you more often. This is their only real difference. He can't tell if it was a kindness.

At least Uldren was never cruel.

Petra stops him on the steps of his ship

“You know he won’t remember. He won’t be the same”

“I’m hoping for it,” he says, voice soft with a well-worn kind of grief. “I don’t know what I’d do if he were.”

With the help of Petra’s intel it doesn’t take Jolyon long to track his fireteam down to Nessus. And isn’t that an odd thought, Uldren so comfortable in his role as a Guardian he is part of a fireteam?

It’s easier than expected to catch Uldren alone. Jolyon calls out to him as he’s wandering off away from his fireteam, legs dangling off the branch of a giant tree.

Uldren looks up, his expression closed up, wary.

“You know me,” he states, like it’s a terrible hassle. “Are you here to kill me?”

“No.” Never could, never will. “Anyway, I think you’ve become remarkably harder to kill than the last time anyone attempted.”

He tilts his head, lips quirked in an amused smile. “Hasn’t stopped anyone from trying before.”

Familiarity is like a punch in the guts, leaving Jolyon briefly breathless. He shakes it off.

“I do want to talk, though.” He gestures to the branch he’s sitting on. “Join me?”

Uldren does. Now his reckless assurance has a basis in reality: easier to pull a stunt like storming the Black Garden when you’re basically unkillable.

If only they’d known. If only—

“Who are you?” He asks. That pulls him out of his thoughts with the effectiveness of a bullet in the heart. He seems to realize and looks away, awkward. He won’t say sorry, though. Prideful bastard. It’s not like he can help it, anyway. Guardians never remember anything. He does offer an explanation, a new but welcome development. “People keep coming up to me like they know me. At this point it’s quicker to ask outright.”

“I’m- Jolyon.”

There’s not way to summarize their entire relationship in a way that is both concise and not too weird to hear out of the blue, so he doesn’t bother to try.

Uldren takes it in and for a wonderful second Jolyon can almost believe he’ll remember… something. Then he shakes his head and sounds almost apologetic when he says, “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Didn’t expect it to.”

“Were we… close?”

That takes him by surprise. He glances at Uldren, but the Prince— well. Not Prince anymore. He’s looking away, one knee brought up to his chest. He always tries to pass it up as a casual sitting position, a way to offer his arm a support, but in truth he only does it when he’s uncomfortable. Like putting something between himself and everyone else can protect him, somehow.

“We were,” he says with absolute certainty. At least he likes to think so. “I was your partner. Fought at your side more often than not. You were my look-out in the field.”

“Alright.” A simple acceptance, like it’s an objective fact that isn’t remotely connected to him. In a way, it isn’t. “What are you here for, then? Trying to rekindle an old flame?”

“It’s not- we weren’t… like that.”

“You look like you were.”

This time it’s Jolyon who looks away. “You- It didn’t work like that.”

“Yeah, I’m getting the feeling old me wasn’t big on interpersonal relationships.”

“No he wasn’t. We were friends, though.” He looks off into the distance and sees eyes dark with the revelations of the Black Garden, the words Uldren never meant to let slip out but didn’t care enough to stop. How can I care for something that never surprises me? “I just don’t think he knew how to love things that loved him back.”

“That’s fucked up.”

This shocks a laugh out of him. He watches Uldren’s outraged expression in the corner of his eye and his heart clenches at the familiarity of it. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. Living with Mara Sov has that effect on people.”

They die or they become… weird. Often both, in either order.

Silence stretches for a moment before Jolyon lets out the question burning his tongue.

“You really don’t remember- Anything? Anything at all?”

Uldren sounds genuinely sad when he replies, “No. Guardians are a blank slate when they’re brought back. We’re not even supposed to seek out our past. Guess I’m just lucky enough to have it seek me out, instead.”

He says lucky like a curse. Jolyon can relate.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have a right for closure, I guess.” A shrug. “I’m just not the right person to ask for it.”

He jerks his hand up, seems unsure what to do with it, combs his fingers through his hair for something to do.

“I just… I hate it, you know? All those people coming to… kill me or talk to me or whatever. I don’t know them. I wish I did. Or that I was someone else. Though I guess I am, and isn’t that the whole problem? Can’t be tried for the other me’s crimes, can’t be seen as someone else because we share a face.” He chuckles, a harsh, tired sound. “Hey, maybe I’m more him than I thought. It’s awfully easy to talk to you, considering you’re a stranger.”

It’s a long time before he finds the right words to reply. He wants to joke, say I have that effect on people, but he doesn’t know how this Uldren would react. His Uldren — if he could ever be called his — would laugh with him, punch him in the shoulder. His Uldren never sounded like he wanted to cry.

Maybe that’s the point, though. This is a whole new person. He just has to learn everything about him again.

He settles for positive affirmation. “You are,” he says. “A different person, that is.”

“You look at me like I’m the same.”

“Yeah, because I was in love with the guy whose face you’re wearing. I can’t just ignore that.” He shrugs. “Worst thing I’ve happened. And in the end, I’m... glad. That you’re not him.”

Uldren frowns in surprise, turning to look fully at him. “You are?”

“He wasn’t easy to love. All… sharp edges. Him and his sisters were more walking piles of issues than people, some days. And in the end- It wasn’t even him anymore. I’m glad he got to rest, and you get to… do some good in his name.”

“But I don’t want to do things in his name!” He whines.

Another shrug. It feels good to fall back into their old dynamic, the impassive counterweight to the petulant prince. Some things never change.

“You don’t get a choice on that. People will always see you as him, whether you like it or not. All you can do is make up for his choices by being better than him. Give another sense to his name.”

Uldren grumbles but doesn’t say anything else. They sit together, the silence not quite companionable, until a voice calls for Uldren. His fireteam leader, probably. Jolyon stands up, goes to leave before she can find them.

“Wait!”

He stops.

“Do you want to- would you like to talk? Again?” His hand is outreached toward Jolyon. He frowns slightly when he notices it, lets it fall, tries to cover the gesture with words. “Maybe you can tell me some old stories,  try to jog my memory some.”

“I thought you wanted to move on from him. And for your past to stop seeking you out.”

“Well, my past is going to seek me out whatever happens. A Guardian being resurrected so soon after their death is rare, the whole… don’t go looking for your past doesn’t really apply to me, I think. I did too much stuff before I died.” He rises to his feet, dusts himself for an excuse to look away from Jolyon. “Anyway, it’s like you said. I need to- be better, right? Might as well start with being a better friend. You’re nice. It wouldn’t be too much of a hassle.”

Jolyon sighs. It sounds like a bad idea. They usually do, with Uldren. Past or present. But he could never say no. He steps forward.

Uldren doesn’t waste a second to fish a pen out of his pocket, take his hand and scribble a series of numbers on the back of it. He feels warm, solid, alive, in a way that sends lightning coursing up Jolyon’s arm all the way to his heart, shocking it out of rhythm.

“Call me whenever.”

“Sure,” he says as he moves away.

Uldren calls out after him. “Don’t be a stranger!”

“I already am!”

He doesn’t turn around, no matter how much he wants to. The numbers burn against his skin. He moves to rub his hand, stops.

Wouldn’t want to smear them.