#while thancred and ryne move forward - he lingers.

[sheeshiki]

if anything is going to happen to her i'll kill everyone in my party and then myself

[autumnslance]

We can finally share our works for The Thancred Anthology, the free pdf fanzine.

Here's my short story, of Thancred checking on the specter of Pandaemonium in the Aitiascope, and having an unexpected but perhaps due conversation with Fourchenault.

On Ao3 and under the cut for those who prefer Tumblr.

--

Being one of the saviors of the star had its perks in certain places. No one questioned Thancred’s presence in Thaumazein, nor his use of the Aitiascope’s elevator to reach the research platforms built in the shallows of the Aetherial Sea.

Researchers measured and recorded the current unusual phenomenon: the presence of the ancient research facility and prison called Pandaemonium. The creation and responsibility of the Convocation’s Speaker.

Lahabrea.

Thancred could mostly touch on the topic when it rarely came up. So long as he did not linger, anyroad. There were still rare moments, however, when the thought of that red mask made him break out in a sudden sweat.

Much had happened since that day he had walked out of Raubahn’s office, dejected and self-remonstrating, and on his way to the Sapphire Exchange had been distracted by strangeness in an alley…

And then a looming blank period; only a few terrible, hazy scenes flashing through that darkness, until waking in an Adder tent with the Elder Seedseer leaning over him. Sometimes it seemed he was still waking from the nightmare, that he would blink and find Kan-E’s sad green eyes and calm voice explaining all he had done.

It was difficult to take that first step from the elevator.

On the Ragnarok, when they reached Ultima Thule’s crushing non-weight of uninhabitable despair, he had managed to trudge forward to protect the others. There was no avatar of despair holding him back now, but also no one to protect, no reason to force his feet closer to that inimical ancient visage.

Yet he kept moving, until he ran out of platform.

Thancred stood at the edge and watched the swinging cages and flickering torches. The reports—and a late-into-the-night discussion—of Lahabrea’s involvement had given him insights into his recurring nightmare that he had not expected.

A stubborn man dedicated to the burdens of his great responsibilities. Who loved his child but held him at arms’ length, keeping important secrets, telling himself it was for the child’s own good, unable to see the hurt he caused because he was so wrapped up in his own situation.

From his pocket, Thancred drew out a pink ribbon wrapped around a letter, Ryne’s handwriting covering the folded pages.

“Horrifying, isn’t it?” A familiar deep voice said from behind him.

Thancred nodded. “It doesn’t match other Ancient architecture, as if purposefully twisted to match the terrors it kept inside.”

“If the reports are accurate,” Fourchenault said as he joined Thancred at the rail.

“Given who wrote them,” Thancred replied, tucking the letter back into a pocket. “They are.”

They stood in silence for a long while. They had always been awkward; Fourchenault had graduated from the Studium and was entering politics when his father brought home a Limsan orphan. Between the constant trips to and from the Motherland, and Thancred’s intense training, he and his foster brother had seen little of one another before Emporium was abandoned and Thancred sent to Ul’dah. Their differences in political opinions had not helped their bonds.

Now here they were a lifetime later, knowing only slightly better what had led each of them upon their respective paths.

“I’ve a question—unrelated to the current view,” Thancred said. Unrelated so far as Fourchenault was concerned. Thancred continued before losing his nerve. “Did parenting that pair of rapscallions highlight…well…the ways in which Louisoix…”

“Failed?” Fourchenault finished quietly. His blue eyes turned to the researchers engrossed in their duties.

“I wouldn’t put it quite so harshly, but…Yes, about the mistakes he made, I suppose. As a parent, specifically.”

“This is about the girl on the first reflection of Etheirys?”

“Naught gets left out of Alphinaud’s letters,” Thancred said dryly. “Yes; I found myself unexpectedly guardian to an adolescent. It was…” He suddenly floundered on how to explain.

“Enlightening,” Fourchenault said. “Terrifying, horrible…and wonderful.”

Thancred nodded.

Fourchenault sighed. “Yes, raising my children did highlight the matters I wished my father had handled…better. That I tried to handle better. At the same time, it showed me goals hopelessly out of my reach, my own shortcomings as a parent. You’re rather familiar with some of my failings already.”

“At one point, while in the First, Alisaie bluntly said I reminded her of you; in that instance, she did not mean it as a compliment.”

Fourchenault laughed, brief and a tad bitter. “Was she wrong?”

Thancred had to laugh sheepishly as well. “Not at all.”

“We did have a singular model,” Fourchenault said. “Much as we perhaps tried to fight against that image.”

“Or did not, at the time, understand what we had,” Thancred replied quietly.

“You were a stubborn little wharf rat,” Fourchenault said, with little of the sting of their youth. “That stubbornness at least has not changed, thank the Twelve.” Fourchenault smiled genuinely, reminiscent of Alphinaud—or perhaps the other way around. “But I do recall thinking you ungrateful for the opportunity Father had inexplicably granted you.”

“I had more than a few unkind thoughts of you myself. ‘Tis only recently that they have…adjusted. In some ways.”

“I find myself in a similar frame of mind,” Fourchenault said, a ghost of that smile still visible. He studied Pandaemonium. “Did you come to see what new trouble your colleague dredged onto our doorstep—or to face your specters?” he asked, voice soft and almost kind.

“I suppose the letters included that as well.” Thancred had the terrible urge to drink until just before that darkness swallowed him again. He bit it down.

“Not explicitly. In stories since, however, quite a few of the Scions’ adventures have been detailed.” Fourchenault paused. “The twins enjoy my discomfort almost as much as their mother does.”

Thancred couldn’t help huffing out another laugh. “Well, you do make quite the graceful picture when tripping out of a room lest you faint,” he noted. Some things blessedly never changed.

“Bah,” Fourchenault waved a dismissive hand. “Though the tales of your time under the Ascians’ thrall sounded particularly horrifying.”

“It was.” Thancred rubbed his eyes; he would have to speak to Alphinaud about what he shared, even with family. “Though from the reports now I wonder if Lahabrea influenced me more than I’d first thought. Or perhaps…sought a familiar resonance.” Hand in his pocket, he threaded the ribbon through his fingers.

“From what little I’ve heard, there seem to be some superficial similarities,” Fourchenault said. “But the same might be said for my own tale as a parent. Or even Father’s choices. We do what we think is best for our children, and don’t always realize when we’re truly making it easier on ourselves. One doesn’t need an Ascian’s influence to fall into that trap.”

“Hrmph. I know the twins told you what a hash I made of things.” Even now, recalling how close his girl had come to tragedy due to his own actions ran around his mind in darker hours, though she would hate to hear that; it was past.

“They also told me how you admitted your errors and strove to do better by the girl, your comrades, and yourself,” Fourchenault said. “Lessons I myself yet struggle with, after a lifetime of assurance that I knew best.” He smiled wryly. “Not the first time that you’ve outpaced me; nor I suspect the last.”

Thancred stared at Fourchenault. Louisoix’s actual son, born to privilege, beloved of the amazing Ameliance, national leader, brilliant sage…

“If you try to deny it, I shall tell your fellow Scions,” Fourchenault continued blithely.

“We’re disbanded,” Thancred reminded him.

Fourchenault did not quite roll his eyes. “I once asked Father why he was more…available for the twins than myself,” he continued. “Or even for you, off with your master for much of your time under our roof. I remember the…regret, I think, in Father’s smile, when he said he had learned better since our youths. He urged me not to make the same mistakes, and I swore I would not. Yet here we are.” He turned to Thancred. “I think Father would be proud of you. Not just for all you’ve done as a Scion, but for your girl, and the man you’ve become. I am, for as little as it counts from me.”

Thancred couldn’t manage to say that it meant more than he had imagined, so he settled for “Thank you. Though I feel there’s still much to learn about parenting.”

“There always is. Especially when they’re far away. But we’ve now the time. And if that ancient sorcerer could learn better, we certainly can,” Fourchenault gestured at the ghost facility.

Thancred laughed, squeezing Ryne’s letter. “We do have that singular example.”

Fourchenault nodded, then took a breath. “You should—I was thinking—Would you join us for dinner?” As Thancred raised a brow he hastily continued, “Ameliance would love to see you.”

“Of course,” Thancred replied. Learning how to be better fathers wasn’t the only thing he and Fourchenault needed to figure out. But as he had said, there was now time to make even a belated start.

[raelly-writing]

Until the Morrow

Thancred/fWoL, 5.0 spoilers for the MSQ. Takes place after the level 77 dungeon :)

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Thancred stared up into the top of the old bunk bed. In the dark, he could clearly hear the sounds of Urianger and Alphinaud’s slow and even breathing.

A vague, nonsensical feeling of envy stirred in his chest. Sighing, he twisted onto his side, pulling the covers closer around himself. The hasty movement made his muscles ache, battered and bruised as he still felt after all the fighting. Really, after a day so long and exhausting as the one they’d had, he should be dead to the world as well.

Try as he might tho, sleep would not come to him. His thoughts kept twisting and turning, picking over the events of the day, regret like a black void in his chest as each one inevitably made his thoughts loop back to another memory - of things he had not said when he should have, how he could now see how keeping Ryne at arm’s length had hurt her so deeply, and picking over each and every moment of the past few weeks, years, vowing to do better, to be better for her sake.

But he wouldn’t be to any good use on the morrow if he didn’t get some rest.

“Seven Hells…” Despite that his gruff whisper was muffled against the thin pillow it sounded so loud in the quiet room. Try as he might, even when resorting to old meditation techniques, the uncomfortable energy that simmered and crawled right beneath his skin just wouldn’t go away, leaving him twisting and turning in search for a comfortable sleeping position.

Finally, with a twinge of annoyance at himself, Thancred threw aside the covers and rolled out of bed. Maybe a walk would let him relax. The old worn floorboards shifted beneath his sock clad feet as he silently made his way to the door with his boots in hand, yet neither of his companions thankfully stirred from their slumber.

When he closed the door behind him and the stillness of the dark corridor enveloped him, Thancred let out his breath in a slow exhale and quickly pulled on his boots.

Now that he was fully awake and resigned to contemplating the past day, that familiar, painful ache in his heart that had been his constant companion for so many years stirred. Minfilia truly was gone now - at last freed from her long vigil over this world and allowed to rest. A part of him wished he could have seen her one more time, heard her calm melodic voice for the last time... That he could have told her those things he should have so long ago, and been allowed to say his farewells to her, to assure her he’d look after Ryne and the rest of their friends.

Automatically, his steps carried him to the next door, where he paused and let his fingertips settle against the rough wood, as though he could sense the rest of their group sleeping beyond it.

Well, Minfilia was not entirely gone - part of her did live on in Ryne. A faint smile curled the corner of his mouth. The events of the day had clearly taken their toll on her, yet she’d put on such a brave face right until they arrived back here to Twine, unwilling to admit to her fatigue until everyone else had been yawning widely.

It was a very strange and confusing mix of feelings but despite his restless mind, he felt… somehow more at ease than he had in a long time. Like he finally could see the hints of a clearer path ahead of himself, no longer obscured by the darkness of his mourning and sense of failure, that there was no longer an old intangible weight bearing down on his chest and shoulders.

Shaking his head, Thancred silently stalked further down the corridor of the former mine workers’ quarters, towards the door out to the balcony. He needed some fresh air, to let his thoughts settle until they no longer twisted and turned in whichever direction they pleased. If they didn’t linger on the past, it they trailed forward - to the battles ahead, the things he’d need to speak of with Ryne so he could properly clear the air between them, the old regrets that still clung to his conscience that he felt he needed to make up for, the lingering hypervigilance against Eulmore’s pursuit of them, of Viana and the sudden change to their relationship after so many years…

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at the pleasant memory of kissing her, still so fresh that he could almost still feel her lips against his. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it had all been a pleasant dream, and that he’d wake up at any moment with Urianger and Y’shtola hovering above him as they tended to his wounds.

Wouldn’t be the first time his dreams elected to taunt him with what he thought was beyond him. He pushed open the door, the refreshing cold night air rushing into his lungs and immediately nipping at his skin laid bare by his pushed up sleeves. The glow of a lantern took him by surprise, as did the figure leaning against the banister. Thancred stopped dead in his tracks, just as the very person he’d been thinking of whipped around, her body language tense and ready.

Even though they both immediately visibly relaxed, the air was at once thick with tension as they stared at each other. They hadn’t been afforded any time to speak in private, not with their friends around, everyone utterly exhausted after the day’s events, and the multitude of questions the inhabitants of Twine had had upon their return.

The surreal sensation tugged at him once more. For over five years he’d clung to memories of quiet moments he’d spent in her company, missing their comfortable companionship, worrying about what was happening on the Source, his heart yearning to be by her side once more - all while trying to force himself to cut off those stubborn feelings that had blossomed from that friendship. He’d been so certain that it’d been for the best not to act on them, that if he did not, she’d let go of whatever she thought she might feel and move on to someone more deserving of her affections.

Someone who was more trustworthy than he.

And yet, there in the soft lantern light, he saw the undeniable warmth in her gaze as she looked at him. Clearing his throat, Thancred offered her a small, apologetic smile. “Pardon me, I didn’t know the balcony was occupied.”

Viana huffed out a quiet laugh, her smile earnest if a tad tired. “Fret not, I believe there’s enough room for the both of us,” she replied quietly while shrugging one shoulder. The blanket she had wrapped around herself, already hanging precariously after her sudden motion when he’d startled her, slipped a little further off that shoulder. Instantly, Thancred felt an itch in his fingers to readjust it, to pull her close once more - to feel her lips against his again and soak in the warmth of her leaning against him without the hard press of their respective armours in the way.

An unfamiliar nervous tingle sparked in his stomach as he carefully nudged shut the door behind him. Hells, he’d yanked her into that first kiss out of fear and adrenaline - a leap of faith, before he lost his nerve and accepted the easy out she had given him of what her accidental confession could entail, to let him just carry on as he had without confronting what lay between them - but he wasn’t about to act quite so impulsive now.

With slow, measured steps he closed the distance between, giving him time to observe her. Viana leaned against the banister, despite the uncertain energy to her pose looking more at ease in his presence than he could recall for… well, ever since they’d been reunited in this dying world. It no longer felt like there was a vast expanse between them - one he knew had mainly been of his own doing, holding her at arm’s length, until it had reached that breaking point in Twine.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him, the teasing glint in her eyes so painfully familiar from years past, when they had both been standing on the Source. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Thancred couldn’t help but huff out a quiet laugh. This felt familiar. Comforting. Perhaps grabbing her around the waist to keep her from leaving had been less a leap of faith off a steep cliff with a long drop and more a leap to join her on her side of the rift between them.

Perhaps that was why he felt so uncertain in this moment, his footing not yet stable on this new ground he’d suddenly found himself on.

Thancred leaned against the banister, keeping a small if unassuming distance between them, and shrugged while staring out across the moonlit landscape. “Hard to shake the feeling that Eulmore will be snapping at our heels any moment now,” he replied.

“I think we’re safe for now,” Viana hummed and turned to rest her elbows on the railing. “The loss of Ran’jit is sure to upset the chain of command for a little while, maybe even rattle morale a bit. Suspect we’ll be bringing the fighting to them, if we wish to reach the Kholusia lightwarden...”

“The sooner the better,” he replied. “Vauthry has a lot to answer for.” It was hard to keep the grim tone out of his voice. For years he’d harboured anger towards the city for locking away Ryne in a dark cell, far below the sea level. While striking down Ran’jit for good eased some of it, he was not the sole person responsible for the treatment of her. And three years were not enough to wipe away the memories of the weeks he spent infiltrating the city, of the debauched acts of hedonism and heartless cruelty that he’d witnessed while slinking from shadow to shadow, seeking a way down to the gaol.

The remnants of his anger from earlier in the day stirred at the back of his mind, but a warm touch to the bare skin of his arm drew him back to the present.

It was a small, hesitant touch - just the back of Viana’s fingers pressed against his arm, thumb brushing over his wrist - but he felt it as surely as the comforting heat of a fire on a cold day. “Did you have a chance to speak with Ryne yet?” she asked softly.

Thancred cast a glance at her, and shook his head. “Only a little. She was so tired that I said we’d speak further once we’re back in the Crystarium.”

She made a quiet sound of understanding, and much to his regret she withdrew her hand. After a moment of hesitation, he reached back out for it, sliding his fingers along the inside of her wrist in a silent question. Something in his stomach twisted, a nervous jolt of energy he was unfamiliar with, when she immediately opened her hand so he could loosely entwine his fingers with hers.

They stood in silence for a moment, with only the muted sounds from the other side of the small town where the miners were celebrating the night’s return as their company. Her hand was warm against his, and he found himself relishing in the small, innocent contact.

Exhaling slowly, Thancred rubbed his thumb against her hand. How many times hadn’t he seduced and tempted men and women, confident that his easy smile and grandiose compliments would win their favour - be it to coax information out of them or merely for a night of simple pleasure. Those grand words had never worked on her. But, where Y’shtola had always had a sharp, dismissive remark at hand, Viana had thrown his words back at him with an amused roll of her eyes, her teasing retorts just as void of sincere intent as his.

As memories of trading jabs and barbs with her, faded by the many years that had passed, played in his mind, an awareness crept up on him of his every touch and word that quickly grew into a nagging worry that any gesture of his now would be mistaken as disingenuous.

“Hey… something wrong?”

Wetting his lips, Thancred kept his eyes on the far horizon. “Forgive me,” he drawled with a self deprecating lilt to his tone, “I used to be good at… all of this.”

Viana was quiet for a moment, before the warm weight of her upper arm settled against his as she leaned against him. It prompted him to look up to see her give him a reassuring, if nervous, smile. “It’s okay Thancred, I don’t have any expectations.”

By reflex, he raised an eyebrow, a joking remark right at the tip of his tongue, but before he had a chance to speak her eyes grew wide and she jerked upright, yanking her hand out of his loose grip in the process.

“I mean - Hells, that came out wrong,” she rushed to explain as a deep blush coloured her cheeks. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t how - It’s not that I think you’ll-” Embarrassment flitted across her features and she sharply averted her gaze, turning her head away from him with a frustrated sound.

Thancred blinked, caught a little off-guard at seeing such a flustered reaction from her, but then gave her a lopsided smile. With a fond laugh under his breath, he felt some of his own worries ebb away. Turning his body towards her, he pulled up the blanket that barely clung to her arm so it rested more securely over her shoulder, then let his hand settle at the small of her back. “Viana, relax.”

A couple of seconds passed before she exhaled slowly, her shoulders slumping a little when she turned to mirror his pose, leaning on one elbow against the banister, gaze downcast and an uncertain frown on her face. One of her fingers tapped against the banister in a nervous manner before she reached out and took his hand between hers.

“What I meant is that I have no experience with these sorts of relationships either,” she finally said, her tone even and measured, like she’d thought each word over. The feeling of her trailing slow, random patterns over his palm that left a tingling sensation in their wake, but he kept still, his other hand having fallen to rest at her hip. A look of weary amusement flittered across her features, “Casual encounters, yes, though those never seemed to be particularly satisfactory.” Her fingers stilled, and she just held his hand between hers, enveloping it in her warm grasp. “But there was never that… trust, to let someone close for something more long-lasting.”

The weight of her words settled in his chest. Swallowing thickly, Thancred curled his fingers around her hand and raised it so he could brush a kiss to the back of her fingers. Wherever this between them went, for however long she wanted him by her side, he’d rather the gods struck him down on the spot than ever risk hurting her. “I suppose we’ll just have to learn together then,” he rasped out.

Viana laughed quietly under her breath as she moved to cup his jaw with her free hand. “I’m willing to,” she replied gently. A warm sense of contentment swelled up in his entire body when she lowered her head to rest her brow against his - there were no urgent tasks to see at this moment, no need to do anything to rush things. Humming, he slipped his hand beneath the blanket to wrap his arm around her waist, relishing in the warmth radiating off her through her thin shirt. Slowly, he nuzzled his nose against hers, soaking in the moment, before capturing her lips in a tender, lingering kiss. There'd been so many times that his traitorous dreams had fed him figments and shards of what it’d be like to kiss her, to hold her close, that part of him still reeled at the knowledge that he was welcome to do so now.

He could feel her smile against his lips, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone while her other hand slipped out of his grasp to settle on his shoulder. With a dull thud, the blanket fell to the floor, but she made no move to break away from him. The kiss melted into another, then one more. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold night air rolled down his spine, and he subconsciously tensed his fingers, pressing them into her back, his other light on her hip. After all these years without much physical contact, his entire body sang with satisfaction at feeling her body settle against his - not accidental brushes while they sparred or went about their daily business, but comfortably leaning her entire frame against him. When they finally broke apart, the stillness of the night settled around them, and Viana moved her arms to rest around his shoulders.

It took all he had to suppress a shudder as he pressed his nose against the crook of her neck, his thoughts fuzzy and disoriented, merely relishing in having her close, of being enveloped in her embrace, warmth and scent. If only he could stay like this with her for many more hours, just holding her and being held in turn.

“This is nice,” she finally whispered.

Thancred chuckled and gave her hip a small squeeze. “Glad to hear I am not too out of practise after all these years.”

Viana laughed under her breath, but made no move to break the embrace, not even when he a few moments later felt her shiver.

As if to remind him of where they were, the cold night air nipped at his skin, and he realised she was in just a short sleeved shirt. Concern stirred him to turn his head and press a kiss to her neck. “Do you want to head back inside?”

Immediately, she leaned back from him, her expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you from your sleep.”

With a low laugh from deep in his chest, Thancred shook his head and rubbed his thumbs against her waist. “You’re not, darling.” Then he leaned down, picking up the blanket from the worn out timber floor. When he straightened back up, he slipped his hand into hers and guided her over to the simple bench that was pushed up against the wall, the lantern perched on one end of it. “I’m not opposed to staying out here for a little while with you, ” he explained with, what he hoped, was a charming smile. Twelve, he felt so rusty.

There was an amused, affectionate glint in her eye as she accepted his invitation, and they settled down together, the blanket large enough to wrap around both of them.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Mhm,” she replied, just as her hand found his beneath the blanket and laced her fingers with his.

“Good,” he whispered, squeezing her hand. Despite the nervous simmering energy that lingered in his stomach, in the end it felt so… easy, knowing that his touches were welcome. No pretenses were needed, no sugar coated words to vye for her good graces or that game of measured and careful touches to tempt and seduce. Just the slow, timid return of the companionship he had missed so dearly since he’d been torn to this world.

He knew her. And for all his faults, she had accepted him, chosen him.

As they sat there, shoulders pressed together, quietly speaking about things that did not pertain to the labours that lay ahead of them, while staring up at the stars twinkling so far above, he felt himself relax, a small smile playing on his lips. There were other, practical things they would need to speak of - of their responsibilities as Scions, their pasts, and experiences - but those could wait for a later time.

After all these years, he could let himself just enjoy this small moment, as it were. Duty would call soon enough for both of them.

[whitherliliesbloom]

reflections in crystal

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #30 - splinter ]

[ wol and her found family ]  ★ [ 1,654 words ]  ★ [ post-5.3 ]

all of the shb scions except urianger (sorry urianger i just can’t deal with the way you speak aaaaaa). mentions of ryne, krile and tataru too. 

we may forget ourselves, but we’re ever riding home. and for now and evermore, we will never lose hope.

“I do hope you have a good explanation for dragging all of us out here.” With crossed arms, Y’shtola frowns at the miqo’te as he beckons towards his fellow scions and ushers them out the stairwell and onto the balcony, tail flicking in anticipation.

“It will be worth your while, I promise!” He lets out a boyish grin, the very picture of innocent glee that Y’shtola saw fit not to argue against and merely shrugs. G’raha closes the door behind the party, before moving to the stone railing and gesturing to his lalafellin companion.

“Here, here! A front row seat for our hero of the hour!”

The champion and hero in question flushes, a hue of pink rising up to dust her cheeks and the tips of her ears as she hides her bespangled violet eyes beneath the shadow of pure white bangs. 

“P-please! N-None of that! This isn’t about me right now!” 

But her piss poor attempt to hide her emotions are fruitless - in front of the ones she has spent what feels to be her entire eventful life with, and the lalafellin’s embarrassed state has evidently given the others some amount of amusement, from Alphinaud’s stifled laughter to Alisaie’s smirk - though the latter was quickly wiped away as the feistier of the twins turns her attention to the vista before them. 

“Well whatever it is he dragged us here for, I don’t really mind.” Alisaie’s amiable mood seems to catch the man in question off guard, who widens his eyes at the awestruck expression upon her face. “At least the view’s pretty.”

Pretty would be a sore understatement, really... and there wasn’t a single scion who would think to disagree.

Together, their eyes raised heavensward, where a tower of crystal stood amongst the stars and the full moon in all its radiant glory. 

For a moment there was silence as the scions lined themselves up to look upon that beacon of light - and from within the intense lapis glow of the crystal’s shine they saw glimmers of the past; a past that felt both so distant away, yet vivid in their minds all the same. 

It almost felt like a dream - their adventures in the First, and though they had all just barely recovered from their taxing soul transfer, the scions felt a burst of renewed energy as they reflected upon those memories while their eyes are so nearly blinded by the everlasting light of the crystal tower.

Illya sits herself upon the railing, and from her sling bag she fishes out a jar of oddly familiar cookies, holding them out to Thancred with a smile upon her face. 

“Coffee biscuits baked by Ryne! She said it may taste a little different from the one you’re used to, though. She wanted us to enjoy some while we gathered tonight.” With a raised eyebrow, the man in white takes the jar, eyeing the unevenly browned biscuits through the glass with suspicion, though it wasn’t exactly the biscuits questionable appearance that caused him reservation. 

“Gathered tonight you say? Is this some kind of special occasion?” Thancred asks, and frowns when the lalafell merely shrugs her shoulders, eyes glistening with a well-rehearsed faked expression of ignorance. “So I take that you know what G’raha’s up to.”

She peers up to glance at the miqo’te man beside her who stares down at her in return, and after a moment of contemplative silence, their lips turn upwards into a cheeky grin that causes Thancred’s eyes to almost roll out of his own skull.

“Aha- speaking of what I’m up to.” Vivid red eyes light up at the sight of a distant gleam, and with a raised finger he confidently points up to the shimmering sky. “I believe it’s just begun!”

Upon the darkened night sky, they begin to witness a spectacular shower of lights, falling from the heavens before splaying apart. Like the descent of cosmos, they paint streaks of gold glitters across the backdrop of the cloudless darkness, forming an array of fleeting constellations.  Luminous sheets of blue and purple auroras rise, and their combined radiance fills the hearts of the scions with a veneration and awe that they could not find words to describe. And amidst the astral plane, the crystal tower is right at home, its light shining ever brighter as if taking in the prayers of the hopes and dreams that had been wished upon the falling stars. 

Reflected in their eyes, they momentarily saw fire and ash, and they could almost hear whispers of the past and voices muffled by water. 

It was a star shower not unlike the one they’d witnessed in the First, one that was understandably a sore point of memory for most of the scions present.

“You took us all here.. to see a star shower? After everything that happened?” Thancred asks, tilting his head inquistively, though his eyes never once leaves the spectacle in the sky. 

“I thought it fitting.” With a serene smile, one of an ease that he has not known for the past hundred years, G’raha murmurs, and he takes in a deep breath to calm his hummingbird heart. “So that we’ll remember what we once were.” 

Termination was no pretty sight, and it filled him with no more trepidation than any of the other scions. The sight before them was one of a memory of pain, a reflection of world’s end, and what could have been crippling failure.

But the illusion of no tomorrow was broken, as did the shackles that had kept him prisoner of his own duty. And his heart soars a hundredfold as he closes his eyes for but a moment, and recalls the way he and the Warrior of Darkness fought and cried out against fate with one voice until the very end - until the arrival of another clear blue sky.

And from within crystal, he can finally look back on his reflection with a fondness in his heart, and watch the shower of stars as a symbol of future’s arrival - a future that will ever keep coming so long as they held on to hope. 

“Emet-Selch had once said that we were incomplete - that our souls, sundered and broken as they are, hold no worth in the world.” Alphinaud reflects, leaning forward and resting his arms against the railing with a smile. He lifts a gloved hand, drawing invisible lines across the sky as if connecting the fading trails left behind by the stars. 

“But he forgot that our worth laid not in the weight of our souls, but of the legacy we leave behind. Our souls may splinter and fray.. but they will never truly disappear as long as we fight to live. And through that, the light of a thousand fractured stars is still enough to birth a sun.” 

Like scattered moon dust, the stars continued to hang in the air proudly, and they will ever continue to do so like jewels of the night sky until morning light comes to greet a new day. Their reflection slowly fades into the dark as the falling stars slow and vanish - but as the light of their souls persists, so too will their memories live on, waiting to be relived another day in their dreams.

And upon a mountain of pained memories, there laid a hope for a brighter tomorrow that has not yet died. If even the end of days was not enough to extinguish their light, then what could?

“Ugh.. there he goes again being all pretentious and poetic.” Alisaie groans, folding her arms across her chest as her brother shrugs. “Besides.. isn’t that not fitting at all.. given the Warrior of Darkness and everything..”

“T’was just a metaphor, dear sister. Though I suppose I should be more careful with my vocabulary seeing how some people are too slow to understand.”

The young man’s collar was promptly grabbed, and Alphinaud nearly suffocates helplessly against Alisaie’s death grip as she shakes him violently. Illya lets out a melodic laugh, one that echoes in the air to accompany the soft whispers of the wind. When Alphinaud’s face has been sufficiently paled, Alisaie finally releases him to cough, puffing her chest out with a huff.

“So are we done here? I got places to be, thieves to chase, you know.” 

“I concur, Krile and Tataru have need for my assistance with something and I think I’ve kept them waiting long enough.” Y’shtola, despite the sternness in her tone of voice, flashes an uncharacteristically gentle smile. 

“Well, if everyone’s dispersing I guess I will too.” With a stretch and a grunt, Thancred raises the jar of coffee biscuits up. “I’ll leave these in the Rising Stones for anyone who wants some.” 

If G’raha had been attempting to hide his disappointment, he truly did a poor job at it, as his ears flatten against the top of his head and his lips forms into a pout for but a moment. 

“I had hoped that we’d get to linger a little while longer but-”

The Warrior of Light swivels around, and grabs onto Alphinaud’s hand before hopping off the railing, and from beneath the bangs of her hair that shone with an ever transcending radiance, he catches glimpses in the vibrant lavender hues of her eyes a promise - a promise of an adventure, a future, and a wish he’d kept locked in his heart for so long until recently. 

“Don’t worry. We may scatter now.. but..” Illya’s smile is one of a tranquil, reassuring gentleness, as her long hair sways gently like waves among the starry night breeze. G’raha shivers as the wind howls and blows away any ponze of lingering doubts away for good, and he finds himself mirroring the renewed expression of joy she wore upon her face. 

“We’ll all come home again, no matter how long it takes.”

[theaetherhealerffxiv]

Redemption Pt 2

Part One

Ao3 link

Rating: PG17 for safety

Parings: Wol x Emet-Selch

Summary:

Its over, the winner gets to write the next chapter of the story. So why, pray tell, wont the Warrior of Light let him die?

Chapter Summary:

Hades managed to open a portal that allowed the Scions and the Wol to escape the battle Area, but now they must leave Amaurot, Hades is struggling with the fact that he seems cut off from his magic - and dreading the consequences.

Word count: 6993

As they entered the portal Hades felt an ache deep within his chest. It was his current aether, pure and bound, intermingling with his old aether. The collusion caused air to be torn from his lungs his golden eyes widening with the surprise of the event. Never in his existence since the sundering, has a portal he created rejected him so. His body sagged under the weight of the unexpected burden, but the firm hands that gripped his sides guided him through the portal with unanticipated ease.  As they came into the golden hallways of the capitol building he felt air rush back through his lips. Feeling relief he slouched forward coughing again, flecks of aether hitting the floor. As he caught his breath Hades felt the small hands of Ryne patting his back, and Swath’s released him to slump to the floor with a heavy sigh of exhaustion. Hades, still bent turned his gaze to the clearly worn Viera, she had clearly crumpled to the ground without grace nor care about her position; she just did not want to be standing.

Hades frowned, lifting his hand to wipe his lips, shifting looking at the binds that connected the two of them. Binds that only he could see clearly. They were still blinding, but her soul was dimmer as if her continued pushing her limits was affecting the very core of her soul. He suspected that this actually happened to her often, but never in the company of her companions. Swath was clearly trying to play it off by rolling her shoulders and stretching. Unnecessary movements to distract herself and Thancred from her true fatigue. 

“Tired?” Thancred asked her, Hades, still in pain gently patted Rynes hand and shifted to sit down as well, next to the Viera. She nodded, leaning back on her hands her axe, which was tied to her back clanked unceremoniously on the floor. Settling down beside her Hades kept his attention solely on the Hero, could he inquire about her exhaustion without letting her know that he had more answers than he cared to give? For the moment, despite his promise to Hythlodaeus, he wished to keep some playing cards to himself. In case it was needed, against what he was not sure. Perhaps against Elidibus, the only true Ascian remaining tied to Zodiark. While his face was still Hades internally frowned. There was still a lot of enmity and danger directed towards Swath, and he knew that he was ill equipped to protect her. His past self, the one that originally walked the halls they sat in could easily have transformed into his altered mage form to protect her with ease. 

The him right now was as useless as a newborn mortal child. 

Looking away from Swath he heard her chatting with Thancred, he did not care about what. Instead he found his gaze shifting towards the makeshift portal that he had torn open. It viciously shook as his golden sight fell upon it, and then vanished. Hades frowned at the spectacle that had been lost to his unwitting companions. As the last of the tainted aether shimmered out of existence a prick of pain radiated from his wound. His hands reached up to touch the wound on his chest, glowing, and bleeding again. Grazing his gloved hand over it he brought it to his face to gaze at it. The glow of the aether was as dim as her soul, its color was still brilliantly blue, but was off to him. Clenching his hand he bit his lip, unsure of what it meant. His mind was too tired to properly problem solve. It could be because Swath was honestly spent from their battle and the act of pulling his soul back from the Underworld. It could have completely different indications. Perhaps ramifications of freeing him from Zodiark? Disdain from the Primal that exerted a certain amount of will over her. Hades gnawed his lip at the thought, pushing it from his mind quickly. He would settle for her being tired, without overthinking the problem for the moment. 

 Out of the corner of his eye he saw Thancred pat the woman, “Rest then, I will go talk to the others about finding a way back to the surface.” Ryne  hopped up, Hades had almost forgotten about her, and Thancred waved at her indicating her to remain sitting. “Stay with Swath and,” The white haired man paused staring at Hades who raised his eyebrows at him curiously. Thancreds eyes looked back at Swath, Hades’ eyes followed his gaze. The woman looked at Thancred with expectation. Concerned but curious Hades looked back at Thancred disgruntled face. He groaned before speaking, “Hades.” Thancred spat his true name like a curse and turned on his heel to march over to the others without a second word. To the twins who were speaking in animated gestures towards each other and the other Scions. Hades peeked at Swath out of the corner of his eyes to see her smiling with satisfaction. He huffed and shifted his position, so their conversation had been her convincing Thancred to use his name, not his title. The Hero clearly could not cleanse the disdain that the man appropriately had for him, but her words had reached him somewhat. 

Hades felt a measure of pride for her actions. She was so very strong willed; and he couldn't help but wonder if instead of he standing beside her, it would be she standing beside him in his darkest moments. Although, the thought flitted across his mind, was that not what she was already doing?

Ryne plopped down in front of Swath and Hades, smiling, taking the man from his thoughts. “That was amazing Mr. Hades!” Pulling her knees to her chest she tilted her head at him and he gave a pained smile in response to her praise. He had done nothing to be appreciated. All he had done was remove them the graveyard he created for them to the one he had fashioned for himself.  “Although, did he really use you as a conduit Swath?” This question took him by surprise, as she looked at the Viera for answers. Swath shrugged, moving to more appropriately sit beside Hades and in front of Ryne. Hades noted that while she advanced with a normal speed, her movements were clumsy. Her hands slipping and her legs bumping the floor until she settled. 

Once again he kept his face straight, it was clear to him she did not with the others to know. Thus he would not indicate that he could see her struggling.

“I’h felt somethin, but I dunno, he pulled away from me remember?” Her eyes turned to watch him carefully, inspecting him. He looked away from her, to Ryne who also regarded him curiously, and then to look at the ruined cloak that still adorned his frame. How it had begun to fray and rip more. With a disgruntled sigh Hades leaned forward to rub his head in frustration at the question when he realized he still wore his rather sharp, taloned glove.  With a quick shake of his head yanked it off throwing it to the side. The clank as it hit the gilded floor caused the other Scions to look up from their conversation. But Hades just waved his hand at them, disregarding their reactions further.

“I did,” He finally said, now able to rub his forehead uninhibited by the sharp metal of the glove. “It was an unexpectedly easy task,” Hades muttered moving to scrub his lips cleaning them of the aether that he had coughed up earlier. “It allowed me a glimpse into what I believe is binding me to this bro-” He clicked his tongue and stopped speaking, cursing old habits and lingering negative emotions. Before taking a breath and continuing, “binding me to the living.” Hades clearly was avoiding speaking about the shards as a whole. He was not ready to accept certain failures quite yet. Hades knew that he would need to, to move forward in this new life, but for the moment he was content allowing it to fester. The chains may be gone, but emotions clearly lingered. 

“What is it?” Ryne leaned forward, Hades watched as her eyes darted from his face to look at his wound, which his fingers where grazing as if searching for the hole that should be there. Every time he touched it it stung, but he knew it was no ordinary wound. It would not cause rot or infection. It was of pure aether, her aether, trying to reconstruct his form. He observe Ryne’s movements, clearly suspicious about the glowing wound on his chest. Hades shrugged and let his hand drop to his lap before raising it and waving it at the Viera which sat close to them. 

“Clearly, the conduit that is solidifying my presence here is Swath herself.” The man looked at her, her ears where back and a faint blush decorated her bruised cheeks. Hades’s eyebrows  shot up with surprise at her reaction, as he felt a blush creep up his neck. It was as if she did not expect him to call her out so quickly. The blush also caught him off guard; he had also not expected his words to elicit such an emotion from her. He watched as the thread that connected them flared, her soul burning ever slightly brighter. Clearing his throat he looked away, trying to keep the fact that he had such a profound effect on her very soul to himself. “She bound me with her aether, and thus I assume she also had a hand in breaking the bonds of Zodiark.” Hades continued with a steady voice even though he himself felt a little flushed. The bright blue glow of her soul a tempting distraction. 

Disgruntled he brought his ungloved hand to his chin and scrubbed at it - at the stubble he found. It was rough on his hand and reminded him that, usually, when he possessed a body later in their life and molded it to the form of his liking he did not have to deal with the many bodily functions that came with existing. The appearance of the stubble could be because he was effectively cut off from his magics. Pulling his hand away from his face it occurred to him that he did not have access to his regular magics. The ones that allowed him to take the form of a mage - but perhaps he could still create. Watching his hand he stared at his fingertips focusing, willing an image from his mind to his hand. A vision of a gentle butterfly, golden wings like Swaths good eye, and a white body such as her hair. He felt the warmth of the magic spread across his body, but at the same time he cursed himself for letting the Viera so easily affect his creation. After a moment the butterfly began to take shape on his hand, spreading its wings readying for flight.

There was a small gasp from Ryne, who sat in front of him. He could see her leaning forward her eyes wide with a child's wonder, then there was a small intake of air behind him. A hand, clothed in rough armor heavily hit his shoulder, the sudden touch from Swath caused Hades’ concentration to disperse and the man watched in horror as the butterfly on his hand dissipated. Creation magic was not supposed to break so easily. “Damn it.” He grumbled, dropping his hand and slamming it harshly against the ground. The frustration that bubbled deep within his chest was hard for him to control. He hated being separated from his magics, it was unnatural, and it caused him great distress. 

“Was tha creation magic?” Swath asked from beside him, her voice bringing him back and serving as a grounding agent for Hades. Turning to look at her he sighed, his shoulders shrugging as he did so.

“It was supposed to be.” He muttered, still displeased with himself.  In the miserable state he was in he was beyond useless, again, equivalent to a newborn mortal child. “It is not supposed to vanish so once I lose my focus.” Hades shifted on the hard floor, groaning and clutching his chest. The sudden movement causing the wound to throb, strange crusty bits flaking off as he regarded it. Was it trying to heal? Lifting his hand he once again was going to touch the wound. Hades was then distracted by hand that was still on his shoulder moving to grazed down his back to his hip, Swath suddenly pulled him close to her. He grunted in discomfort and quickly turned to gaze at her. Hades was about to protest when he saw her eyes where on his wound. The intensity of her stare silenced him, and he could only watch as her other hand moved to grasp his arm pulling it away from his chest. “Hero,” Hades his voice was flavored with warning as she lifted her hand without a care to press it firmly against his chest. Pain erupted from her touch and he buckled forward as much as her hands allowed. Cursing, “By your twelve woman!” Air hissed from his lungs as she shifted her hand and pulled back suddenly clearly satisfied. A small huff coming from her larger frame as Hades writhed trying to become accustomed to the pain once again.

“Its solid,” She said with a blinding smile. 

“I would sure hope it was!” He spat at her. Shifting Hades turned to look at her face his anger dissipating instantly once graced with the happy expression that decorated her face. Clicking his tongue, trying to keep a burst of embarrassment under control he looked towards the scions which still chatted away, oblivious to the trios interactions. Raising a hand he coughed into it, dull throbbing accompanied the movement. He knew it was a ramification of her sudden action towards him. Once again he removed the aether that leaked from his lips, growing irritated with having to continually repeat the action. Turning to her once he had gathered himself he asked, “Why, pray tell, did you do that?”

“I’h wanted to make sure that mah aether wouldn't just, vanish.” Swath muttered beside him. He watched as her sd she looked down at her hands, the one she had touched him with covered in the blue substance. Her face was sullen, concerned, troubled. As Hades regarded her a thought dancing across his mind, bringing a realization to him.

“Good, I knew she would not allow someone to die so similarly to I.” 

Swath had done the action out of panic, perhaps as she had watched the butterfly vanish her fears of he too dissipating in motes of light overtook her judgement. Hades turned away and gazed at his hand, how troubled was this Hero? How much of her suffered because of the actions of others? He was truly the most selfish thing she had ever done in her life. Hades closed his hand and let it settle into his lap before turning his gaze upward. 

“Ah,” He spoke softly, as if was regarding a crying child. “You wanted to make sure I would not die on you, is that correct?” The pause between them was heavy, even causing Ryne to turn away in an attempt to give them some form of privacy. 

“Yeah.” She mumbled behind him, the rustling of fabric and chain mail accompanying her response. Swath seized his free hand into an intense grasp. Hades tilted his head to gaze at their hands, moving so that he could interlock his fingers with hers. It was a simple gesture, he understood this, and one he would usually not think of to do. He may in past lives, been a romantic, finding pleasure in wooing women and men alike but here he floundered as if he was falling in love for the first time all over again. In his mind that made sense, beside him was an eight times rejoined version of his beloved. Swath acted so much like her whole self it threw the golden eyed man for a loop. He felt young, he felt angry, he felt confused; he felt free. Shutting his eyes for a moment he gathered himself before he looked at her briefly giving her an unsure smile before speaking. 

“I, truthfully, Hero, do not think I am able to leave this plain of existence without your say.” His golden eyes returned to stare at their hands instead of her face. Hades took note that her skin was common for a Rava Viera, a bluish tint, one that remind him of a fresh evening sky. Making the small scars flecked her skin the stars. Hades squeezed her hand trying to reassure her, he did not know if the feelings went properly through before turning to look at the group of Scions, whose conversation was increasing volume. “Hm, I do not believe they know the best way out of here.” Hades’ tone was nonchalant, he honestly figured that they would just retrace the steps that the group had originally took to come down to the phantom Amaurot. Of course, he had originally also assumed that this place was to be a graveyard for them. 

“Without swimming.” Ryne said with a strained laugh. Hades raised his eyebrows as he found the girl shifting to look at him with hopeful expectation. Did she truly hope that he had another trick up his sleeve? Alas, he did not, his energy had been spent on bypassing the recreation he had so carefully crafted. Shaking his head he gave her a weary smile. 

“I am sorry child, I do not have it in me to summon another portal as I did. If I do I fear that I will be reduced to expelling aether from my body once more.” Hades felt his brows turn down into a sorrowful expression with his response. Ryne sighed mournfully and Swaths hand tightened around his own. Hades realized that his words may have once again struck a chord within the Hero.  He gathered himself, prepared to attempt  to comfort her.  He finally turned to look at her face expecting her eyes to be gazing at him with fear; instead he found that she was not looking to him but toward the open entrance. A frown danced across Hades’ face as he tried to decipher her expression before giving up and turning to look for himself. There in the doorway was a phantom.

It lingered as if it had a will of its own, which was impossible. Hades could not have given any of their souls back, if he could have at the time of the creation of this place he would have. But it loitered none the less, its expressionless face staring at him. He shifted, it seemed familiar. Had he have given this phantom a name? Perhaps it was the pain, but he was beginning to have trouble remembering the events that had led up to the final fight.

 It moved awkwardly, taking a step forward, like a puppet with broken strings. Hades stomach dropped, it should not be able to come into the Capitol building. Behind him he could feel Swath tense up, moving to grab hold of Ryne and pull the small oracle behind them. Even though he could not completely see her actions he felt her through their entwined hands try to pull him behind her as well. Instead he, huffed releasing his grasp and struggled to stand. He would not be babied, he may be exhausted and wounded but he would not fear the own phantoms he had created. As he stood he heard her, muttering, her voice growing louder. 

“Hades -” Swaths concerned tone echoed through the building, the Scions had stopped conversing the minute they heard her speak. He ignored her fear, this was his creation, if he had miscalculated something he must attempt to remedy it. Even in his present condition he was apprehensive that the whole of the phantom Amaurot would vanish beneath their feet. The butterfly was vividly clear in his mind, especially the way it had vaporized. Hades knew that his powers were weakened, as he had mentioned earlier he could not properly calculate the effects the events had upon his form, and his magic. He stood finally, unsteady, one hand on his wound he began to walk towards the approaching phantom. “Hades!” Swath called out again, but he just waved her off.

It was okay, he tried to convey the emotion through is hand. Once again he did not know if the feelings properly went through but she was not jumping up to stop his advancement towards the phantom. As Hades walked he found his body barely heeded his orders. It was sluggish, sore, and unfamiliar to him. The walk was painful without someone supporting him, he could feel all the eyes of his new companions on him as he strode across the golden floors. Soon enough he stood in front of the phantom, which kneeled down and reached out to him. Its hands stopping inches away from his face. Hades felt no fear to the situation he was now in. The ghosts of the past where harmless to him, as he stood before it he found its hand hesitantly touching him. Its masked face blank, it had no facial features after all. 

“Honored Emet-Selch,” The phantom spoke finally. The words wholly familiar to him, but the movements of the phantom where foreign. He had imbued them memories of the final day before the world crashed down around them. They should not have any reason to enter the Capitol building. “Honored Emet-Selch,” The phantom repeated, clearly expecting him to answer. Hades rolled his eyes, shifting on his feet before taking a deep breath.

He cleared his throat, trying to rid it of the aether like fluid that still clung to it. “Yes?” He asked, in all honestly loathing hearing the title come from the phantom. Hades was starting to grow accustomed to hearing his true name again, and being called by it. In fact he was beginning to prefer it over the title which he had worn for eons. Nevertheless, he waited for the phantom to answer his query. 

“Honored Emet-Selch,” The phantom said again, causing Hades to frown. It should have responded to him with a question, or something similar.  Was his creation truly beginning to fade? His eyes widened, panic rose like bile in his chest. He took a step back from the phantom, frantically looking around. What he noticed asserted his fears; the gold was faded, cracking like worn paint. He turned towards the doors that lead to the final days reflection that he had created, the doors where starting to fall apart as well. In fact he could hear it; the sound of snapping and shifting. Hades could not be sure if it was just the building they stood in, perhaps it had been negatively affected by his forceful portal creation. Or maybe it was his weakened form that had given way to something disastrous, the change of his aether, the removal of his tainted aether to the ghost of a city. 

“By Zodiark,” He hissed, he knew he did not have the strength to keep the creation stable. Creation magic was suppose to be the most powerful and concrete of the magics, once something had been willed into existence it should stand until destroyed by outside forces. It should not be affected by the events that happened to its creator. But it was the only reason that Hades could think of. As he turned and took stock of the room he heard the phantom repeating its previous phrase. Hades rolled his eyes and turned his body to hobble back towards Swath and Ryne who where now standing. He saw Swath holding her axe, studying the phantom until she noticed Hades’ turn towards them. Hades watched as her eyes grew wide, a clear reaction to the panicked expression that was gracing his face. 

“There was no one else that fit the position.” The phantom spoke. 

Hades paused his crippled advancement back to his Hero for a moment and turned slightly. The phantom was of Hythlodaeus, but he thought that when creating him he gave him some understanding of the situation. Hades had only realized far after creating him of course, that he had some self awareness. His golden eyes carefully studied the phantom, its hand was still outstretched, its blank face following his movements. By the very magic that put him in this situation he struggled to remember; had Hythlodaeus visited the Capitol building the day before everything came crashing down on them? His face paled as the memory came gently back to him. 

Hythlodaeus had come to speak to Hades about his plans to propose to Swath’s whole form. It had originally been planned for the day of the catastrophe. His friend had the utmost trust in Hades, in finding a solution before time was up. Hades never had the chance to ask her - and Hytlodaeus had not survived the calamity. Turning away from the phantom and the memory Hades cursed again. Willing his uncooperative body to move faster, the hallway was long and arduous but when he finally stood in front of Swath he reached out with his free hand and grabbed her arm. The Viera was still gazed at the phantom, as if it would break into a sprint after Hades. She still had her axe in her hand as he pulled her with as much force as his weak body could muster. 

“We must away Hero,” Hades said with as much urgency as he could muster, pulling on her arm again. She sheathed her weapon without as much as a question, which caused relief to flood Hades. She, despite the circumstances, trusted his judgement. He watched as she turned on her heel easily lifting small Ryne into her arms. The golden eyed man could only assume that it was adrenaline that allowed Swath to bypass her extreme exhaustion. Moving back to look at him she shifted Ryne so that she held the oracle with one arm and with her free one moved the grasp Hades had on her arm, so that their hands held one another. Then, she moved quicker than he found he could keep up with. Clearly even though he groaned in protest he did not have a choice as she was undeterred by his continued tripping, only moving to release his hand and wrap her arm around his side to keep him steady. Together they came to the Scions who frowned, they had been too far away to hear Hades’ conversation with the phantom, nor his urgent words to Swath. He heaved, gulping air as the three of them came to stop in front of the Scions. Swath set Ryne down who trotted to Thancreds side, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention. 

“Pray tell, Emet-Selch what is happening?” The male of the Elezen twins asked his arms crossed. The other Scions where regarding him in much of the same manner, only paying attention to Swath who stood at attention her arm wrapped around his side to keep him steady. They expected her to speak as he was trying to control his breathing.

When she did not, their attention finally rested on him. Rolling his eyes he moved so that one hand wrapped around Swaths waist so that he could continue to stand unhindered by his shaking legs, then he freed the hand that had been clasped to his chest. His hand was drenched in the blue ichor that still oozed from the wound. Hades waved it at the walls, still panting he tried to find the air to speak. A gentle pat on his side told him to take his time that either he would tell them, or they would see it. 

Either way, the pat told him, she would keep him safe. 

A brief frown crossed his face, he still did not want to be babied; but at the moment his protest seemed to be something that he should not concern himself with. Mentioning to the walls again he took a deep steadying breath. “My creation boy,” He began with a frown now deepening across his brow. “It is failing, the fabric of magic I weaved to create this place is being torn asunder by something I cannot, nor have the strength to mend.” As he spoke the words he felt a pang of painful sorrow. In a cruel twist of fate he was losing his home again. Of course it was a shell of what the true Amaurot had been, but the pain was there regardless. He shook his head when the Elezen boy turned to examine the walls. “You do not have time to regard the symptoms of what ails the magics. If we are not light on our feet the whole of the building is likely to collapse on top of us.” He let his hand fall with a heavy breath. “While created by my will, this place is physical for the moment. It will bury us.”  Hades voice was even; he did not fear death. He had been there perhaps only an hour before. He also knew that Swath did not fear death either; the way she had stared straight into his eyes during their battle had told him so. The younger of the Scions though, where a different question. While glaring at him the tender Elezen mentioned to the others that they had to leave. There was some praddle that the man ignored, leaning heavily into Swath his ears picking up instead a different voice. 

“I am glad it is you.” The soft voice of Hythlodaeus’ phantom reached his ears causing him to twist in the Hero’s grasp, pain bursting through his torso at the sudden violent movement. The ghost of his friend was standing, and fading. It like the rest of his creation was dissipating like the butterfly. Hades could have sworn before it disappeared completely that he saw a smile where there should not be one. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he stared at the now vacant spot by the entrance. 

Had the fragmented spirit of his old friend crossed the barrier to warn him? Looking down and away from the spot he noticed cracks now beginning to form in the floor. Then as the Scions finished their preparations to move the soft rumble of the building began to crescendo. Announcing that it was going to collapse. Wincing, Hades turned to look at Swath, she had been speaking, not to him of course but to the others. The Viera clearly wanted them to go ahead, which he could tell they accepted reluctantly. Perhaps they had theorized that if Hades was in the building the magics would remain just enough to allow them to escape. He chuckled to himself, reaching up and pressing a hand back on the wound. It was a fools dream, he had no more control over the magics that ruled over the phantom city. The laws could not be bent by his feeble power. 

“Hades,” Her voice brought him back to the present. The din of the building crumbling around them did not drown her out for him. Turning he looked at the Hero with curious eyes.

“Yes Hero?” He asked, trying to read her face but finding it a near impossible task. Her eyes were darting around, searching for enemies where there were none. Her hands had seized his shoulders, pulling him close to her chest, with a grunt he found himself buried in her form. Was she hugging him? 

“I’h ask that yah bear with what I’m bout ta do.” She muttered pulling him away and then bending down. Hades had no ability to protest, as he felt her arms on the back of his knees and shoulders. In one fell swoop she knocked him from his standing position and stood with him in a bridal carry. Golden eyes wide the man found himself being carried by the woman as she sprinted out of the Capitol building. Through heavy breaths she grinned. “I’h found tha strength tah carry yah after all.” He could not see her face well, but he could hear the smile. She shifted so that he was closer to her chest and Hades moved his arms in front of him so that she could grip him tighter. 

They exited the building and what Hades saw crushed his already broken heart. The phantoms meandered about without any more direction, somewhere already fading away. Buildings had begun to grey and crack, some falling into the abyss below them. Swath stopped at the steps, frantically looking about, her head movements ripping Hades from is melancholy to look at her. Why was she panicking so? The thought only crossed his mind for a moment before he saw the reason; the road they needed to take was already collapsed. By some miracle it looked like her companions had already crossed that area. Hades winced as her hands tightened around him further.

“I’h refuse ta let it end here.” She hissed as she began to take the steps two at a time. Hades opened his mouth to speak but she took a sharp right and began to run down an alley. This was also when the two of them began to feel rain. Swath paused as it began to pour, looking up and cursing. “By tha twelve, tha fairies magic is also failing.” She looked back down at Hades, who had been content to remain quietly in her arms as she tried to figure out a way for them to survive. He knew that in his position it was the best to do, until now that is. 

“Put me down Swath,” Hades said firmly, but she shook her head.

“Nay, yah will do somethin stupid.” The Viera’s ears flattened on her head, her stare heated. Feeling frustrated, Hades lifted his blue encrusted hand and smacked her chest with little force.

“Yes, I will but it will save you -” 

“It has ta save yah too!” She interrupted clinging to his body. “I’h wont let yah die Hades. Not here, nah ever, as long as I’h stand so will you.” Hades golden eyes widened as he, through the downpour saw that she was crying. He knew, and understood that she wanted him to live, but he could not fathom why. After everything he did, surely she would discard him easily? It was the most logical conclusion after all. 

He groaned and pushed at her shoulder again. “Why must you act so childish? Can you not see that these broken, nay, these people have deemed you worthy to grant them salvation? You, Swath, must live. I have lived my life as your enemy, I am not one of these people you must save. You must release me!” Hades let the words fall already knowing that if she did as he asked he would be breaking the promise he had made to Hythlodaeus. That once his feet touched the ground he would use every ounce of strength and magic that was left in his shattered form to throw her into a portal back to the Crystal Tower.  It mattered not, if he could save her, he would happily face the wrath of his old friend. She did not release him though, even as the water began to cascade down upon them with greater force. Instead she shifted, pressing her forehead once again to his.

“Use me.” She whispered. “Use me as a conduit for yah magic.” Hades’ golden eyes widened and the hand that was on her shoulder balled up into a fist.

“So, this is your choice.” He breathed. “Very well, I will use you then hero. I will use you to live until you grow tired of me.” Hades felt anger, he would happily sacrifice himself for her, but if she wanted him to live he would do that too, although spitefully.  Splaying his hand out he easily connected to her through the threads that bound them together.

“Do it,” Swath muttered. “This is mah choice. Others use meh to live, and yah think you will be using meh? Nay, I’h will be using you.” Her head shifted as she pressed her lips against his cheek causing him to tense up. “I’h will use yah as a reason for meh to live. The one I saved.” 

Hades felt the tendrils of aether wrap around him tightly. The water pouring down around them as she held him close. She could not see his gaze, nor could he see her expression, but his eyes stared at her with increasing softness. His chest burned both physically and emotionally, the anger he had felt moments before quickly dissipating with the realization that once again he was falling in love with her. It was a descent he could not stop, nor did he want to. Moving his free hand he cradled her head against his face as he weaved their magic together. He need not use his, her soul was burning so brightly it blinded him. All he had to do was focus on her, on every bit of her. As her emotions of helplessness and sorrow spilled over him he leaned into her drenched hair. It was almost too much for him; he had not realized that what she said had such truth to it. Hades had watched her through her journey and assumed that while there was a lot of take surely her comrades gave back to her as well. The fact that they clearly did not changed his view point. The words of Hythlodaes floated through his mind;

“She is clinging to you,”

“... she has truly grown fond of you,”

“And yet, that is still there for you. Her will to hold your soul, even though hers is broken.”

She rarely had a chance to voice her own desires, to act upon her own dreams. Swath was not just a being chosen to represent the horrible Hydaelyn’s will, she was also the avatar which people put all of their hopes and dreams into. They may thank her, but they still asked far too much of the woman. And yet, she still continued to stride forward in the name of saving the world. Hades closed his eyes, very well, if she needed something to truly live for. Something that she chose with her free will, he would be that for her.

 “Then use me, hero.” He inhaled sharply, pressing what little strength he had into the overwhelming spring of her own. Around them the water was pushed back and a bubble was formed. Once the water stopped Swath lifted her head away from him and he turned away to look out at the sea as it reclaimed his creation. The silence between them was surprisingly comfortable. Hades knew that he need naught focus on how to escape; she would do that for them. All he had to do was keep the bubble from bursting. Thus, he turned to mournfully gaze at the city.

Between the failings of his magic and the weight of the water the city was in ruins. The alleyway they were in was barely standing as well. Above him he heard her take in a ragged breath, perhaps in an attempt to not cry, or maybe it was relief, to the fact that he had given into her demands so easily. Looking upward he could gaze at the sunlight filtering through the layers of water, it was faint but he could see and sense the life beyond it surface.

 Once again Swath sudden movements caused Hades to snap back to reality; she bent down crouching, then jumped with such force that they shot through the water like a bullet. Hades struggled to keep the bubble around them as they reached the top of a cliff that looked out upon the ruined Amaurot. She paused there, still cradling him. He could only assume that she was giving him time to grieve and take in what little remained. Sighing he looked up at her, finding that she had twisted her face to gaze down at him with a shy smile.

“Hades,” She began, “Yah, yah cannot tell tha others what I’h said -” 

He waved his free hand around, shaking his head in disbelief. “The fact you are entertaining the very thought that I would tell them wounds me.” The Viera laughed and leaned forward to nuzzle his cheek again. Causing him to feel heat raising against his neck. “Yes, yes, now stop that and let us get moving. I cannot hold this pocket forever.” 

Another laugh, “Yah do realize tha I can breath under water right?” Swath said as she turned on her heel to begin walking towards the sea shelf.

Hades frowned, feeling foolish. Of course she had some sort of blessing that allowed her to breath underwater. He hummed thinking of something to say before being interrupted by her.

“I’h am happy, what yah said.” Her voice was low, and Hades had to shift close to hear her. “No one has ever told meh to use ‘em.” Clearly there was more to what she was saying, Hades could feel it but opted to ignore it. He had meant what he said after all, and he cared not how she perceived it. 

“Yes, well, let us escape these dark waters first and then you can be as happy as you want, he-” He sighed, correcting himself again. “Swath,”

The Viera laughed and reached down to press her forehead against his again; causing him to protest once more. 

Perhaps, he thought, this life would not be so bad after-all. 

[arthachbroin]

Prompt: pomegranate

Already long days seemed endlessly longer when there was no night. And the past few days had been...incredibly long. To deal with the attack on the Crystarium, and then the entire business in Amh Araeng --- though the stress of that was Thancred and Ryne more so than the Lightwarden --- and then finally dealing with Eulmore only to watch Vauthry fly away to Mt. Gulg...it was a hells of a lot to process.

At least the Eulmorans were kind enough now to give them all rooms to rest in overnight (so to speak), and then they and the volunteers would head out to the Ladder in the ‘morning’ to get it working. Brona could appreciate that. It gave her some time to be alone --- Ardbert was probably still thinking about things, she hadn’t seen him for a while --- and...she needed that. There had really been no time to process their last conversation with Emet-Selch, and she desperately needed that time, now, time to...come to terms with what she’d suspected all along.

What he was seeing, when he looked at her....that sad, pained recognition in his eyes that would flicker in and out in the moments grasped just between the two of them...she had an answer for it. It had begun in the Ravel, when he told them the truth of what the Ascians were, the truth of what Hydaelyn and Zodiark were. An ancient civilization, lost to the two..the two primals’ battle, after having been saved from an apocalypse only thanks to the summoning of Zodiark...that was hard enough to imagine, but to hear that the Ascians were the only survivors of that first world, that Emet-Selch one of three souls that had not been split among the shards when the sundering occurred? It was horrifying. Oh, not what she was. She was quite confident in her own identity, even knowing--- even knowing she was only a fraction of the soul she had once been. That person was gone, she’s sure, even if they were to make the soul whole again. All that remains is her, is Brona. But...

But gods, how could one man bear all that? Eons of solitude, of despair, of grief and mourning and a loss that no one could ever fathom? Having lived through much of the War of the Magi, she’s no stranger to nigh-apocalypses, but--- to save your world only to have it shattered? Oh, to know that they’re tempered made so much more sense, but...even tempered, he was so mortal, so real, so sad...it was like what she was seeing was the man beneath, the pieces of who he had once been, in those moments. 

And...what he was seeing, was who she had once been. She had suspected, when he spoke of things in the Ravel, but when he explained the scope of the sundering, she had been sure. Whoever she had been, Emet-Selch had known them. Whoever she had been, he...had cared for them. Missed them. She must share some similarities, she thought. Enough that it pained him to look at her, even if he couldn’t pull his eyes away. She wondered, perhaps, if these feelings weren’t hers, were the lingering ghosts of who she had been, but...perhaps it didn’t matter. They were there, how she felt, and she wouldn’t deny it. Even if she still had to stop him, still would stop him, she didn’t want to deny this. Why deny herself something...one thing, one selfish thing, she should be allowed to have it. It wouldn’t stop her from doing what needed to be done, she knew that. So why not let herself have these feelings? 

She sat on the edge of the bed (huge and fluffy, fancy and elegant like the whole room) and rolled a fruit in her hand, something round and bright red--- she wasn’t able to remember its name, but it was in a huge bowl of exotic fruit that sat on the table in the room, and it had looked interesting. She wasn’t sure how to eat it either, but it was something to do with her hands as she thought. The shutters were closed and the lamplight was low, and she could almost pretend it was night, but she wasn’t....she was exhausted, but she didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t think she could, with all the thoughts running through her head. So distracted was she, she didn’t notice when someone else entered the room --- not that she would have heard him, as he didn’t use the door --- and didn’t notice until a gloved hand reached to pluck the fruit from hers. She gasped, head shooting up, and he was there. “Emet---?” 

“A pomegranate,” he mused quietly. “Did you know there was a legend about this fruit, once? I can’t recall which empire, which kingdom. There have been so many over the eons. But I do recall the story. A spirit of nature lured deep into the land of the dead by its king...he offered her a fruit, and she ate it, and it bound her there as his consort for all eternity--- but thanks to a certain hero, she was freed, but only partially...I believe it was supposed to explain the seasons, but who knows? Mortals make up the silliest stories to make sense of what they could never understand...”

Brona watched him a moment--- he wasn’t looking at her, only the fruit, and she tilted her head before reaching and taking it back. “So what does that make us?” She asked him, voice low and daring and unafraid. “Are you the king of the dead, trying to lure me into your realm for eternity?” She openly eyed the fruit, rolling it in her hands. “I wonder what that spirit thought about it all. Was she lured there and tricked, did she mourn the loss of her freedom, or did she choose to go with him willingly, knowing that she risked it all if she did?” She paused, and then looked up at him, meeting pale gold eyes that watched her silently, that same sad pain in them as always. “Isn’t it a little strange, though, that he offered her a fruit? Why would there be fruit in the land of the dead?”

She stood, and on a whim, she held it out to him, still holding his gaze. “Maybe,” she said. “It was the nature spirit who offered him the fruit. Hoping to lure the lonely king of the dead out of his realm and into the world above, she followed him down and gave him the fruit. I think I almost like that version better. What do you think, Emet-Selch?”

There was silence a moment, and for a brief second she thought worriedly she might have gone too far this time, but then a hand moved quickly to grab her wrist and pull her forward--- the fruit rolled out of her hand and to the floor, forgotten, as she was pressed close to his chest; she could feel his heartbeat, his breathing, as if he were truly a flesh and blood man, and to her faint surprise she realized he smelled good, some unrecognizable scent that was strangely pleasing all the same, warm and earthy. “I think,” came his voice, so close she could feel his breath against her skin as she looked up to see him looking down at her. “That if you’re under the impression that you can save me, hero, you’re sadly mistaken. I am tempered. You know as well as I there is nothing you can do, no matter how many pretty words you speak, no matter how misguidedly sincere your desire is.”

“I know that,” she replied, not moving from where he held her. “And I know that come tomorrow, come the next day, come whatever happens next, you are my enemy. What you want...I understand. I even sympathize. And I wish there were another way. But there isn’t, and that means I have to stop you, no matter how sincere your desire is for us to cooperate.” Her eyes flickered away, but then she looked up at him, determined--- it clearly caught him off guard, and his eyes widened slightly in turn. “But that’s tomorrow.” She said, gently. “For right now, for tonight, for this moment, can we pretend otherwise? Don’t tell me you don’t want to. I can see it in your eyes. I’ve always seen it.” She felt him stiffen at that, but she continued. “You’ve never been able to hide it from me. And I’m not stupid, incomplete as I might be to your eyes. I can read between the lines. I might not know who, I might not know what...but I know you see someone else when you look at me.” She closed her eyes, giving him a moment to make whatever face he wanted, safe from her gaze. “I’m not them. You know as well as I that I’m not. But if you let me pretend for tonight that I can save you, that we aren’t enemies...”

Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was cruel to both of them, to let him pretend she was whoever he once cared for, to ask him to let her pretend they could be more...but it was only this moment. Only now. Tomorrow they would be enemies again. Tomorrow they would fight, or whatever came after Vauthry’s fall. But maybe it was more cruel to simply let this go, whatever this was or could be, and never even give themselves the chance to taste it. Something she could carry with her even if she ended up having to strike him down, something she could hold onto. Something...one thing, one moment of happiness to fight back the shadows of his eons of pain and loss. Where they didn’t have to be a monster or a Warrior of Light. Where---

And then he kissed her. 

Whatever thoughts she’d had flew out of her head, eyes shooting open--- clearly he’d made his own choice on the matter, on her offer, and it was--- his hand was still around her wrist, but his other came up to cup her face, holding it still as his lips claimed hers. It was...she’d never been kissed like this, she thought dazedly, unable to think much more than that as she returned it. It was dizzying, intense and desperate and needy, like it was, like she was something intrinsic to his survival, like she was the most important thing in the world. No one had ever kissed her like she was this needed, this important, and she melted into it, legs no longer able to hold her weight. Not that she needed to, as she distantly registered him backing her up the few steps into the bed, and distantly felt the backs of her legs bumping against it. She fell backwards easily, and felt his hands pinning hers to the bed--- she didn’t know how far this would go, but crazily, dazedly, dizzily she thought she wouldn’t care at all, no matter how far it went. To be wanted, to be needed like this, even if it was just--- even if it was just him seeing the shadow of the person he had once cared for, once loved if this was any indication, it--- she needed that. 

The weight of his hands vanished for a moment, and heady with the thrill of the kiss she made to fling her arms around his neck, digging fingers into the back of his coat and pulling him closer to her. She could hear, distant, the sound of his boots scuffing on the floor as he lost his balance, feel the weight of him as he fell against her, but she didn’t care at all. Only when his hands returned to her, warm bare flesh brushing against her arms to pull her loose, did any coherent thought return--- he’d removed his gloves, was her first thought, and then she gasped as he broke the kiss, breathing heavily and dizzy, blinking like she’d just woken up as she tried to focus on what was going on now. He was still leaning over her, against her, his own face flushed and breath coming in gasps, but there was something strange in his eyes, not that sad-pained recognition but something she was too out of it to name. 

“What...what did this?” He asked, his voice quiet, and it took her a moment to realize what he was asking. A moment to remember she was in her nightgown, not her usual clothes, a loose sleeveless thing that did nothing to hide the vicious old scars on her arms, the scars she’d gained over the three years she’d been imprisoned in that place, the study halls that had tormented and tortured her until she had been given to...well, that didn’t bear thinking of tonight. It was enough that the scars were visible, and it was those his eyes had landed on, those his fingers pressed against. They were painful scars, streaks of burns and crackles of lightning-scars twining around her arms, discolored patches and blotches where cruel magic stained her skin, marks of all they had done. Her cheeks colored, though it wasn’t shame--- she could never be ashamed, knowing the reason she had gained them--- it...she simply...it was hard to find the words to explain.

“...it doesn’t matter,” she murmured finally, shifting her other hand to rest atop where his lingered over one of the many scars. “I don’t remember. It all blurs together after a while. But it’s alright. If it wasn’t me, it would have been children, and I will never regret a single one of these that I gained instead of them.” She felt him shudder against her, and his head fell to tuck against her, pressed into the crook of her neck. Absently, she moved her hand again to rest in his hair, short and soft, and stroked it gently. “If it makes you feel any better,” she began with a wry smile he couldn’t see. “That was after I killed two people who’d been doing some rather unpleasant things. I can’t imagine I’d been very popular to begin with.”

A muffled laugh escaped him, then, and he was quiet a moment, before he spoke, and she fell silent to listen. “...you are so like her, sometimes,” he said quietly, voice more mortal and real than she’d ever heard it before. “Your compassion, your kindness...that heroic selflessness of yours...I see her in you, then. But--- then you say things like that and it--- you are someone else entirely, someone I don’t know. Someone wild and mad and brave and sharp-tongued and nothing like she was...” His voice grew pained, and...she thought perhaps it wasn’t grief that sharpened that pain, but uncertainty. “I...”

“Don’t think about it too hard,” she told him gently. “It’s not something you can find an answer to immediately, I think. But...” She trailed off thoughtfully, hand still in his hair. “...is it someone you want to know?” She asked at last, uncertainty coloring her own voice. “Because...I would very much like to know you, for what it’s worth. For what time we have in this moment.”

He was silent for a moment, long enough that her breath caught in her throat, but then he shifted back to look at her again, and though his eyes and face were completely unreadable, he watched her for a moment, and then leaned in to kiss her again. It was gentler this time, still needy but not quite so desperate, and he broke it quicker to meet her gaze with his. “That’s an answer I don’t know that I can give you, my dear,” he admitted, voice quiet, and she didn’t think she could blame him for that. “But you are...not someone I would dislike knowing. That much I can say.” He shifted to cup her face with a hand, and she leaned into it automatically. “...for tonight, perhaps, though....I can say yes.”

A moment of silence came after that, but it wasn’t that taut silence of the last few times, where the whole world stilled and froze and waited--- just a gentle silence, as they watched each other, eyes soft, just for this moment. Things would be left unsaid, forever left unspoken, she knew that. Tomorrow would come and they would be at odds again, and in the end she may well have to kill him, and they would never really know what could have been. But for right now, they could pretend that whatever this is has a future.

Music floated up from below, a bright and jaunty tune, and she laughed, shaking her head as they both shifted to sit up and listen. “Celebrating their freedom, perhaps?” She wondered aloud, amused. “I think it’s been going on and off all night. A bit preemptive, I guess, but I don’t think Eulmorans need an excuse.” That got a chuckle out of him, and he shook his head. 

“They don’t,” he said quietly, and watched the shutters quietly, where the music came muffled in from, before standing abruptly, turning to face her and pull her to her feet as well. “Do you know how to dance?” He asked suddenly, and she blinked at him, the embarrassed flush on her face answer enough. He smiled at that, then, and tugged her out into the open area of the floor between bed and table. “You’re free to step on my feet as much as you like,” he told her, and paused to listen to the song end--- the next one was a waltz, she knew that much, and he laughed quietly again, moving to place her hands where they were supposed to go, his hand taking her waist, and he pulled her into the dance. It was awkward, at first, her bare feet stumbling to keep up with his easy steps, and she found herself red and embarrassed and pouting as he laughed at her, though it wasn’t very genuine--- his smile and the warmth that sparkled in his eyes was something she knew she never would see again, and she wanted to memorize it, enjoy it to its fullest. To enjoy all of this, this wonderful night where someone wanted her, needed her, where she could pretend he loved her, or that he could. That they could...they couldn’t. She knew it. But for tonight, for this moment, as they laughed and danced in this room in Eulmore, with the eternal light beating down outside the window...

For tonight, they could both have a taste of the thing they would never be able to keep. Their forbidden fruit, their time together before they were separated again, the king of the dead and the spirit of nature. Though unlike that story, they would never see one another again after this. It was no cycle of seasons, not this tale, no faerie story that had a good ending. But for tonight, for tonight they could pretend.

For tonight they could laugh and dance until they wore themselves out, tumbling back onto the bed where they lay curled up together, still laughing and talking about nothing, about anything at all, about the inane and silly things that had nothing to do with who they had to be in the morning --- and stealing kisses --- until exhausted, she dozed off in his arms. 

In the morning, she would wake up alone, the only sign he had ever been there the covers tucked neatly around her and the pomegranate sitting on the pillow beside her head. In the morning, it would be over.

But...she would have that night, that one night, forever. And...whatever happened next, at least she had that.