With the war finished, Joshua has one last question for Artur.
"I want you to come back to Jehanna with me."
Artur, too absorbed in his book to hear Joshua clearly, never rose his head. Joshua set his hand in the middle of the page and that got his attention right away. He closed the book and put it down, eyebrow raised.
"What is it?"
"I said, I want you to come back to Jehanna with me."
Artur's eyebrows shot up in shock, his face flared bright red. Was this what Joshua really wanted? He couldn't quite picture himself in the middle of the desert, now that the war was over and the stones were all reclaimed he had planned to return to his village. He wasn't sure if Lute would join him, but there was a strong feeling that she would.
"A-Are you sure? Um... please don't think me rude of asking, but why me?"
Joshua stared at Artur as if he grew a second head.
"I want you by my side, of course. And we can't exactly do that if you go back to that tiny village, right?" Joshua flashed his smile, he knew it was Artur's favorite, a weakness he exploited with ease. Artur knitted his hands together and bowed his head to hide how red his face got. He couldn't believe the Prince of Jehanna, even if Joshua hated being called that, had requested for him to return to his kingdom. His chest swelled and his heart beat hard against his ribs, a lifetime with Joshua was something Artur didn't want to give away so easily.
"I... Joshua, I... I'm absolutely flattered," Artur grinned and wiped at his eyes, emotion had overcome him. His chest shook as he pressed a hand over his heart, he choked up even with a smile from ear to ear. "I'm more than honored that... that you chose me."
"Think about it," Joshua knelt down and grasped the monk's hand tight in his own gloved ones, his eyes as bright as the sun. "Eirika and Ephraim will be busy rebuilding Renais. Innes and Tana have to return to Frelia. But me? I'm all on my own without you. I need you to return with me. We can work to strengthen what Mother left behind, make it even better than before. I can run Caellach out of town, I can bring some order to the land so there's peace, I--" The redhead faltered a little, but took a deep breath to right himself and re-find his place. "I just need you with me to do it. I can't do it alone."
Arthur's hand moved to his mouth and covered it slightly, by now there were pinpricks of tears at the corners of his eyes. It was a huge task, colossal even. The countryside needed to be healed, the people needed order and their leader returned to make things right. Could they really do it? Was it possible for them, even if Jehanna was only a realm of swords and sand? How would they react to a man of the cloth? And Joshua, would he be alright readjusting to the duties of king?
Artur gave a sigh and settled his shoulders as Joshua's fingers intertwined with his. He was stupid, there was no need to worry about any of that. They'd be together on this, through whatever it took. Even if this mountain to climb was taller than the heavens itself, as long as they were hand in hand they would continue each step forward.
"... Yes, of course. Of course I'll assist you in anything you need, Joshua. I don't want to leave your side either, not with what you have to return to. I'd be absolutely willing to lend my help towards your aching countrymen, and to you as well."
Joshua's smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes and he dropped a hand behind his back. As he fished for something from his dark tunic, Artur tilted his head in confusion. Seconds later, the myrmidon produced a pair of rings; each a solid silver band with five tiny rubies stamped along one end. Artur gave a gasp, both hands flew to his bright red face as his eyes turned as wide as dinner plates. Joshua, ever the flirt, had taken things seriously?!
"Then, as custom... would you marry me, Artur? And help me restore Jehanna?"
For once, Joshua's hands trembled even as his voice stayed strong. It wasn't out of fright of rejection, more out of sheer unbridled joy that he had gotten to ask the question in the first place. Tears streamed down Artur's face and stained his white robes, he shoved his book aside and embraced the myrmidon with all he could muster.
"I thought one yes was enough, but yes! Yes yes yes! Praise the Blessed Dragon, yes!" Artur laughed and nuzzled his nose into Joshua's neck, he stepped back only for a moment, the ring slid onto his finger.
"We'll have a proper ceremony in Jehanna, with all the fanfare you can imagine. But I trust you can at least bless the marriage on your own terms, right?" There was that rogue-ish smile again, Artur's heart fluttered as he giggled, swept up for a quick kiss. It was the sweetest thing either had ever tasted. Afterwards, Artur leaned away a little and wiped his eyes clear.
"Certainly, the divine light from above has blessed me enough with being able to meet you."
---
Upon their return to Jehanna, Joshua assumed the throne as King. Under his rule and Artur's careful guidance as his most trusted adviser, the land flourished with light and laughter. Artur made his way all across Jehanna, speaking to the people and healing their wounds from war. His self-sacrifice and knowledge of ancient magics made him a well renowned hero. Of course, Joshua went with him, and he was forever loved among the common folk, so much so that he was often called The People's King. The strength of their love became the bedrock for Jehanna, and true to Joshua's word, the country became stronger than ever before.
After Vanessa's away for two months, Lute wakes up to quite a wonderful text.
The sun woke Lute up first, but the chime from her cellphone that got her straight out of bed. She threw off the covers and resisted the urge to coil back under them as the cold air hit her. Her hand outstretched and fumbled around the nightstand, it knocked over the tissue box and pushed aside a pair of socks. Across the screen, in tiny letters, was a response from Vanessa.
'Just got on flight. Seeya in 6 hours <3'
Lute cradled the phone and gave a sleepy grin, with a gleeful giggle she tapped out a reply.
'See you then!!'
Though part of her wanted to roll back over and sleep, she had six hours after all, Lute stared at the ceiling. What would she wear? What would she say? It had only been two months since Vanessa left for the trip, to Lute it felt like at least two eternities. Their apartment was just so much empty space without her presence inside it. She'd never say it aloud, Lute wasn't into that mushy stuff like Vanessa was.
"Still..." she hummed to herself, hands folded across her wrinkled tanktop from a terrible night of sleep. "I should do something special." But what, exactly? Lute wouldn't throw a party, not even one between the two of them. She wouldn't have time to cook dinner, it'd be too cold when Vanessa got home. She sat up on the edge of the bed and kicked aside one of her sketchbooks, it careened into a pile of them in the corner and nearly knocked the leg of her paint table.
Across the stained wood table was a large easel and several containers of splattered paints. She'd forgotten she started a commission and didn't finish it, but that could wait. Vanessa was more important, Vanessa was always more important. If she got chewed out, it wouldn't matter.
With a huff she pushed herself off of the sheets, there was no time for sleep now. She was awake, and she'd stay that way. She shoved aside more sketchbooks and dried up bottles of paint, she certainly missed the other's penchant for cleanliness. As she waded through her own mess, she winced some of her toes stepped in wet red paint. Lute would have to consider a thorough cleaning, but not now. She reached her closet behind a filled laundry basket, pushed the door open and stared at the clothes inside. Time to pick an outfit to wow her girlfriend.
--------
"Thanks, keep the change." Lute stepped out of the cab and shut the door. The fall weather was crisp, she liked it best that way. It allowed her to wear cardigans, like the favorite one she wore today. Wine red and with tiny white lace attached to the sleeves, a pleated chocolate brown skirt and long black thigh high socks. In the back of her head, she heard Vanessa's voice; 'You really should wear more colors, Lute! They'd look so nice with your hair!' Lute withheld an eyeroll, even at the imaginary voice. The airport wasn't as populated as the holidays, no one traveled much in October. Give it a month or two and that'll change, Lute laughed to herself.
She pulled her phone from her bag and flipped through the recent texts. Vanessa was at one of the farther gates in the terminal, so it would be a bit before she finished through security and made her way to the large open lobby. So Lute parked herself on a bench and pulled her sketchbook from her bag, flipped open to a fresh page, and scanned the crowd. There was a man with a trilby hat and suit slumped in a chair four feet away, completely asleep. Lute gently sketched his slumped shoulders and rounded belly, careful to detail the folds in the suit and the leather straps on his suitcase. Her pencil moved fast but always with purpose, Lute never made strokes she couldn't take away.
Another text chime from her phone and Lute dropped her drawing immediately.
'Look to your left. Did you miss me?'
Lute blinked a few times and as she looked over, she almost dropped her phone. There, underneath the terminal sign, was Vanessa. A rolling bag was parked at her side, a long black coat to protect against the chill and bright red scarf wrapped around her neck. Against her short green hair, her smile looked absolutely radiant. Lute could hardly breathe for a moment, but in a blur she stuffed her things into her bag and raced across the polished linoleum. Every footstep pounded alongside her heartbeat, she'd never felt this hard of a tug toward a single person before. Was she just a wayward moon, and Vanessa her home planet she orbited? There were no words, Lute's chest swelled as she reached Vanessa and they embraced tightly, the shorter girl on her tiptoes.
"It's so great to see you again!" Vanessa laughed and re-positioned her arms under Lute's shoulders, picked her up and spun her around a few times. "But jeez, I didn't think you missed me this much! Or is this only a coincidence?" Lute gave a delighted sigh, Vanessa smelled like cinnamon and she's absolutely hooked.
Lute doesn't say a word, she's buried her nose into Vanessa's warm neck. Vanessa gave a squeak and nearly dropped her out of surprise, but caught her at the last second. Lute never gave her a chance to say anything more, she kissed her hard. Cold lips cradled warm ones, a perfect equilibrium. She missed this most of all. Vanessa blushed cherry red, only a few shades above her scarf's color. She set Lute back on the ground but Lute doesn't pull away just yet, her cold fingers climbed inside Vanessa's jacket and caused another squeak. They parted and Vanessa rubbed her neck to warm it back up.
"... Okay, yeah, I missed you a lot," Lute replied, also with a grin from ear to ear. Understatement of the century.
"Well, I'm glad. Nothing makes me happier than coming home to you." Vanessa ruffled Lute's hair and arm in arm, headed for home.
Knoll gives a small bit of reflection the night before he's executed. Namely, to one Prince Lyon.
Knoll, head in his hands, watches the candle at his feet. The tiny flame flickers from right to left, for a moment it dims but then fills out again. It's a constant dance of light and it distracts the man long enough for his mind to drift. He knew the castle's dungeons were dank and disgusting, but he'd only ever seen them from the safety of the long stretch of stairs up to the bright castle above. Now he remains locked behind the cell doors with only this tiny speck of light for company.
He only wanted to see Lyon's smile again, he'd lost it after his father passed away. For weeks the prince could only grieve and sulk in his room, so imagine his surprise when it was he who suggested they immediately try to bring him back to life. He'd been foolish, oh so foolish to think that they should play this dangerous game. They'd brought Vigarde back, but at what cost?
His lord, Lyon, corrupted by madness from a creation his own hands made. His lord, Lyon, with a blackened heart now set his sights on destroying all of Magvel. His lord, Lyon, whose smile he'd never see again lest it be twisted by the Demon King's own malicious glee. How much of Lyon was still left inside him, even? Was the fight against Grado hopeless? Again he stares at the candle, the tiny flame pulsing, only the tiniest shred of light against this overgrowing darkness.
In a few hours, Knoll would be executed, without ever getting the chance to forgive himself. The dreams that Prince Lyon held so dear, the dreams he'd been entrusted with, now looked as pitiful as the pebbles under his feet. Panicking and delirious, Knoll's head hit the pillow as he forces himself to get some sleep. It's the last time he'd get to, after all.
Prince Lyon comes to him in his dreams, as a thin and pale ghost of his former self. Knoll reaches for his hands, his robes, anything he could grab but his fingers slide through him. Prince Lyon is only wisps of smoke. He falls to his knees, the sky above them pitch black. He screams that he's sorry, he's sorry, he's failed him too many times to count. It's his fault that Lyon's succumbed to the Demon King, it's his fault that he couldn't keep King Vigarde alive, it's his fault that he couldn't pull Lyon back out of the pit he fell into.
"How will you repay me?" the ghostly Prince of Grado asks him, the smoky hands cradle Knoll's face as the mage sobs in despair. Milky white eyes force Knoll to look into them. "How will you redeem yourself? How will you set this right?"
"I'll... I'll give up. I don't deserve to be at your side any longer. I'm too far gone, I'm... I'm nothing more than a failure." It hurts Knoll to speak such words, their truth threatened to shatter his heart in two. The ghost of Lyon smiles, completely empty, and runs a wispy hand down Knoll's cheek. He feels a tear casually brushed aside.
"Good. You've finally come to terms with yourself. When the blade reaches your neck, you'll have no more regrets."
It's a lie and Knoll knows it, but he finds himself nodding anyway. He'll never get to tell Lyon face to face how sorry he is, and how the rest of Grado may never be rebuilt as he sees it. But at least, he laughs bitterly, this ghost can ease his own sins for now. This ghost can take his useless feelings or wayward affections, he'll be dead before the real Lyon ever realizes. The morning comes sooner than Knoll expected, the candle's extinguished, and the guards are at his door.
Each step to the gallows echoes along the stone walls, yet Knoll only wears a smile as he rises up those wooden steps.
There's no crowd out here to see him today, only the guards and a few remaining officials Lyon left in place before he left. These few people will be the last to see him draw breath. The mage, still smiling, turns his eyes to the gate leading out of the city. No one's going to come through and save him, there's no use in even hoping. The men lower him in place and the executioner pulls up the guillotine's gleaming blade. There's a pause and a shared intake of breath among those present.
For Lyon, Knoll thinks to himself as it finally drops, I'll sacrifice anything.
Innes hates it when Ephraim has to see him cry. He hates it more than anything in the world.
Ephraim pushes the med tent flap aside, concern darkens his face. Sitting on one of the cots inside, knees pressed to his chest with an arm draped over them is Innes. The Frelian prince, usually so careful with masking his emotions under a smirk or a frown, now lays them bare. His other arm, the one that pulls arrows and lets them fly, rests in a hastily made sling. Ephraim doesn't meet his eyes, he's staring at the sling in shock. Had the previous battle really taken that much of a toll on their fighters? All he remembers is barreling through the lines with ease.
"What do you want," Innes hisses, staring straight at a hole in the tent's lining. To him, there is nothing worse than being reduced to some injured soldier who needs tending to. Neither does he need to be checked on, and especially not by Ephraim. Ephraim, who laughs in the face of danger and continues to rush forward, unafraid of whatever harm comes to him. What right does he have to show concern? It's so hypocritical it almost has Innes laugh, but he swallows it back. He wouldn't give the other the satisfaction.
"... I wanted to make sure you're okay." The words, as tender as Ephraim makes them, don't shift Innes' cold glare. He doesn't blame him, Ephraim knows he's the last person to show Innes this kind of treatment. But Innes is an important friend and key piece of this puzzle, he's their strategist and the voice of reason to his own foolish decisions. Of course he'd worry if someone like that got hurt, but why doesn't Innes take him seriously?
"Okay? Do I LOOK okay to you?!" Innes spits back, venom coating his tongue. He waves his wrapped arm for emphasis and bites back an oncoming wince of pain. "No, I'm NOT. My arm's broken, you idiot. All because you decided to run off and play the hero while the rest of us were swarmed!" His voice is rising, reaching fever pitch, but the Renais prince doesn't move. Innes swings his legs over the side of the bed, fists trembling in utter rage. Why wasn't Ephraim saying anything? "What were you thinking?! That you alone could take the general? That you alone could singlehandedly fend off that army?! That you alone could keep Eirika safe?!" The anger breaks his voice at that last sentence, his shoulder slump in defeat. He hates this bitter taste on his tongue and this stinging in his eyes, how could he have allowed himself to fall so low in front of his rival?
"... Innes, I... I never intended for any of that." Ephraim approaches slowly, his footsteps barely make a sound. He touches the other prince as if he's made of glass and could shatter at any moment. Ephraim takes a breath and forces himself to be humble for once in his life. His friend is hurting, outside and in, Ephraim fears that even a single misplaced word could send Innes spiraling out of control. With great care, he kneels down until he's at eye level with Innes. "I'm sorry. I should have been there for you and for the others, and I wasn't. I'm sorry your arm got hurt because of me."
"I was trying--" Innes' breath hitches in his throat, he hates these damned tears that spill down his cheeks. He's not crying, crying is a weakness, crying shows that you can't control your own emotions. Yet still, he struggles to form the proper words without them coming out as a bumbling fumbling mess. Ephraim shouldn't be seeing him like this, Innes wishes he could be struck down by a wayward arrow. The pain and embarrassment is overwelming. "I was trying to catch up, but you were so far ahead-- !"
"I'm sorry." Ephraim bows his head and, still with that caution, wraps an arm around Innes' shoulders to pull him into a half hug. It's odd, his rival looks so different now. Not fragile, but just different. A bowed head, tears that litter the grass under his boots, a back that heaves with every shaky breath. It's a side of Innes that Ephraim's never seen, and not one he particularly wants to commit to memory. "I'm sorry I was such a fool. You worked so hard and I didn't see it. I'm sorry."
The two princes, both alike in pride, heave a sigh in sync. Innes' walls crumble, but Ephraim's here to rebuild them. He offers a rub to the Frelian's uninjured shoulder and sits in silence as Innes, through gritted teeth and looking as if the very process of crying causes him even more pain, spits out his sorrows. In the silence that follows, Ephraim repeats his apologies, as many times as Innes wants to hear them. Innes loosens and relaxes thanks to the lord, slowly the tears trickle away, though there's still a grudge digging its way inside him. To make this even, Innes has to see Ephraim cry too.
"... At least you apologized," Innes murmurs, it's almost whisper quiet. Ephraim catches it but just barely and gives him a wide smile.
"It's no trouble. After all, this is what you need the most, right? Someone to take the blame."
Innes goes silent again, watching Ephraim's expression flicker from relieved to confused in such a short manner is just excellent.
"Hey, you'll be okay. I know that, no matter what, you'll still be Innes," Ephraim says, placing a hand over Innes' injured one. "Maybe all your speed to fling insults was trapped in your bow."
"Is that a challenge?" Innes' eyes give a flash alongside his usual smirk. He's surprised how fast he falls back into their old pattern. But it's comforting in it's familiarity and Innes doesn't intend to stop. "Because I'd be more than happy to take you up on it."
"Perhaps tomorrow, you need your rest." Ephraim quickly stands and decides to cut it off there, it wouldn't be good to overexert him as he's injured. "I'll see you in the morning." With those parting words, the taller lord leaves through the tent flap. Innes snorts in frustration and flops back down on the cot, staring at the pole that holds the tent's center upright.
Did Ephraim really come by here just to check on him? Or was there some sort of underlying meaning to it all? Usually Eirika's the one to see to the injured after Natasha's done patching them up, she's the far more caring one of the two. So why did Ephraim take the time to see him? What was the purpose of it? Innes gives another huff and forces his eyes shut, there's no need to run his mind ragged trying to think of excuses Ephraim could make. He likely only saw Innes out of the good of his heart, that's all, not out of some desperate desire to see him.
It's surprising that for his cooler color, Kyle's far easier to enrage than Forde.
The words 'I know something you don't know' are more than just an annoyance for Kyle, they're a multiple level kind of annoyance. Firstly, they sound so condescending Kyle wishes he didn't have to hear them, or risk feeling this burning pain in his face. Secondly, and most importantly, is the dumb mouth they come out of.
It belongs to Forde, of all people.
"Cut it out!" Kyle reflexively replies to that stupid snickering smile. He raises a hand high, a clear threat that he's aiming to smack Forde if he does it again.
"I know something you don--" The sing song sentence isn't finished, and Forde grasps his ear in pain. "Aw, c'mon! I'm just having a little fun! What's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong is how much you're enjoying it!" Kyle fumes, his hand doesn't bother lowering in case it has to strike again. Forde rubs his ear and sticks his tongue out childishly at the other cavalier before pushing his way past the tent flap. But it's no good, Kyle can still hear that dumb phrase in that dumb voice echoing in his head.
'I know something you don't know.'
What was he, four? Five? Only children taunt like that, about knowing other people's secrets. Kyle snorts and returns to polishing his lance. Of course, there's no secrets of his that Forde knows, he's made sure of that. Keeping tight lipped about himself only serves to drive Forde up the wall, something Kyle doesn't mind seeing once in a while. Still, that tone is a total ear worm.
'I know something you don't know.'
'I know something you don't know.'
Forget it, leave it be, he can't waste his time worrying about such a silly thing. Forde is Forde, and will always be Forde. He'll always be a pain in the neck for him, but he'll always be around if he needs him. There's no getting rid of him, for better and for worse. Kyle stomps his boot into the dirt and grinds the heel against a pebble, hoping to just shove the phrase far out of his head.
'I know something you don't know.'
'I know something you don't know.'
'I know something you don't know.'
"Dammit!" The lance clatters to the grass, the polished tip getting dirtied. Great, just great, now he has to clean it again. All because of stupid Forde and his stupid words he said with his stupid mouth that won't leave his stupid head. Why is he even thinking so much about them anyway? They're nothing, they're nonsense, it's just Forde being Forde and trying to get under his skin. Kyle groans, he knows the blonde is way too good at that. He bends down to pick up the lance, the tent flap ruffles in the corner of his eye and in seconds, he's whirling around with the tip pointed straight at it. "FORDE! YOU BETTER NOT COME IN HERE!"
There's no response, it's the wind Kyle tells himself. He heaves a sigh so heavy his shoulders sink, and he goes back to his lance. For a bit, there's finally some quiet, Kyle's hand moves almost robotically around the lance point. First one side, then a roll of the hand to turn it, then the next, all with a quiet rhythm. There's peace inside his head, Forde's words and pained face aren't echoing this time. He relishes in it, this tranquility not often given to him due to the company he keeps. Why did he get so upset about what Forde said in the first place? They're nothing, Forde doesn't know any secrets about him.
At least, he's pretty sure of that fact. No, no, Kyle's positive. Kyle would never give away something so stupid to Forde like a secret of his, because Forde's a blabbermouth and would tell it to the whole camp. Unless, of course, Forde learned the secret somehow on his own. At this, Kyle freezes, cloth halfway up the lance's steel. There's no way, no way, Forde isn't that smart at all. Well, he's smart in some things, he's very smart in reading people. Kyle's even shocked that he can be read easily by Forde, but he chalks that up to them being rivals for so long. There's no one Kyle knows better than Forde, he knows everything. Every movement he'll make in battle, every time he's lazing off, every time he gives that stupid smile with the side of his mouth and every stupid laugh he does when Kyle goes off on him, every exchanged look into those eyes...
... Wait, what? Why was he thinking about that? Kyle goes furiously back to polishing, ears reddening. No, no, it wasn't like that. They were rivals and friends, nothing more and nothing less. To even think for a second that Forde was anything more than that, anything actually special to him, would set Kyle's head to explode. He's digging so deep into his thoughts, he doesn't hear the other cavalier entering.
"Hey, uh, I wanted to--"
"IT'S NOT THAT!" Kyle doesn't intend to yell, but it happens anyway. The silence that follows threatens to only make things worse.
"Wait, what? What are you talking about?"
"Nothing. It's nothing." Kyle's on polish mode again, not meeting the man's eyes.
"... That's not nothing. You're flustered, your ears give it away."
"No I'm not." Kyle's switched to rubbing the wood down, his ears remain cherry red. Forde can't hide a growing smile.
"Yes, you are. Did something set you off? Was it--" Forde can nearly hear the other man's brain put two and two together. "Was it what I said? That I know something you don't?"
"... Yes. It was that." There's no use hiding it otherwise Forde will keep prodding until he gets it. "Just tell me."
"Tell you what?" Forde's shit-eating grin is already caking his every word. God, Kyle wants to strangle him.
"Gods, do I have to spell it out for you? Tell me what you know that I don't, apparently. Because you're now a genius."
Finally, Kyle locks eyes with Forde, he's still wearing that stupid grin. Only now does the green cavalier finally feel the heat that's collected in his ears and starts to spread to his face as well. He motions for Forde to go on, but Forde bites his lip to hold in a snicker.
"You really wanna know?"
"YES. I WANT TO KNOW. How many more times do I have to say it?"
Forde, with his crafty grin, walks over until he's unbearably close. Then, as slow as possible, he leans over to Kyle's scarlet red ear. Kyle freezes in place, hands grip the lance so tight the knuckles turn white. What the hell is Forde doing?! He's been needlessly stupid and lazy but he's never done something like this before! What even should--
"I know you love me."
That little phrase, much like the last one, is set on loop in Kyle's head. All that follows is Forde's terrified screaming as he runs from the shining lance tip pointed right for a weak spot in his armor. Kyle's nearly as red as his armor, but that doesn't stop his rage from being just as hot.
As Eirika receives a letter from the Askr Kingdom requesting her and her brother's presence, her favorite knight is more than a little concerned.
"Seth, please, keep calm. I've been summoned for Askr. I'm scheduled to leave in the morning."
Seth, even the stalwart knight he aimed to be, couldn't ready himself for such a sudden blow to the gut. Eirika delivered those words with every ounce of certainty within her, there's that same look in her eyes as whenever she addressed the army back when they fought Grado. But while back then had determination, this one held a little more nervousness. The shadow of the throne loomed over them both, as the sunset's crimson light settled on the queen's shoulders and painted the knight's armor a faint coffee brown.
"... So suddenly, really? Did they give you any warning? I can't imagine the kingdom is so irresponsible that they didn't at least give you time to prepare for the journey." Seth resisted the urge to tack on 'you can't stay a little longer?'. That'd be unprofessional. Eirika rested a hand on her elbow and another on her chin, one of Seth's favorite gestures to see. This was her thinking pose, especially when she had important decisions to make. He'd seen it on her numerous times when she studied maps or talked strategy with Lord Ephraim. Her eyes would shift from side to side as she pulled forth just the right words to say, then her hands would rest at her sides.
"Admittedly, they did. But it was only a few weeks, I thought Ephraim and I would've had more time together, or I'd have more time to set affairs in order before--"
"Please, milady. I'd be more than happy to do that. You shouldn't need to worry about such things." Ever the useful knight, he made himself. Eirika chuckled, brief but sweet, and rested her hands at her sides. The mood settled and Seth felt his shoulders lower, only an inch. He wondered if she caught it, those eyes of hers always watched. "You should get to packing, I know you won't do it once the sun's all the way down." He allowed himself a chuckle as well.
"Seth!" Eirika gasped and fought back another laugh, she gave a quick tap to her knight's shoulder in admonishment. "You know better than me that you're just as bad with remembering to pack. And shouldn't you watch your words?" The last bit was said with a wide grin.
"While I'll admit I'm not efficient, I do get it done. You on the other hand, milady, prefer to wait mere moments before." Seth smiled and closed his eyes, even if the jab was a little personal, he knew Eirika could take it. But instead of another small smack there's silence, it lasted for long enough for his eyes to open. Eirika's hands are pressed together and a smile played at her lips. Seth knew this one too; whenever she had an exciting secret for someone, she simply couldn't keep it to herself. Much like someone who handed a birthday gift to their friend and watched with glee as it was opened, she wanted to catch that moment of surprise on others faces for herself. It's another gesture Seth can't help but quietly adore. "... Is there something else?"
Before another second goes by, Eirika's hand is around his wrist, so small compared to his large leather glove and gauntlet. This wasn't unfamiliar to Seth, she did this even as a small child, but nowadays it was so few and far between, it struck him quiet. Though he dared not let such surprise worm its way onto his face. Without words she led him away from the throne room and instead up the stairs to her private quarters. This too wasn't unfamiliar, yet the timing of it all seemed slightly suspicious. The two of them, now ventured to the girl's bedroom moments before night would hit and the castle would be covered in darkness. Seth dared not let his mind wander any further. He was never the type to jump to conclusions, yet the strange coincidence of it all only served to prod his innate thoughts to places he knew they shouldn't be. Still, throughout this, his stoic expression remained unbroken.
"There's a reason I wanted to wait on packing." Eirika's voice snapped Seth back to reality, the door of her room opened enough that the knight peered in to see her unfinished folds of clothing upon the bed. Seth remained silent as Eirika tugged him inside, she only let go for the few seconds it took for her to run over and place a lit lantern on her bedside table. "I have something for you."
"What is it?" Seth was far too intrigued to back away now, even if the more rational part of him said this could very well veer into quite dangerous territory. He had to put his own feelings aside, he was a knight first and foremost. A protector for the queen and king, their dependant servant. There was no need to get something as messy as his own affections muddled within their affairs. That would only cause dissaray and further get him confused, not to mention he hadn't factored in how Eirika would feel. He was being selfish just for even playing with the notion that things could happen. He kept his stare ahead at the lantern on the table, he hardly watched as Eirika reached into the drawer below and pulled out two letters; one opened and one closed.
"Here!" She presented the closed one to Seth, who had to force himself back to the world again. He stowed away such inane thoughts and picked up the letter, one with his own name written in an elegant cursive across the front. Eirika held up the opened one with a grin from ear to ear. Seth blinked twice and ran his thumb under the wax seal, he broke it with ease. Within was a letter, addressed to him.
'To the Silver Knight Seth--
While we are a kingdom dependant on great Heroes from places unknown, we always recognize duty above all else. We have summoned Ephraim and Eirika to assist in our fight to keep our kingdom safe, but do not think we have forgotten the knight sworn to serve and protect them.
We humbly ask that your service extend to watching over your rulers as they make their journey to Askr safely. Of course, you are welcome to join in the fight as well, if you do not wish to leave their side.
We wish you safe travels regardless of your choice.'
Seth stared at the words, Eirika clapped her hands together with glee.
"You can come with! You don't have to stay at the castle and worry about me or Ephraim! Isn't that great?"
For the first time in quite a while, Seth's calm expression broke. A smile, one that threatened to tear into his cheeks from how wide he felt it stretch, it was a real smile of relief and pure happiness. The hand that held the letter trembled, only a little, enough for Eirika's hands to clasp it. He hardly heard her words of concern, only focused on four little words. 'That your service extend.' The answer was obvious, of course. He'd follow his twin rulers to the very ends of the earth if that's what it took to ensure their consistent safety. His hand lowered to his waist as Eirika released it, instead she hugged her knight squarely around his gut. Seth, without a second thought, held her just as tight. With a swell of emotion in his chest, he placed a soft kiss upon the girl's forehead.
Eirika didn't bother with anymore words and neither did Seth. The letter fell from the man's fingers and rested upon his boot, they remained in that embrace, their hearts thrummed against one another. As Seth moved his lips away, he instead leaned down to her ear, voice as soft as silk.
"I'll continue to protect you, no matter what."
Eirika gave a soft chuckle and wiped a newly formed tear away.
"And I couldn't be happier with that."
Newlyweds Joshua and Artur finally find their castle.
Prompt used: Home
(notes in tags)
[ Song Used ]
"Ah, we're here!" Artur calls as he reaches the door, his two rolling bags abruptly stopping at his heels. Glancing over his shoulder, he beams at Joshua excitedly and waits for him to catch up. The redhead's no more than three feet behind, a duffel bag slung over each shoulder and he matches Artur's grin.
"Yeah, we've made it." Joshua nods, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a set of keys with a little red dogtag attached to the ring. "Should I do the honors?" he asks, jingling filling the air. Artur's eyes come to life and he eagerly jumps about, clapping his hands. Moving around the giddy ginger Joshua reaches for the doorknob, setting the key into the lock underneath it and turning it a few times until the click lets the silence fall again.
"Go, go! Open it!" Artur excitedly whispers, Joshua stifling some laughter. The door slides inwards silently, only creaking as it gets closer to the wall. The apartment is unfurnished as usual, with white walls and a pale wood floor. The bathroom door is right at the entrance, further down the hallway is a small kitchenette, a bedroom door until the hallway curls to the right which opens into a larger living room. Artur squeaks in joy and rushes in, arms spread wide as he spins about. "It's amazing!"
Joshua follows quietly after, he sets the keys in his pockets with a quiet sigh. A moment like this almost isn't real, he pinches a bit of skin on his hand to make sure he isn't dreaming. Several months of saving, working double shifts, and sleepless nights. All for a place like this. A place to call home.
"Josh, come down here! I found the bedroom!" Artur's voice calls from the hallway, he left his bags at the door and continues his strange spinning dance all the way until he stops against the windows overlooking the street. The night air is warm, Artur throws open a window which billows out his white collar shirt. The apartment, with the half open door, smells of fresh paint and the sweet wind from outside. Joshua hurries to pull the rest of the luggage inside, he makes it about halfway down the hall with arms full until Artur's leaning on his shoulder. "This is perfect. Absolutely perfect."
Just like that, he drops the bags with an unceremonious clatter. Joshua flushes pink, Artur stifles a giggle as this doesn't always happen. He rolls off of the redhead and tugs on one now free hand, Joshua follows suit. As Artur nearly spins away, Joshua catches his waist and pulls him close, running a hand down the shorter man's face with great tenderness.
"I'm so glad you love it. I'm so glad we've made it here."
"Please, thank yourself. You've been the hard worker, all those double shifts."
"No, no, not as much as you. Your careful planning and balancing checkbooks, you've kept us afloat."
Artur giggles as Joshua starts swaying, taking the momentul from the ginger's former spinning into a slow, soft dance. White socks take steps after black ones, soon the pair find themselves in the empty living room. Cars whoosh by in the night, the light's shimmering in from the crosswalk at the corner. First green, then yellow, then red for a long time. The red light turns soft by the streetlamps below, casting a dusty golden light up into the new apartment. The couple continue their slow waltz, though really it's more of just back and forth swaying in a large circle.
Artur's about to say something, but he stops as Joshua begins to hum. It starts off slow, then begins to grow, getting louder with every few steps and half-turn. Artur leans his head on Joshua's chest, a grin from ear to ear. It's a song from one of their first dates, Joshua had tried to convince Artur to watch this silly movie from his childhood called Labyrinth. Something about a strangely dressed Goblin King and a girl trying to save her baby brother, Artur can hardly remember it now. He's too busy feeling his cheeks burn red.
That night from so long ago, both of them sitting on Joshua's battered leather couch, only an empty popcorn bowl between them. They'd laughed at the cheesiness of the acting and ooh'd at the puppetry and costumes, the mood was warm. As the Goblin King moved through the masquerade in search for the girl, Joshua's hand had reached for his behind the popcorn bowl. The tune, sung by the forever angelic David Bowie, wrapped itself tight around Artur's ears as Joshua's hand squeezed his. That tight squeeze is how Joshua holds his hands now, fingers interlocking fast.
After a bit more humming, Joshua begins to sing. He's not much of one, never able to hit the high notes, but his lower register is something which sets Artur's heart absolutely fluttering every single time.
"There's such a sad love
Deep in your eyes.
A kind of pale jewel
Open and closed
Within your eyes.
I'll place the sky
Within your eyes."
A pause for breath, Artur's other hand rests on Joshua's shoulder. He rolls his head to one side in order to watch Joshua as he sings, the soft red-yellow light casting his hair in a heavenly orange tint.
"There's such a fooled heart
Beatin' so fast
In search of new dreams.
A love that will last
Within your heart.
I'll place the moon
Within your heart."
"Joshua..." A quiet chuckle from Artur, he tries to laugh off how cheesy it is while his eyes sting with tears. A few quick blinks and they run down his cheeks, he keeps smiling. This place is more than perfect, it's magical. Even in this barren state, with clothes and shoes to unpack, appliances to order, pictures to hang and food to cook. All of those future worries melt away as Artur feels this immense weight rise from his shoulders. This is home, their home.
"As the pain sweeps through,
Makes no sense for you.
Every thrill is gone.
Wasn't too much fun at all,
But I'll be there for you-ou-ou
As the world falls down."
Artur takes this opportunity as there's another break for breath to steal a kiss, though the music stops both of them can hear the synth piano echo in their heads. Joshua returns it in kind, a hand under Artur's chin to hold his lips there for as long as he can. They part only when they feel they need to breathe.
"You're getting better at that," Joshua snickers with a rogue-ish grin.
"Not until you get better at singing," Artur replies, laying his head on Joshua's shoulder.
The pair continue their homecoming dance in relative quiet, save for Joshua's quiet humming echoing past the walls and out to the street. Both breathe a collective sigh, there'd be no more need for worry and stress.
Artur's someone who never minces words, he knows their power well. He won't say something he can't take back.
Joshua's someone who speaks his mind freely, without abandon. His words fly away like birds.
Artur finally learns it's okay to say what you feel.
Artur's someone who never minces words, he knows their power well. One slip, one misstep, a sylable out of place and the spell backfires. He's been on the receiving end before and recalls the terrible scent of burnt hair, his own hair, his curls wouldn't be nearly as short as they are if he'd been more careful in his youth. But, that was childhood, and Artur knew he didn't know better simply because he wasn't experienced. Now, on the other hand, he's much better about it. He prides himself for perfect enunciation and casting, though Lute may be the only one who has him beat in that regard.
Yet that initial hesitance, the mental double check he does before even a sound moves past his lips, is something nowhere near present in Joshua. Artur envies that, the man speaks his mind freely -- and very often does-- without a care to what may come of it.
Oh, but Joshua isn't dumb, Artur knows that. He can read and an atmosphere well enough, fast enough to know just when to let that loose tongue wag and when ti tighten it up with sweet words. Come to think of it, where had he learned such phrases? Artur's never heard them before, but assumes they're simply a regional difference.
Likely the result of being out on the dusty streets of Jehanna, where quick wit and a quicker tongue can save you from both a bad bargain and a bad situation. Though Artur hadn't been there himself, he recalls the storybooks of his youth; their sweeping gold sands and arid climates, Lute had particular fun with reading about bands of mercenaries who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. Or, more often Artur found, kept to themselves.
After all, Joshua certainly couldn't have learned it within his own palace halls. Artur likes to think he tried, playing the rebel to his adoring mother wasn't far off of Joshua's predicted path. It's a fun image to play with in his head; Joshua's short tangle of red hair slipping in and out of windows to sneak away from stuffy palace life, to live a little more on the edge of his knife in the streets among people bound by coin and deep loyalty. Certainly, Artur thinks, the mercenary guilds welcomed him into their folds thinking he's the queen's son and would make an excellent future leader. Artur hides a chuckle, his mind miles away imagining the tiny prince playing with wooden swords in crowded rooms, those around him cheering him on with every swish.
"... What're you staring for?"
His voice snaps Artur from his daydream, the rest of his silent analysis disperses too. He meets Joshua's gaze, unaware he'd been watching the myrmidon this whole time. Joshua gives a rogue-ish grin. "Hopefully not just at me, I hope."
Artur laughs quietly to mask how flustered he gets. There's a warmth in the corners of his face as he replies, his eyes rapidly searching for someone else to pin the target on.
"Moreso Lady Eirika coming this way, but you were still in my line of sight. So, you could argue that yes, I was... partially looking at you."
"Alright, if you say so." Joshua shrugs, bits of his red hair tumble from his shoulders to join the rest laying against his back. Artur isn't sure why he's focused on such a minute detail, but he smiles it away. Joshua mirrors the gesture, though to Artur it's always looked just shy of hiding some larger secret. Or there are unfinished thoughts and words lingering behind those playful grins, yerning to spill forth from those lips and touch whoever's heart that hears them. Ah, he's staring again, Artur catches himself this time. He switches his gaze back to Eirika, thank goodness she's made it over.
"You two nearly ready? We're heading out soon," she reports with head high. Artur nods several times while Joshua only flashes his smile in the princess' direction.
"You wanna make a bet who'll show up first? Ten gold I beat Curly-Q!" he snickers, Artur takes this opportunity to turn away. He'd not be caught staring a third time, he'd already run the risk far too close. Besides, Eirika is right, they had more Stones to collect and shouldn't be dawdling with idle talk and thoughts of places far away from where they were right now.
"Bet or no bet, I will be there, Lady Eirika. I can promise you that."
Leaving Joshua and her to chat a little longer -- Artur, no doubt, thinks in the end he only plans to score a flirtatious remark -- the monk retires to his tent. There were still things to pack and tomes to bring along, Light magic especially is a rare commodity among Renais, nowhere near as plentiful as Anima tomes. Shuffling along his cot he loosens the collar of his robes, letting himself breathe. A break from Joshua on his brain would do him good, he's sure of it. That and, as the Blessed Dragon would say, "Fill not your mind with impure thoughts of others, for those turn into dangerous actions if left unchecked".
They weren't impure in the slightest, Artur challenged, but it's better to have his mind be free of distractions than have it tinker back to a past that Joshua never wished to speak of. It'd bring up sour memories, and Artur didn't want to see his face go dark or for him to lose his carefree smile. Those things made him Joshua, silly coin flips and all, he couldn't risk letting such things disappear only for a second. Drat, he's distracted again, if that bet was made then he'd surely lose it if he lingered any longer. Hurriedly he ties his spare robes and extra Flash tome into a sack, latching the smaller Light tome to the book carrier at his side, underneath the robes at his leg. A glance back out the tent flap to the field ahead, Joshua and Eirika are both gone.
"Have I lost...?" he murmurs to himself, sack thrown over one shoulder as he brushes past the flaps back outside.
"Nope!" comes a laugh from Joshua, he whirlwinds on by and gives a playful tap to the back of the monk's head. Artur's face flares pink, largely from not realizing the other had gotten so close without so much as a sound. Joshua pauses, his knapsack has a strap across his chest. "We're tied, actually! Race you to Seth!"
Normally, Artur would decline childish games like racing, not that he's too prideful to participate in them. He simply doesn't find himself the fastest on foot, Lute's beaten him 'hundreds' of times --her words, not his-- and any confidence that would come from losing so many races in childhood certainly took a nose dive. Yet this time, even with such a nonsensical payout as ten gold, he allows himself a little taste of pride. Afterwards, he promises, he'd say an extra long prayer for indulging.
"Then allow me to break this tie!" Artur calls back and runs after the redhead, stretching his legs as long as possible to cover the most ground. It strains him, he pants and sweat collects under even his breezy robes, his sack of belongings bounces painfully against his shoulder, but he remains undeterred. Joshua's a flash of red and black, always a foot or two ahead of him even as the gathering of Eirika's army comes into view. There's no slowing this footrace, Artur's determined to win, tents flash by as tiny white streaks. It's not for the money, he tells himself, not at all. Even if it's selfish or it goes against the Blessed Dragon's teachings, he wants nothing more than to stay with Joshua. So they can indulge in races, nonsense bets, laugh and talk under the stars. There's so much more he wants to ask about him, about his life in Jehanna or before he found his way to Serafew, maybe with the right guidance he can become the man's Shepard. Yes, perhaps even--
"I WIN!"
Again Joshua's voice, trembling with excitement, blows through all of Artur's thoughts like cannon fire. His vision clears as he slows to a halt, panting heavily and resting a hand upon Seth's horse. There's a snort as the animal moves away, unfriendly to anyone but her rider. Artur teeters to one side, the blood's rushing back to his head, he should've called it quits earlier if he'd known his body remained this out of shape. Yet before his body hits the ground, his shoulders are snatched up. Glancing over his shoulder is the sweat dripping Joshua, his smile from ear to ear. Artur feels his heart leap out of his ribcage.
"... Sorry. I don't know if I gave you a... very fun race after all," he laughs, breathless as Joshua effortlessly slides an arm underneath both of his shoulders. They're close, close enough that Artur can feel his breath on his hair, somehow cool despite the panting. Their items are placed in a cart that Forde plans to pull, the cavalier gives the two a wide grin and thumbs up. Artur doesn't have time to analyze that gesture, his head's too busy spinning, though Joshua's shoulder makes an excellent place to rest. The pair walk for a little while together as the army gets into gear, eventually Joshua sets the exhausted monk down in a separate cart, walking along after him.
"Don't apologize, Curly-Q. You put up a good fight for a monk," Joshua says, Artur mumbles another apology. "Seriously, you don't need to. Tell you what, even though I won we don't have to honor the bet. Even Eirika seemed worried for you, she said you'd faint before you crossed the finish line. But you didn't, though! That's something to be proud of."
Artur sighs, wiping sweat from the back of his neck and leaving the top collar button undone. He wishes Lady Eirika had just a little more faith in his physical capabilities, though he didn't necessarily blame her for thinking so. Artur knows he's frail, he's always been, but he's tried to take strides to be a little better. Baby steps, he tells himself, baby steps are important.
"... Was it fun, at least?" Artur hears how scratchy his voice sounds and winces, swallowing to wet his throat. That's a definite improvement. "Fun for you?"
"Yeah, it was!" Joshua's smile is so bright it's nearly blinding. Artur's in shock, he'd put up such a bad performance! He's certainly only saying that since he won and is still on that adrenaline rush. "You really surprised me, Artur. I'd never taken you for the competitive type. I'm glad there's a whole new side of you to learn about! Did you race a lot as a kid?"
Artur, on instinct, gives himself time to select his words. A measured response, simple but effective, is what he figures is necessary. He'd talk of the past races with Lute, through his village's dirt paths and over the thick bushes before the forest. How he'd lost countless times, just like he lost today, it's nothing special really. Then they'd laugh and Joshua, Artur figures, would leave him to rest and regain his strength. It's how he's always lived his life, behind bars of silence and structured sentences, too afraid to let the words flow forth. He's afraid of missteps, of misspeaking, of saying something he can't take back. But now, whether Joshua knows it or not, he's handed Artur the key.
Instead of simply responding, he lets himself speak.
"I... did, actually. Only a handful of times and always with Lute. Like you saw today, I'm not much of a runner, she always beat me. We'd race through our village and into the forest, but not much farther than the thicker bushes. Mother said it got thorny and dangerous past there. But I enjoyed it back then, I could certainly keep up with her much better. You, well... you saw the result. I'm not as fast as I once was, but thank you for giving me the opportunity to relive a bit of that childish glee."
Joshua listens, hopping into the cart next to Artur when its wheels are slow. It's a little intimidating to have those eyes focused solely on him, but it's a feeling Artur thinks he could get used to very easily. Unprompted, he continues, relaying to Joshua the time he knew becoming a man of the cloth is something he wished for more than anything else. How a passing monk through his village spends a whole afternoon with him just looking for a lost toy, and how much that man's kindness meant to him. His voice doesn't shake, he simply lets it flow, and Joshua's absolutely enraptured.
The pair continue to talk, swapping stories back and forth. Artur never mentions the thoughts he had earlier, the 'impure' ones at least, neither does he ask about Jehanna. For now he's perfectly comfortable getting to know Joshua the myrmidon they picked up in Serafew rather than Joshua, former Prince of Jehanna. Too much pain is buried inside the man, Artur figures if he springs a leak, then all of Joshua himself will burst out and float away. They're stepping stones, Artur tells himself, a gentle path to lead himself on before tackling the boulders in his way. Though, it's good to know that now, Joshua's firmly at his side to do so. Whatever else he feels, this humming warmth in his chest when Joshua smiles his way or says his name, that doesn't need to be pushed away.
In fact, Artur smiles to himself, it's something he'll say with his own words.
A returning fest to celebrate Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones and produce fanwork! We will run from Sunday, October 22 to Saturday, October 28. Mods are in EST, but we aren’t fussy.
For a special twist, each day has a choice of prompts, inspired by ending script. You can take either (or both!) in whatever direction you wish.
All content is welcome! Fanart, fic, playlists, graphics, analysis posts. Whatever you’re inspired to create, we’d love to see. Please note: we will not reblog edited or reposted fanart in any form (unless the original artist has given permission).
Prompts are as follows:
October 22: Home / Adventure
October 23: Serve / Regret
October 24: Legend / Secret
October 25: Comfort / Grief
October 26: Honor / Sacrifice
October 27: Return / Disappear
October 28: Restoration / free for all!
All work should be tagged #FE8Week so it can be easily found and appreciated. Late entries (seriously, as late as you like!) are still loved and shared!
Please boost, especially if you plan on participating!
Notes: im gonna be terrible and you all cant stop me
[ After Season 2 'Blackout': Alternate Reality/Plane Theory. Shiro's alive but on a different plane of existence or alternate reality, can see the paladins but can't interact. Sadness ensues. ]
--
"He's... gone."
Even though Keith was the first to speak those words, he would be one of the last to fully accept them. He and the others scoured every inch of the Black Lion's cockpit, but there was nothing. No impressions left in the seat, no paladin armor, not even Shiro's smell remained. The cockpit was cold, not a single sign of their leader's presence remained. Keith couldn't breathe, he stumbled back but Lance pushed forward past him, his hands scrambled over the seat.
"Shiro?! HEY, SHIRO! THIS BETTER NOT BE SOME JOKE!"
Keith had never seen that much fear in Lance, he was used to the stretched faces of panic Lance made whenever things didn't go his way. But to see how wide his eyes got, how erratic he was around the small space, made even smaller by the four of them there, was so jarring it left Keith in a standstill.
"Shiro...?"
It was Hunk who spoke next, an uncharacteristically small voice for how big his presence was. The single word was so soft, Keith almost didn't hear it. Hunk followed after Lance, only repeating the same word over and over, it hung in the air like a cloud and only grew heavier with each second. Both of them checked over and over, Lance's angered shouts followed by Hunk's softer sobs.
Pidge was the only one to remain utterly silent at the whole thing, fists clenched at her sides. On any other occasion, Keith would've admired someone like that, able to keep composed under this much pressure. He even envied Pidge right at that moment. He stepped aside to give Pidge some space just in case, and wiped his own eyes. He'd begun crying and not even noticed, the tears streamed down his cheeks in silence.
Keith wanted to rage just like Lance, to scream and kick the control panel, to shake the chair and beg Shiro to come back, to demand the Black Lion give them any answers at all. But his body wouldn't move, his feet were cemented in place as his tears rolled off his chin and fell to the cold floor.
"He's g... gone..." The words left his mouth again and even he could hear how much they shook.
"DAMMIT! HE CAN'T LEAVE US!"
Lance's voice resounded again, he slammed a fist onto the console and emitted a dull thud. No lights, no roar, no beeping, nothing. It was like something had ripped the very soul out of the Black Lion. Keith could hear Allura and Coran over the coms system, both of them fired rapid questions as to what was the matter.
"Tell us what happened! Why is Shiro not responding?"
Allura had the only calm voice over the headsets, again Keith's jealousy spiked. Lance stood back up, face a mess of angry tears while Hunk had slumped into Shiro's seat and buried his face in his hands. The Yellow Paladin's entire body shook as he wept and Lance set a hand upon his shoulder, tried to comfort him with some quiet words.
"... Shiro's gone, Allura."
It was Pidge who replied, her visor had darkened after Lance's last yell and she kept her gaze on a different part of the cockpit entirely, unable to look at her teammates in grief. The other end was absolute silence, no doubt the Alteans were stunned. She was the first one to leave the Black Lion and walk towards the castle bridge. Lance and Hunk followed suit, Hunk such a sobbing mess that the inside of his helmet had fogged up from all the tears. Lance kept his furious eyes locked onto Pidge in front of him and helped Hunk to the outside, but Keith still stared at Shiro's chair.
"We'll find you. I'll find you. I can promise that, no matter what happens."
---
Shiro had woken up to throbbing pain before, but nothing was quite as intense as this.
He struggled to move about, a great pressure was closing all around him like the vice grip of some immense hand. It squeezed and squeezed until he was certain he'd burst like a bubble, and just as he thought he would his eyes snapped open.
First all he saw was a hazy purple-black, and as he took deeper breaths his vision cleared. Tiny dots glimmered far far above, and it wasn't until he managed to pull himself up to a sitting position did he realize just where he was; The Mindscape.
Almost immediately flashbacks replayed of his intense battle with Zarkon for the Black Lion's bond, and Shiro clutched his side where he had been thrown. The wound was healed certainly, but he could still feel the phantom throb of pain from it.
A purple glimmer coated his body and he saw a slight reflection of himself in the ground, dizziness started to cloud his head. Was he standing on glass, or something else? He scanned the horizon and stood up slowly, sucked in sharp breaths once his weight shifted and finally he managed to pull himself upright. Shiro almost expected Zarkon to be there, menacing scowl and all, ready for another round.
But he was alone this time, and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that not even his Black Lion was there with him. Being completely by himself never brought him good things, his senses were so finely tuned to other presences, always knowing where others were in relation to him if it meant a fight would break out. But lately these senses had changed ever so slightly, as he now had to know where his teammates were, had to guard their blind sides and maneuver around them for a tactical advantage, not to mention forming Voltron.
"Patience yields focus." he sighed to himself, taking comfort in the mantra. If he was back here in the Mindscape, was the Black Lion pulling something? He remembered Zarkon in that powered up state, he had grabbed the head of Voltron and the two had slammed together, Shiro had felt both of them collide not just physically but mentally as well, equivalent to getting thrown through seven brick walls. His shoulders slouched as his body recalled the pain, and the dull throb came back full force.
After that, there was nothing but darkness. Shiro closed his eyes and focused, desperate for anything else in his memory that would give him a single clue as to why he was here. As he searched his ears began to ring, but he gritted his teeth and pushed harder, the ringing increased in pitch as he went. What had happened after that impact? He concentrated so fiercely he could feel sweat roll down his temples, the ringing got louder and louder until Shiro couldn't stand it any longer and his eyes flew open.
The purple landscape had vanished, he was back in the Black Lion's cockpit now, albeit behind his chair. The systems were off and the eyes were dark, he couldn't see outside. Had he just never left, like before?
"You know, one day you're going to really scare me with that." Shiro chuckled to his Lion and reached over to pat one of the consoles, only for his hand to phase right through it. "What the...?" he gasped and pulled his hand back in a flash. His hand still had that purple glow, it outlined every one of his fingers even. As Shiro looked himself over he noticed the rest of his body had it too, and he was... floating. Potentially three inches off the ground but still, this revelation was jarring.
In an instant, fear seized him. No, this was impossible. This couldn't be the Black Lion's doing, because nothing like this had happened before. His mind raced for some solution as he reached out to touch the wall panel again, and again his fingers simply passed into it. The metal was cold, Shiro tried wriggling his fingers and there was no warmth behind it like usual. He wasn't corporeal, he was floating... was he a ghost?
"No." he spoke the word aloud, and an uncertain laugh followed it. "That's... that can't be true." His words had a slight reverb to them, more than what should be possible for his cockpit. As he began to gather himself Shiro reached for his chair for stability but his arms went into it and instead the momentum caused him to slowly somersault in mid-air. "Team?!" he yelled and hurried to turn himself upright in case of an attack.
There was no response. The outside of the Black Lion was deathly quiet, Shiro's senses were on high alert. Were there Galra perched outside in wait with blasters at the ready? Or had he passed out from the fight and the other Paladins had pushed him back to the safety of the castle?
He stared ahead at the window and braced himself, he wouldn't stay in his cockpit forever and he had to know what was going on. Shiro backpedaled and activated his right hand, the glow around it only brightened the purple-white light. Sparks flew as he reached towards his chair, concentrating all he could on touching its sleek surface, on feeling the cool metal underneath, until finally his fingers felt something solid.
"Yes!" he cheered in triumph, relief washed over him and a grin spread across his face. The balance of energy was delicate from his hand, or else the chair would melt into steel goo and his plan would fail. Shiro pulled himself back and with a grunt, heaved forward with all his might (and some help from his thrusters) with a tucked head. His body passed right through the screen like a droplet entering water, and Shiro looked up only to see the Castleship's interior fly by him. Stopping was the next crucial step.
He outstretched his right hand and it hit one of the walls of a hallway, the metal underneath crackled and burned upon contact but Shiro managed to bring himself to a halt while his thrusters went into reverse. He pulled his hand off and let it power down, turned to his handprint upon the wall and gave a chuckle. Coran certainly wouldn't be happy if he saw that.
"Please, now is not the time to be turning on one another!"
Allura's voice cut across the silence, Shiro turned and used his handprint to push off, and the thrusters helped propel him through an open archway towards the Princess' voice. It was slightly warped and muffled to his ears, like Allura had one of those doctor masks on and yet still spoke underwater. As he got closer, other voices chimed in, all with the same warped effect.
"YOU could've been there faster! You're the hotshot pilot!"
Lance's was next, Shiro had rounded the corner towards the bridge of the Castle just in time to see what was left of Voltron. His heart plummeted.
Allura and Coran stood in front of the bridge's center, both of their eyes puffed red from tears. Pidge was between them, her head lowered to obscure whatever expression she made. Hunk's shoulders were so hunched he looked positively tiny. Lance held Keith by the lapels of his jacket and sported a furiously bleeding nose, while Keith scowled back at him with a bruise that covered his left cheek. Both of their eyes were aflame and their clothes disheveled, Lance's jacket was now in Hunk's arms and Hunk's entire face was dripping with tears.
"You guys can't fight, not now! Shiro... wouldn't have wanted this!"
His voice broke upon Shiro's name and Shiro's eyes widened in shock. Lance opened his mouth to speak but failed to get words out before Keith's fist uppercut into his jaw and send the other teen back in a sprawl so Keith was freed.
"If we're gonna play the blame game, then don't pin it all on me! You're equally responsible, you're a no good shot!"
Keith's rage was in full force and Lance spat something from his mouth and growled. As he straightened himself to return the blow Hunk ran in-between them and extended both arms, Lance's jacket held back out towards its owner.
"Seriously, stop it! Hurting each other isn't solving anything!"
"Keith's the one that threw the first punch!"
"Don't be so childish! If you had bothered to actually focus, Shiro would still be here!"
"I was focusing! I bet you just wanted to hog all the glory to yourself by stabbing Zarkon!"
The trio devolved into furious shouting, each one talked over the other to get their point across, voices constantly rising the louder the other got until the Green Paladin stepped forward.
"ALL OF YOU, SHUT THE HELL UP!"
Pidge's scream halted all three boys, even Allura and Coran stepped back in shock. Shiro slowly floated forward and held in his tears as silence fell over the entire group.
"I'm here! I'M RIGHT HERE!" he yelled, the echo to his voice bounced off of the bridge's glass walls and high ceiling with the added silence. "YOU GUYS! I'M HERE!"
But their Leader's words never made it. Shiro boosted forward and reached out for Lance's jacket, but still his fingers slipped through the fabric. He grunted in frustration and tried again with his right, activating the Galra tech within but even still, he couldn't even touch the zipper.
"I'm here! I'm right in front of you guys!" Shiro continued desperately, a wild panic to his eyes as he grabbed at Keith's shoulder, but the Red Paladin was smoke between his fingers.
He tried the same with Hunk, Lance, and Pidge in turn, but their eyes did not see him and his voice did not reach them. Shiro's boosters turned off and he slowly floated backwards, a weight on his chest so heavy he felt like he was drowning, tears even blurred his vision.
"I'm here... I'm right here..." his voice cracked and shattered like his heart.
Was this how easily Voltron fell apart?
"... Pidge, you don't have to -- "
"I said SHUT THE HELL UP! Look at yourselves, you're all idiots!"
Pidge cut off Lance before he could say anything more, her hands clenched into small fists.
"Can you even believe yourselves right now?! We have a universe to defend, and you all are such blind idiots you can't even see that! Hunk's right, Shiro... Shiro wouldn't have wanted this stupid infighting!"
Her shoulders shook but her voice remained firm, even as tears poured from behind her glasses.
"Shiro's gone, but that doesn't mean he's dead. If he's dead then... then we would've seen a body, right? But the Black Lion's cockpit was just empty."
The others began to nod along very slowly, Lance took his jacket back from Hunk and pulled it on. Shiro heard the analytical tone Pidge saved for tech talk start to slip in, the one that made her sound so brilliant and bright to the rest of the team, even if none of them truly knew what she talked about. The weight within him crushed even more.
"Well, I don't think Shiro just vanished like a Houdini trick. I'm more inclined to believe that after Zarkon smashed into us head on, quite literally, something else just... poofed Shiro away."
"... 'Poofed'? Really? That's the word you're going to use?"
"Shut up, Lance. I'd like to see you try better."
Shiro gave an automatic chuckle, but none of the others laughed. Their hollow silence as Pidge continued her theory only grew, and Shiro managed to pull himself into a cross legged sitting position as he floated. A smile finally broke through his tears and he raised a hand to wipe some away. Perhaps Voltron wasn't done for after all.
"... So, we just need to find where Shiro 'poofed' to?"
"Well, that's all we have to go on, unless you have any other ideas."
"Honestly, that's the best one we've got."
Pidge managed a small smile Keith's way, and Keith did his best to return it. Hunk blew his nose into a handkerchief Coran had provided, and even Lance's infuriated glare softened until he gave his trademark cocky grin. Allura set a soft hand on Pidge's shoulder and gave a proud smile.
"That sounds like a brilliant idea, Pidge. It is always good to have hope, even in the most desperate of times."
"I couldn't agree more, Princess! Although, I don't know where we'll start. But Pidge is our genius, she'll think of something!"
"Thanks. I'm glad you have faith, Coran."
As their Leader watched them all, the weight on himself became too much to hold in any longer, and he let himself cry. Whether they were tears of joy or of pain, not even Shiro knew. He watched them drop towards the floor and then fizzle away into purple light.
(Reposted from my Ao3 to the good people of tumblr. because why not.)
P.I Rice / Hanayo Holmes moves to London to further her budding detective career, but who could be the first one to answer her add for a flatmate than the eccentric and energetic Rin Watson, a tomboy and a jock and somehow a sport injury doctor all wrapped in one.
Together they not only solve a majority of London's most baffling crimes and cases, but they also face the most dangerous and nasty villain this side of the River Thames; Nico Moriarty, master criminal and idol wannabe out for Hanayo's blood or cuteness, whichever comes first.
Very loosely based on a combination of the RDJ + Jude Law movies and the infamous Sherlock BBC Series.
Ao3 Ver.
(Chapter 1: She’s a Handsome Woman)
Hanayo had heard the stories that London was rainy and dull, but she wasn't expecting such things would be confirmed immediately.
She stepped out of the warm taxi from the airport, gave this new street-- Baker Street, the sign on the corner read-- a good once over to get a lay of the land. In front of her, nestled between two larger building painted white, was a brick apartment complex --they were called 'flats' here-- with a miniscule fenced in yard and a lamppost with a '221 Baker Street' sign hanging from underneath the lightbulb.
The door to the building was already opened, and Hanayo was certain this would be a troubling sign. Not even before the brunette reached the single doorstep did a thunderous crack echo from inside, followed by a surprised yell.
"Rin, please be more careful!" came a woman's voice, Hanayo presumed from the tone she was middle aged at least. Inflection told her she was from upstate, potentially their landlady.
"Sorry miss, I'll clean it up soon!" was the presumed Rin's reply, a voice much higher than Hanayo had anticipated and brimming with energy. Quietly the budding detective prayed to the gods that this 'Rin' wouldn't be on her floor, but moments before her wish was sent floating their way did a girl come rushing down the stairs, Hanayo only catching a bob of orange-red hair headed her way until the two collided and fell different ways in the doorway. "Woah, sorry! Didn't seeya there, m--" the girl began, but stopped the second she got a clearer look at Hanayo.
Hanayo blinked slowly as the world came back into focus, only to find this girl was staring her dead in the face, one finger poised to prod at her cheek like she was unconscious.
"Wh... Who...?" the timid brunette murmured, skittering back to get a better look at the stranger. Aside from her hair-- more bright orange than red, Hanayo noted-- she was dressed like some private school student; an argyle sweatervest patterned with dark reds and light blues over a crisp white collared shirt and a short pleated brown flannel skirt with lace trimming. Hanayo couldn't analyze the emblem over the girl's left breast, and truthfully wouldn't want to be caught staring for too long. Detectives needed to gather all the information they could in short spans of time, after all.
"OH! Are you Hanayo Holmes, the up-and-coming investigator?!" this Rin blurted out of the blue, her green eyes sparkling and they were suddenly up close again, so close that Hanayo could feel the other girl's breath on her face. Hanayo skittered back before the color could rise to her cheeks, bangs masking her eyes.
"W--Well, yes, but... how would you... know that..." the answer hit the girl just as the words were tumbling out of her mouth.
She had placed an add in the local newspaper calling for a roommate, someone who was clean and friendly and didn't mind her eating copious amounts of rice or sharing the apartment with a detective still finding her footing in this massive city. She had only gotten a few responses, two were from total strangers that, after Hanayo did a rapid background check and some deducting, would more likely try to take advantage of a young girl than pay their share of the rent.
But the third response was one that struck her the most, a girl by the name of Watson, who was a college student in that general area. She'd been kicked out of her dorm by her other roommates who couldn't stand her, played for her school's soccer team while simultaneously studying as a sport injury doctor, would promise to clean her side of the apartment---
And her first name was Rin.
Hanayo blinked twice and then rose slowly, mind still racing. The information must have been jumbled in the flight over, the jet lag knocked some things out of place, surely there was a good logical explanation for her completely forgetting that she had taken up the girl's offer.
"I'm Rin Watson, your new roommate!" the green eyed girl grinned from ear to ear, much like the sun peering through the clouds. She radiated a kind of energy Hanayo had never seen before, one that was so bright and warm you couldn't help but stop and stare and take it all in.
"A... A pleasure to meet you." Hanayo bowed politely in response, returning Rin's brilliant smile with a shy one of her own. "Um... I'll get my bags, you have something to... clean don't you?" she asks, pointing back inside just as the landlady's voice piped up again, reminding Rin of the mess she made.
"Ohmygod I'LL BE RIGHT UP MRS. HUDSON-- Yeah I'll see you there soon bye!" Rin's mouth ran a mile a minute but Hanayo could keep up, her mind could accelerate just as fast if it needed to. As if engines were attached to her feet did Rin Watson fly back up the stairs, her voice carrying back down through the open doorway while Hanayo turned towards the taxi.
The driver had already set her few luggage bags at the curb and awaited a tip with an outstretched hand. Hanayo handed over a few smooth bills, it must've been plenty enough to cover for both the fare and the added assistance with the way the driver's eyes lit up, and he peeled off with a hearty wave out the window.
Hanayo turned from her luggage to the doorway of 221 Baker Street, reached into her coat pocket for a key engraved '221B' and gripped it tight.
Today wasn't going to be a dull one after all.
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