More Lith & Faeryn from the ever delightful @rupeewallet!! <3 I CANNOT get over Faeryn's tail/ears, and his expressions are just SO perfect T_T and and and then there's Lith who just looks so sad! Faeryn wants to wrap them in a warm blanket and keep the bad things away. The tail over the wrist absolutely slayed me about as much as the nose pat <3
Anyway, here's another small writing piece based off of this!
--
“Hey, hey…”
Faeryn’s voice was soft as he approached, snow crunching underfoot. Enough time had passed between Faeryn and Lith to where Faeryn’s (admittedly often) rapid advances no longer resulted in Lith taking a step back reflexively. The taller of the two swept in close, uncaring about propriety or potential awkwardness, interrupting Lith’s downturned gaze. The pretty yellow was slightly unfocused and unseeing.
Faeryn didn’t like it; it reminded him of himself.
He reached down and took one of Lith’s hands in his own, twining their fingers and clasping with gentle firmness. Simultaneously his other hand gently pressed against the top of Lith’s nose and forehead. Lith normally ran colder than Faeryn (who didn’t run hot by any means, but preferred heat over cold), but it also didn’t usually take long for them to warm under Faeryn’s touch.
The man rubbed gently and his ears swiveled attentively toward Lith when they slowly—so slowly—lifted their head the slightest bit. Their gaze rose as well, and the despondency in that lovely yellow gaze wrenched Faeryn’s heart and choked his throat.
(was this how Gareth felt when he’d laid eyes on Faeryn for the first time on the side of the street, deep blues empty and dull? this desperation to help fix heal—)
The faint trembling in his own hands faded as ironclad determination to do something rushed through his veins. A lifetime ago, Faeryn had spent far too long feeling hollowed out and empty. He’d been fortunate enough to have people by his side when simply existing became overwhelming. If he could extend that same courtesy—in any amount, especially to someone as caring and genuine as Lith—then Faeryn would do it without question.
Faeryn gave Lith’s hand another gentle squeeze, and his tail came up to drape over his friend’s wrist, warm and soft.
A bit of clarity returned to Lith’s eyes, but their ears were still slanted down and back. An ache throbbed in Faeryn’s chest but he forced himself to smile as he gently rubbed the bridge of Lith’s nose.
“It’s…” he sighed, “It’s not okay; none’a this’s okay. It’s all bloody awful. But—” the forced smile became something easier as the seconds passed and as Faeryn spoke, until it was something genuine—even if melancholic, “—but at least we’ve got each other, right?”
Faeryn slid the hand on Lith’s nose to their shoulder, gave it a firm squeeze, then pulled them into a hug. He never released Lith’s other hand just as his tail never unwound from his friend’s wrist. Lith went easily, and Faeryn’s heart warmed (even as all-too-familiar butterflies in his stomach fluttered) when they further leaned into the embrace. Faeryn pulled them closer, eyes scrunching shut now that he was out of view.
“I don’t think I could’ve survived out here alone; ‘m happy yer here, Lith, even if everythin’ else is awful. I’ll be right here for you, whatever you need. Yer not alone."
so Protolith and Faeryn have taken over my brain so have them smooching I guess
this is admittedly just one (1) of multiple First Kiss scenarios that will not leave me alone. thank you @rupeewallet (as always!) for letting me play with your creature!
“Hey, Lith?”
Lith’s head turned and Faeryn’s ears perked in their direction when he was faced with those pretty yellow eyes. Faeryn stared at them: at the slope of their nose, the lovely blue sitting in equally lovely yellow. They were calm, expression relaxed and at ease, and their gaze was softly inquisitive. The hand loosely clasped in Faeryn’s, warm and solid—secure and safe—squeezed gently.
Faeryn’s heart skipped a beat or three.
(if he were still made of stardust, the blues and purples would be shot through with embarrassed pink)
He hoped the warm, pleasant swelling in his chest didn’t reflect in his eyes, because if it did, even Lith would be able to pick up on the soft affection and adoration. It was a situation Faeryn hadn’t experienced in some time, and never in circumstances quite so odd.
The two sat shoulder to shoulder on a grassy slope close to the village on Timber Hearth. They were shaded by trees, though the sunlight streamed through and dappled Lith and Faeryn with patches of light. A pond sat not far away, and the entire setup gave Faeryn the air of a peaceful slice of comfort and safety.
It was nice.
Being with someone who tolerated—and even occasionally bought into or followed—Faeryn’s eccentricities was nice.
Meeting someone who had such a sunny smile and bright, expressive eyes was nice.
Spending time around someone who appreciated him without his magic, his status, or his connections—it had been so long since Faeryn had been known so simply as just himself.
(Gareth was the only other one who had fallen in love with him before he had anything at all, when he’d still been empty)
The only downside of holding Lith’s hand was the lack of opportunities to see them happily clasping their own together whenever excitement or delight became too much.
Lith’s consistent determination despite every curveball the universe threw, even when Faeryn recognized moments of utter defeat in their posture and expression.
There was so much already, and more than that besides, that Faeryn could go on and on about. But sitting with Lith, holding their hand in the dappled sunlight—
The kiss was as much a surprise to Lith as it was to Faeryn, even though he was the one who’d initiated it.
It wasn’t even anything big, just a closing of an already oh, so close distance and the sensation in Faeryn’s stomach of two puzzle pieces slotting together. The moment lasted far longer than it really did, the blossoming joy in Faeryn’s stomach going into full bloom before he realized what he’d done—and without permission.
Faeryn froze. He pulled back inch by inch—despite every instinct in him urging him to run—terrified to meet Lith’s pretty gaze. His ears flattened atop his head. His tail curled nervously at his side. His hand trembled, suddenly feeling cold and clammy, in Lith’s grasp.
Even if he wanted to jerk back, he couldn’t, not with Lith’s hand anchoring him to the spot. Lith hadn’t withdrawn their hand, and so Faeryn focused on that point of familiar heat, even as his thoughts spiraled deeper and deeper.
(look what you did, an’ without askin’! it’s gonna be ruined now, an’ all cause ya couldn’t jus’ wait)
“Ah—wait, no. Um, I meant ta ask first—"
The rambling was natural, words tumbling from Faeryn’s lips hurriedly as the warmth suffusing his body began to dissipate. It was Lith’s reaction that halted Faeryn’s panicked words.
A very pretty purple flush lit the tips of their ears—could be anger, could be—as well as their cheeks. Their primary eyes had dipped away but the second, lower pair stared back at him with something Faeryn only recognized after years of living.
Embarrassment, but not displeasure.
Lith gave the slightest, gentlest tug on Faeryn’s hand–to Faeryn it felt like one of the sweetest orders he’d ever been given—and the man scooted another inch or so closer. Every fraction of space that disappeared between them rekindled the embers in Faeryn’s chest until it had resurrected back into a brightly burning flame. His tail (which had been behaving itself so far, surprisingly) interposed itself between them to drape over Lith’s lap, and the Hearthian gently stroked it with their free hand. The fur was soft and warm to the touch, and that final piece of contact broke the nervous dam.
Faeryn purred, the sound an engine-like rumble that traveled between them. His ears perked back up, swiveled attentively in Lith’s direction. He took in the gentle expression, the slightly hunched shoulders, and the appealing flush of color that spread teasingly along Lith’s body.
“May I kiss ya, Lith?”
He felt like he didn’t need to ask the second time, but it also felt right to him. And the gratification when Lith nodded had Faeryn’s heart soaring higher than he’d ever physically flown before.
The second kiss was sweeter than the first, made all the more so by Lith’s reciprocation.
{Faeryn's part's here, if anyone's interested!} But here's @rupeewallet's Lith!! <3 <3 Putting them into a blender is always so delightful! It's a lot of fun digging into their head and seeing how they'd react to things :> One of my favorite things about the Faelith dynamic is that I can make it all 100% canonical to Faeryn without touching Lith's canon, emotional, gut-wrenching story!! Anyway, I'm sleepy and resisting hibernation to post these, but here. Have Lith Being Sad! As a treat. ((Spoilers for the endgame are below, btw, so be warned!))
The Zero-G Cave makes sense. Of all the things that Faeryn had been excited about during their travels together, he’d more than once dragged Lith to the black, star-like expanse. They had to sneak in every time, of course, but the brief periods of peace had been worth it.
Well. Relative peace.
Faeryn would tell Lith stories in the starry dark—disjointed and distracted as they were. Lith could always tell how animated Faeryn was when he spoke, even if they couldn’t necessarily see the man; it was all in his tone of voice.
Other times the two would discuss the nuances of the Hearthian language, with Faeryn peppering Lith with questions. They’d amuse themselves with the difference between words and what they meant. Oftentimes both Faeryn and Lith would know the same object but by entirely different words. Faeryn was fascinated by it, and Lith just as much.
So, truly, the Zero-G Cave isn’t very surprising to Lith. Their signalscope no longer registers the smooth violin notes, and Lith can’t hear anything in the starry, twinkling black. They look around, toggling their flashlight several times. The beam doesn’t reach far, almost as if the darkness itself consumes the light.
A flash of deep purple and brilliant gold.
Lith turns quickly, seeing the color out of the corner of their eyes.
Two of the brilliantly shining glints of white are definitely purple and gold. They look like eyes, Lith thinks. They’re slightly narrowed and angled, not unkindly, but curiously, and Lith stares at them fixedly.
Another twinkle in the corner of their vision. Lith’s primary eyes shift to catch the color—a vibrant ruby, open and friendly, blinking back at them.
And so it went. Lith walks because they’re certain this cave has no exit. Everywhere they turn, more and more of the white star-like glimmers fill with color that blinks at them.
Round eyes, angled ones. Some with slitted vertical pupils, others with horizontal pupils. Even several with no pupils at all but just a single, solid color.
It’s weird, even a bit creepy, but none of the eyes that follow Lith’s movements hold any hostility. Lith reaches out a couple of times, when they feel like they’re close enough to touch. Their hand always passes through whatever eye they’d focused on, and it will vanish only to appear elsewhere, twinkling and narrowed as if amused.
Lith isn’t sure how long they walk; they aren’t sure how long they spend there. But they know their journey is at an end when they run across a single pair of achingly familiar cobalt blues that light up at the sight of them.
This time, when Lith reaches out, their hand comes into contact with smooth, familiar wood, and their fingers close around the neck of the violin.
When Lith turns around, they find themself back at the campfire.
Everyone sits, waiting patiently for Lith. Lith’s heart rabbits in their chest and their eyes scan for that familiar white.
A flick of ears, the twitch of a tail.
Faeryn looks up from where he’s sat between Esker and Riebeck and flashes Lith a broad, sunny smile. His soft white ears flicker and swivel in Lith’s direction. Everyone else remains around the campfire, but Faeryn stands and the violin in Lith’s hand bears a sudden weight that they don’t recall it ever having.
He approaches Lith, smiles down at them, and reaches for the hand holding the violin. Faeryn slides his hand gently down Lith’s arm, and his touch tingles along Lith’s skin. Faeryn gently squeezes the hand holding the violin, then gently takes it from Lith. Within the same movement, Faeryn slides his other hand into Lith’s own, interlacing their fingers like they’d done so many times before, and leads them to the campfire.
Faeryn returns to his spot between Esker and Riebeck, and Lith sits down beside them, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder.
When at last the music begins to play—with the Prisoner’s mournful, yet somehow hopeful and peaceful, strings leading the ensemble—much of the remaining tension in Lith’s shoulders dissipates. The beginning of the music is the beginning of the end, and they know that with visceral certainty. It’s less scary now, less unfair, with the familiar warmth against their side.
Faeryn’s tail drapes over Lith’s lap, and they toy with the appendage absently. The fur is soft, smooth, and they can feel Faeryn’s vibrating purrs through it.
“You gotta sing with me, Lith,” Faeryn says.
Lith doesn’t have any intentions of joining in the melody taking place—the melody painting a picture up above the campfire, using its smoke as a paintbrush—but Faeryn’s gentle words pull Lith into the song.
The song lasts for as long as it needs to. The notes and measures form the smoke that culminates in the spherical shape above them. It’s a song that has never been played, never been practiced, and yet every musician knows exactly when to crescendo or decrescendo. They all know when their part ends.
Lith doesn’t believe in fate, but they like the fact that they wind up in a duet with Faeryn’s violin at the end. It’s right to them, and by the small smile etched onto Faeryn’s face, he feels the same.
“Hey, Lith?”
Lith looks from the smoky brushstrokes created by all of them to the man beside them. The violin rests in Faeryn’s lap, warm from his playing. What remains of the universe narrows to the two of them the very instant Faeryn’s warm hand cups Lith’s cheek.
Lith knows it’s all just pulled from their mind; they know that everyone here is conjured by their ties to them. There is no free will and everyone is already dead, incinerated by the dying of their sun.
They know this, and yet there’s a subtle shift in the immediate atmosphere around Faeryn that marks him as other. Incongruous with everything else.
Everything since they punched in the coordinates to the Eye of the universe has been a manifestation of Lith’s own consciousness, and yet Faeryn’s warm hand on their cheek feels distinctly different.
“Thank you.” Faeryn says, and Lith hears so much more in those two words.
Thank you.
(a muted popping sound; a sharp crack; their spacesuit yielding)
I love you.
(an incandescent searing of light and heat; the briefest flash of agony; nothingness)
I dithered for about 24 hours on whether I should split this into two parts or not. I totally am gonna do that, and link to the second part (Lith's chapter!) right here! :> I had a ton of fun writing this! Faeryn is so special to me, and he's loving/loved (the) Outer Wilds just as much as I thought he would! I'll be putting this on AO3 when I finally figure out what I want to tag things, and it'll be a single, solid chapter there (with my precious formatting intact T_T)
Ian knew something was wrong the second he opened the door. Faeryn, standing in the center of the small, comfortably furnished gold and red room, looked as lost as Ian had ever seen him. Not only that, but he wore clothes that were definitely not in his usual wardrobe: obviously homemade with patches sewn in to mend tears, but comfortable-looking and easy to move in. Curiously, confusingly, there was a jetpack on the floor by Faeryn’s feet.
Faeryn hadn’t heard Ian’s entrance; he didn’t react in any way other than to turn in place slightly. It was Faeryn’s expression that had Ian locking the door quietly behind him.
The simic knew that expression, that specific sort of haunted look that sat in the strong profile. Even with just one eye visible—not counting the several others interspersed down Faeryn’s throat and arms—Ian recognized the expression he himself had worn when he returned from a thirty-six year long foray into the distant past.
Approaching with measured steps, Ian cleared his throat. Faeryn gasped and whirled around, tail poofing up and his ears swiveling in Ian’s direction. There was zero recognition in Faeryn’s cobalt blues for a solid five seconds, and then they filled with a grief so palpable and recognizable to Ian that he had to take a breath to steady himself.
A jetpack by his feet. A simple necklace with a single blue-green crystal around his throat where his collar usually rested. A violin and its bow held protectively in his arms.
“…Ian?” The word was heavy with disbelief, and colored lightly with an accent that Ian knew Faeryn hadn’t sported a mere hour ago.
The immediate next words were complete gibberish to Ian, and the two men threw mutually confused looks at one another. That was not a language Ian knew, and he knew it wasn’t one Faeryn had learned recently—if just because Faeryn tended to crow about anything new he learned. The four tentacles draped loosely at Ian’s side crackled softly, equally confused.
Faeryn didn’t flinch when Ian closed the remaining distance, only silently watched with those vaguely shellshocked, grieving eyes.
“Faeryn,” Ian said firmly and clearly in Common. When there was no response, one of Ian’s tentacles reached out and secured itself around one of Faeryn’s hands, careful of the violin. It crackled with electricity, conveying Faeryn’s name through something more physical than auditory.
“Ian…what…?”
There was something more familiar, though the faint otherness of the accent Ian couldn’t place echoed in the two words.
“How long were you gone, Faeryn?”
To Ian, it had been less than an hour. He’d last seen Faeryn in passing in the dining room. The nyxtouched had been vibrating with excitement, and his eyes—all of them—had been brightly alert. Ian had recognized the expression as one of Faeryn’s “there’s somewhere new to explore!” expressions.
Ian would bet quite a lot of gold that Faeryn hadn’t ever reached his original destination.
Faeryn’s fingers gripped the tentacle wrapped around his wrist and squeezed. The sinuous limb gave a final crackle before unwinding and returning to Ian’s side. The simic stepped into Faeryn’s space a moment later and put a bracing hand on Faeryn’s shoulder. Ian was faintly relieved it was he who discovered Faeryn. Many others loved Faeryn but not all of them knew how to handle the man like Ian could—even if it wasn’t something he did all too often outside the bedroom.
“Come. Sit.”
Commands. Faeryn could work with commands. They made it easy, made much of the cacophonous deliberation in his head quiet to whispers—or sometimes become completely nonexistent. Faeryn liked commands. He liked not needing to think when his instinct was to scream and sob and retreat into himself.
Faeryn moved immediately, going along with Ian over to one of the soft sofas and sitting on one end. Ian knew that Gareth and Dantalion—and several others—were uneasy using commands with Faeryn outside of the bedroom, when the man was obviously distressed. Ian also knew, however, that they didn’t have the same talent that he did. Ian knew how to keep his own emotions walled off so he could pay full attention to Faeryn.
Faeryn’s fingers gently moved over the violin that now sat in his lap with the bow resting against his leg. He froze and all of his visible eyes shot to the jetpack still resting in the middle of the room. A firm grip at the back of Faeryn’s neck stilled him, preventing him from leaping toward it and keeping it close. With a few muttered words and a flick of his free hand, Ian levitated the equipment over, nestled it against Faeryn’s far side.
The man settled. Ian pulled his hand away.
“Faeryn.”
Dazed and distant eyes—and oh, if that distance and daze wasn’t the only thing preventing what Ian knew was a torrent of tears—turned to face him.
“Tell me. How long were you gone?”
Faeryn’s lips moved silently for a few seconds, and his eyebrows furrowed. When he answered Ian, it was in that same, unknown language that sounded eerily similar to Aquatic. He halted mid-sentence at last, cleared his throat, and spoke in a language Ian recognized.
“A few months…I think?”
‘It doesn’t look like just a few months.’
And it truly didn’t. Faeryn looked as Ian had when he returned from his accidental thirty-six year long escapade not thirty-six minutes later from his vanishing. If it truly had been only a few months, then those months held the weight of eons.
When Faeryn turned those expressive blues to Ian, the man saw clarity beginning to resurface. Faeryn’s face tightened with pain and his ears flattened on his head. Ian recognized that as well, and his heart broke for the man beside him.
“You want to go back.”
Faeryn’s lips pressed together into a thin line. He nodded, and Ian nodded in turn.
“Yes. I wanted to go back as well. To Romalia. I ached for it,” Ian hesitated, then spoke a secret very few outside his twin and Jirea knew, “I still ache for it.”
The words had an almost physical impact on Faeryn, and he rocked a bit to the side. His gaze slowly going desperate, he tried and failed to speak a few times before managing to bite the words out.
“’m always gonna want to go back, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
If Ian’s other half, his twin, were here, Ethan would be able to tell him if Faeryn had traveled through time or just to another place. Unfortunately, time didn’t sing to Ian the way it sang to his brother, so Ian would have to ask questions instead.
“Faeryn, what era did you travel to?”
One of Ian’s eyebrows arched when Faeryn shook his head. His tail curled around the jetpack and bow against his side while he held the violin tight to his chest.
“You were going to use Aperture to travel somewhere. Do you remember that?”
Faeryn’s expression scrunched. The memory sounded familiar, but he had trouble pulling the image to the forefront of his mind. It sounded like something he would do. It took several too-long seconds, but a hazy image of pulling a card from the holster that was always on his hip fuzzily formed in his mind.
A familiar door of solid black oak with an equally familiar blue butterfly etched into the center, and a handle of burnished gold.
The excitement Faeryn felt at the time felt hollow and stale now, as he recalled opening Aperture’s door into—
—into somewhere he hadn’t expected.
Into somewhere and somewhen so far beyond the realm of imagination, where a strange universe’s final vestiges of breath were put on a permanent loop.
Faeryn had been lost as soon as he’d crossed Aperture’s threshold. He’d fallen through a miniscule crack in his own universe, and into an entirely new universe that was simultaneously right next door and infinitely far away.
“I went…somewhere else.” Faeryn said, fingers tightening on the instrument clutched to his chest.
“Can Aperture not take you back?”
Faeryn barked a laugh. The sound was at last choked thick with tears.
“It can’t.”
“Are you sure?”
Faeryn wasn’t, Ian could see it in the set of his jaw and the way his blue eyes kept darting to the center of the room. It was obvious that Faeryn was terrified of even attempting to try to reenter where he’d just left. If he left it alone, he’d never have to know.
“You need to try. Faeryn. You need to know.”
Faeryn wiped his eyes. Several of the eyes dotting along his wrists and forearms trickled stardust.
A small blue butterfly fluttered from the card holster that rarely ever left his side. It hadn’t even left him when he’d arrived in the Outer Wilds, though its form had morphed into a simple deck of basic playing cards—of blue and black, however, rather than red and black. Its delicate wings whispered against first one cheek and then the other.
An apology.
For letting Faeryn slip through that crack and into the Outer Wilds in the first place?
For being unable to bring him back?
It wasn’t their fault. Faeryn could never blame them. They’d been crafted by mortal hands, and mortal hands were fallible, a fact Faeryn knew intimately. The Deck of Many Fates had not purposely allowed Faeryn to slip into somewhere new, but how could Faeryn be upset at what had been one of the most terrifyingly beautiful experiences of his entire long life?
The horrific loneliness. The lack of Purphoros’s warmth coursing through his veins, leaving him freezing and empty until a new warmth took its place.
The euphoric joy of being known—and appreciated—by nothing but his mundane skills and personality. Faeryn could not ignore the possibility, however small that possibility might be, of seeing them again.
Faeryn rose without Ian’s permission, but that was fine. Enough steadiness had returned to the man’s posture that Ian felt comfortable letting him move on his own. It was a faster recovery than he’d expected; perhaps Faeryn had grown in ways that were impossible for him here.
With shaking fingers, Faeryn reached out toward the shimmering blue butterfly. The insect perched delicately on the back of his hand, then fluttered a few feet away.
The room was silent. Ian didn’t speak, barely breathed, only watched with a quiet curiosity.
A pulse of powerful magic filled the air and a sturdy door several inches taller than Faeryn himself manifested on the soft carpet. Instead of the usual black oaken form it took whenever Faeryn used Aperture, the door was made of light-colored, sturdy wood that he immediately recognized as coming from Timber Hearth. It even gave off a faint woodsy, earthy aroma that was heartachingly familiar. In place of its usual burnished gold, the handle was a deep purple riddled with black. It harkened back to the Quantum Grove that Lith had shown Faeryn.
(Faeryn spent an entire loop in the Quantum Grove puzzling over the mysterious sign and its ever-changing poem. He delighted in the shifting quantum shard. He felt bad for taking Lith from their job—their duty—but Lith didn’t seem to mind. Lith would tell Faeryn if they minded.
Faeryn only had two eyes in the Outer Wilds, and it added a sense of delighted mystery to the quantum shards, because he had to blink. Not being able to “cheat” by having multiple eyes keep watch over the fascinating rock was exhilarating.)
Faeryn’s hand hovered, shaking, over the doorknob. He didn’t touch; he was too frightened. Instead, he lifted his hand to the door’s solid body. It was simple wood, regardless of how much it reminded him of time on Timber Hearth, and warm under his touch.
(in the sun, by Lith’s side, fingers laced together, Lith’s mouth warm and gently insistent against his own)
Music filled Faeryn’s head as soon as his fingertips brushed the wood and he gasped. The solid structure vibrated minutely as the music played, audible only to Faeryn.
He pressed his forehead to the wood that smelled so familiar (sunlight through the canopy, rushing water, Lith) and allowed the now well-known instruments and melody to wash through him. The achingly familiar song that flowed into his mind as soon as his forehead touched the solid, Timber Hearthian wood told Faeryn everything he needed to know.
That the universe he’d spent so much time—hours, days, weeks, months, years?—in was gone.
Ian knew what Faeryn did, though not because he could hear any sort of melody. He saw it in the way Faeryn’s body pressed close to the door and slid down, fingertips quivering and pressing against the sturdy surface. Heat burned in Faeryn's eyes and stung his nose.
Faeryn didn’t register the dull thud of his knees hitting the carpeted floor. He leaned heavily into the door as if willing himself to slide through it to the other side, though he knew full-well that there wouldn’t be anything left for him.
The weighty, crystal clear certainty of that seared him.
It was similar to what Faeryn had heard through the signalscope multiple times, at the edge of the solar system. Riebeck’s banjo, Chert’s drums. Feldspar’s harmonica and Esker’s whistling. Yes, even Gabbro’s flute was required to make the melody whole. The piano and what Faeryn swore was a theremin (or something that sounded similar to one at least) were new.
Solanum and the Prisoner, maybe?
Had to be.
There was nobody else.
Faeryn broke when he recognized his own playing, because it was in tandem with a voice he knew down to his core. Tears streaked hot down his cheeks and stardust trickled from many of the eyes sitting in his starry skin. He wept.
He wept for the Outer Wilds.
He wept for the Prisoner, who had lost everything trying to convey the Eye’s signal to anybody who would or could listen.
He wept for Escall’s clan, who had been drawn by something older than the universe itself.
He wept for the Nomai who had perished all at once in a cloud of Ghost Matter.
He wept for the Hearthians, who had survived Ghost Matter sweeping the solar system only to wind up on the cusp of the end of their universe—and being entirely unaware of that fact.
He wept for Lith. Sweet, beautiful Lith who’d had the weight of everything on their shoulders. Lith, who was anxious and messy, but also curious and adorable. They were true to themself, even if it caused them agony, and Faeryn could not help but love them for it.
A jagged laugh ripped from his throat; it was both triumphant and agonized, and Faeryn felt he knew exactly how the Prisoner had felt after witnessing Lith’s memories.
Because the music could only mean that Lith had succeeded in whatever it was they had to do. Faeryn wouldn’t accept any other outcome; he needed to believe that or he felt he would shatter entirely. Everything Lith had experienced, everything they had lost, suffered, gained, agonized over, grieved for—
Faeryn needed it all to have meant something.
Life thrummed underneath his fingertips, but it wasn’t a life or a universe or people he knows—knew. Warm music spread from his forehead and palms. It channeled into him, filled him with ecstatic elation and overwhelming grief.
Faeryn grieved the brief, explosive life he’d lived in the Outer Wilds. He grieved the friendship kindled and extinguished in what felt like far too short a time. His elation at falling in love at the end of an entire universe was only matched by the crushing anguish of knowing he would never see Lith again.
Never hear their voice as they sang along with Faeryn’s “borrowed” violin.
Never see their eyes light up with delight or flash with rage.
Faeryn broke, as Ian knew he would—because hadn’t Ian broken in the same way all those years ago? Ian brushed some hair back behind his ear, pushed his glasses back up, and rose from the sofa. He crossed the floor in measured steps, stopping right behind Faeryn and dropping a hand into his hair. Ian sank his fingers into the soft white and gripped just enough to pull gently.
A sob dropped from Faeryn’s mouth and his shoulders shuddered. It was a grief only Ian and Daien understood, but even then, Daien hadn’t been as attached to Romalia as Ian had been.
“Come to me when you need to talk about it,” Ian said. It was not a suggestion.
In between hiccupping breaths, Ian felt Faeryn nod against his fingers. Faeryn went to pieces in front of the door and Ian stood behind him, carding his fingers through the man’s hair.
When Faeryn was calmer, when he at last heeded Ian’s command and went to him, Ian would ask Faeryn about the new yellow eyes—a set of four, with blue pupils and the lower pair being slightly smaller—that had manifested on his right upper arm.
