Rememberance
@lithrae (I can’t tag you???) has been very patient waiting for this and I hope it doesn’t disappoint. The first time in forever I’ve wrote anything! The request was for a reader fic with Gladio feeling something like survivors guilt and being comforted… So here you go :D hope you enjoy.
The room glowed a vibrant orange, as if lit by the sun itself. The lacquered floor gleamed as people danced, ate, drank, and made merry.
Your eyes swept across the sea of people; nobles, dignitaries, council members, and common people united under the chandelier styled like the sun itself. It was styled as an orb with individual pieces of multifaceted orange sapphire, one for each life lost to be remembered in light forever.
It had been three years since the First Dawn. The rubble and ruin left in the city battered and overrun by Niflheim attacks and then ten long years of daemon habitation had taken a long time to clear, even longer to rebuild.
And then the bodies.
You weren’t sure which was worse; that they had laid in waiting for rest for over ten years or that all of the missing still weren’t accounted for by the thousands.
It turned your stomach to think of the daemons they had become and you thanked the Astrals that those you loved were safe.
Noctis sat beside Luna on the throne quietly murmuring to her, her hand placed over his as she listened and nodded gently. Both had serene smiles on their faces that spoke of happiness.
Ignis stood not far from them, talking to dignitaries from Tenebrae, hands rested casually on his cane as he spoke. He had taken to his blindness easily, and the cane at this point served more as a weapon hidden in plain sight, as he would always protect his King.
Prompto stood talking to Cindy, who he had grown quite close to over the ten years of night. It made you smile to see his old sunshine self come back, the dark circles now gone and his hair it’s natural chocobo blond thanks to the long days spent out in the sun.
All of your friends seemed happy, except for Gladio.
You’d known something about today in particular was bothering him, and though you knew it was a sad day of remembrance for all, he hadn’t been like this in the previous years.
Those three years were spent toiling and working continuously. Everyone had chipped in and had done their bit. Gladio had led the force that swept every dark corner of Insomnia, spanning to the multilevelled areas that played host now to various creatures, and eradicated them.
It had been a long time coming and this was the first anniversary where the celebrations were an official affair instead of the unofficial remembrance, though you found yourself enjoying those more than this.
The night before the first dawn would be spent awake, with friends, and a makeshift light that would represent the sun that would surely rise the next day.
Often exhaustion from hard work would see everyone drop off to sleep one by one and each time your vision darkened around Gladio, who sat solemnly drinking his beer while watching over his friends.
You never asked if he made it through the whole night and he seemed happy with that, and the next day he would work harder, finding more monsters and more skeletons to put to rest.
He had been stood watching from near a window, a light scowl on his face and his thoughts turned inward.
Clever people gave him space.
For your partner you would be the fool for the evening.
He noticed you approaching him and his scowl softened a fraction, though his stiff posture didn’t ease.
“Hey,” you nodded towards the balcony, “come with me, let’s get some air.” He looked at you for a moment, considering, before moving to the balcony with you at his arm.
The city was beautiful. Reconstructed though not to it’s original form. The neons that lit every street and gave the city its namesake were gone and the city looked all the better for it. Instead, from windows all around there was soft light to be seen as everyone held their own night vigil with their makeshift suns.
It looked like a sea of warm stars.
You watched Gladio out of the corner of your eye as he surveyed the city with an expression you couldn’t place.
“What’s wrong Gladio?” In the cool night air your voice was soft and warm.
“Nothing.” His voice contradicted his answer. You took the approach from a more delicate angle, knowing his own emotions weren’t easy for him to articulate or even understand.
“It’s been three years, and here we are,” he gave a small ‘hmm’ so you continued, “do you remember the first anniversary? When everyone sort of unanimously just lit those battered and barely round paper lanterns and stayed up as long as we could?”
The answer was a gruff “Yeah.”
“We drank beer that wasn’t nearly as dusty as we were after a long day rebuilding. We talked about everything; our old lives, our new ones, our friends… And now here we are.” You gestured down to the finery you both wore, and you knew he was remembering the fine champagne and canapés. “It’s very different…”
The silence stretched on for a moment, the little nudge you have given him made him analyse exactly what the problem was that he had.
“Too different if you ask me.”
Ah.
“Why?”
“People died _____, we shouldn’t be celebrating like this. Like everything is a job well done.” His short outburst ended in a growl. “Why change anything? We were remembering, that’s what today is for. What is was for before all of this. Now we’re what? Rubbing elbows with dignitaries that saved their asses by hiding in bunkers after evacuating before the commoners even knew what was happening?”
His sneer was unfamiliar to you but you understood where he was coming from. The admission he makes after that, without prompt from you, hit you hard, especially the soft and resigned tone he spoke with.
“We failed so many people.” His scarred face was pointed towards the city, his teeth bared as though the sight alone brought him pain. His eyes weren’t seeing the city as you saw it, one of scaffolding and shining new buildings, nor would it be the ruined city you had saved all those years ago… No. In his minds eye he was looking at the city as it burned, smoke rising in to the sky along with the cries of screams of its occupants.
You know him.
Words don’t cut it for Gladio: Never have and never will. So you took his hand, and you tugged gently without a sound, only tilting your heard back inside. It spoke volumes of how trusting and completely yours he is that he follows without a word in return.
He knows you.
The long walk was quiet, no words necessary as you walked though the dimly lit streets of insomnia, knowing how safe you were with the towering man next to you. Walking through your apartment door you kick off your heels, grateful to be finally rid of them after the long walk. Gladio watched you, not awkwardly, as you reached in to the fridge and pulled out two cheap bottles of beer, his favourite kind. You left the room dark, the crack and hiss of the beers being opened the only sound as Gladio moved to silently look out of the window. After you passed him one of the beers you moved to light the small tea light holder; its yellow, red, and orange glass mosaic lit the room gently.
Gladio stepped beside you then, you could feel the presence of him against you back, his heat and size unmissable in your small and sparse apartment. You had been right to bring him here, the lack of opulence and indulgence being what he needed.
Maybe what you both needed.
“I remember this.” He said as he picked up the tea light holder. Of course he would, he had spent the year previous watching the lights flicker through the rough and handmade thing all through the night until the dawn overpowered the paltry light of the small flame.
Simplicity in comparison the the grand solar chandelier.
The dead don’t care for fanfare, if one thing from the past years have taught you anything, it’s that.
Pale moonlight spilled in through the open curtain, painting the room in blues and greys, except for the two of you: Both of you were painted in the warm light of your makeshift sun.
Falling in to the settee, you both sank further against the old thing, comfortable even it if had seen better days. His arm was brushing yours as you sipped your beers and watched the flicker of the candlelight behind the small shards of glass, the ornament sat on the table as it tried to light the night alone.
Gladio’s arm raised only slightly, a silent and simple salute the dead, and that’s all they really need, because there’s more meaning to reflection than celebration. You raised your own bottle next to his, and after a moment you both took a sip as your other hand sought his, and your fingers intertwined in the glow of the light that held fast steadily against the night.