#STILL NOT SURE IF I DRAW IRVING WELL BUT ITS WAY BETTER THEN BEFORE SO LIKE. HELL YEA.

[cantdanceflynn]

KIND OF IRONIC THAT I DID THIS FOR THE COMICBOOK PROMPT CONSIDERING THE NEXT(AND LAST) TWO PROMPTS R BOTH GONNA BE ACTUAL COMICS BUT ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[darkhymns-fic]

“Welcome back.”

With Lloyd, Colette had never felt more at home.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Zelos Wilder, Phaidra Brunel Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Written for Colloyd Week, Day 7: Free day! And yep, this is a day early because quote day fic isn’t finished just yet. But this is also about a quote so it fits the theme still?

--

Colette had always been searching for a place to belong to.

When she first met Lloyd, it had been by chance. She didn’t meet him on his first day of school, when he had already been fifteen minutes late, earning a frown from the new professor but forgiven when he explained how far he traveled just to get here. It had not even been on one of the few trips that Lloyd had gone along with Dirk to Iselia, the dwarf picking up supplies to fill up their food pantries, and any extra seeds and tools for the vegetable garden he was just starting. On the former, she had been away at the Church for her routine lessons, and on the latter, she was always at home, the language of the angels swimming in her head as she devoutly read the scriptures from heavy tomes.

When she was already receiving her lessons as the Chosen, they only told her about her fate once she turned six – all with fanciful words of how she would take her place in heaven with the goddess and rest peacefully. But even back then, she understood the meaning of it.

So one day, with that knowledge deeply part of her, Colette had to leave her room, her house, and the books far away, so that she could breathe. She left in the middle of the day, thinking only to go as she snuck through the front gate to the forests surrounding Iselia, all before they would implement guards to prevent such a thing from happening again. She walked and walked, until the brush at her feet grew darker and the trees closed in, until the light dirt pathway slowly started to vanish.

She walked until she couldn’t anymore, the sun all but blocked out from the thick boughs overhead. There was no more path to lead her anywhere, the entire floor overtaken by snaking roots and shrubbery. The air felt cold around her. The shadows stretched wide, making the woods feel like early evening when it was still in the middle of the afternoon.

Or had she really lost track of time?

She stumbled over a stump – or it could have simply been a pebble, or only air. But she fell onto her knees, her hands clutching the grass between her fingers, thinking over and over the words that the priest had left her. And her grandmother, trying to soften the blow, with peaceful hands that stroked through her hair, but not denying the truth of what it all meant.

“Chosen, you will be like a friend to the world. And once you grow older, you will have to leave, but that is what happens to all of us,” Phaidra had tried to soothe, an old scripture book still laid at her knee along with Colette’s head. “It will just be a little sooner than most…”

She felt a hand take her own – but it wasn’t familiar, and it fit inside her own like a puzzle piece.

Colette blinked. She saw that she was on her feet again, grass stains on her bare knees, and on the sleeves of her dress. And right in front of her was a boy, his hair sticking up in wild ways, his eyes blinking along with her own. In a red shirt and suspenders that held up dark shorts, she wondered if this was someone from school that she couldn’t seem to recognize yet.

“Hey! Where were you going? It’s dangerous down this way!” The boy’s palm was just against her own, a little damp, scuffed with dirt. She realized why that was so.

“Oh! But my hands are dirty…” she could only trail out, still feeling a bit light-headed. Hadn’t she left her grandmother in the kitchen, and then had gone out the back door? What would she think…?

The boy tilted his head, the motion of it catching her attention. It reminded her of the neighborhood dog that she always wanted to pet whenever she saw it. “Are you okay? You were walking by yourself and being really quiet…”

She saw in his other hand that he held what looked like a long stick. The end of it was freshly snapped, like a jagged point of a knife. He tapped it against the ground, keeping in an even tempo.

“Ah? Where… am I?” Colette arced her head to look around her, but the trees looked unfamiliar, and she could hear the rapid flow of a river nearby. But this wasn’t anything like the small glades that were in Iselia. “Who are you?”

Another blink, and there was something about his eyes. Full and matching the shade of the tree bark, yet catching the light of the sunshine. They were in a sunny place now, the previous shadows from her wandering gone.

“You should tell people your name first before asking theirs, you know!” The boy huffed, but then looked embarrassed right away. “I mean…I guess I did just come up to you. I’m Lloyd! I live here. Well, near here. Not this place though. There’s a lot of mean wolves around.”

And still, Lloyd hadn’t let go of her hand. He was gently leading her away from the darker part of the forests, back out into the light with the pathway, with the flowers that lined parts of a nearby field, white petals drifting in the breeze. And on that same pathway, she saw what looked to be the largest dog in the world.

Colette had almost forgotten to say anything, still dazzled by sights out from the shadows, by the dog that looked so fluffy to the touch, wondering what it would be like to dig her hands through the fur – and by the boy next to her, his eyes still catching that light.

“I’m…Colette. I’m the…” She paused, and suddenly the title that she had always known felt deeply heavy in her chest. She couldn’t finish.

“The…girl that got lost?” Lloyd finished for her, grinning wide then. “You’re silly! I was playing with Noishe when I saw you. You shouldn’t wander off! Or, that’s what my dad says.”

The dog named Noishe padded up to her, ears drooped low, sniffing at her curiously. She reached out to pet it, and the warmth she felt from scratching the dog’s head was the same as Lloyd’s hand in hers.

“I was lost,” she admitted, but the smile touched her lips easily, feeling refreshed. “But then you found me.”

And since then, it was hard for Colette to forget the shape of his grin, the touch of red on his cheeks. From playing? From the sun shining down on them both? Or because their hands stayed together? She remembered how much she didn’t want to grow up then, even more than before.

“Well, it’s good I found you,” Lloyd admitted. He was leading her and Noishe up a hill, past the rushing river, and soon she could see the shape of something in the distance. A house? Right in the middle of the woods, almost as if out of a fairytale…. “But I don’t know how to get you back home…”

Colette looked at the house as they moved closer; the weather vane in the shape of a rooster on top of its roof, the wooden shed to the right, the multitudes of potted plants that lay near the front door. She pointed at it suddenly. “There,” she said with full conviction. “I live there.”

“Huh?” Lloyd blinked, back to her then back to the house that looked so far off from everything she had known. “You do?”

“Well…today I live there. Maybe not tomorrow.” Colette scuffed her shoes against the dirt, excitement running through her chest, like the rush she had felt when she ran through the woods with complete abandon. But different this time, because she knew where to go. “Is that okay?”

Maybe another boy would have found her strange, or weird to suggest such a thing. But Lloyd only laughed, and excitedly pulled her along the makeshift bridge across the river.

No one had ever accepted her so easily.

“Sure it is!” Lloyd said, his happiness beaming out from the eyes that she couldn’t look away from. “So… welcome back, Colette!”

--

In the Church, the priests taught her the language of the Angels; an ancient script that only those of the cloth and the Chosen they watched over would be able to decipher. They taught her to memorize the landmarks of the journey that she would travel to, the names of ancient heroes that conversed with goddesses and how she would one day be as close to such figures when the time came. They taught her to watch and listen from a distance.

But Lloyd taught her to use her hands.

When Lloyd had first come to Iselia, she’d see the way his fingers would tap on the desk, (and ever since they first met, he’d always choose the desk closest to her – as long as he wasn’t late) starting off light, then faster, louder until the Professor would shush him across the room. But his hands wouldn’t stop moving then. Instead, they’d take something else, like the pencil he’d been chewing on, or the small little carving knife he always liked to carry around. Sometimes he’d draw lines on the paper, or carve them onto the wood.

And no matter what, he’d always show her what he made.

“That’s dad,” he’d point out to her, tracing the jagged edges of a beard, sprouting so wildly from a circle that was his father’s face. “You remember him, right? He’s really big!” And of course she did, recalling the adult with thick arms and a heavy beard, the way his laughter boomed inside the home when he first met her then. He hadn’t minded that she wanted their home for her own, at least for that one day.

Then Lloyd would draw a shape that she was familiar with, a furry creature standing on four legs, standing a head above the sketchy scribble that was Lloyd’s father. Scritch scritch came the sounds of Lloyd’s pencil on paper, his tongue just sneaking past his lips in concentration.

“I can’t draw at all,” she said, fingers curling around her dress, all as she kept scooting closer to Lloyd to see his work better.

“Huh? How come?” He sounded so curious. And though she still only knew Lloyd for a little bit, she didn’t think he was teasing her about it.

“Ah, it’s not really something meant for me?” It was the best way she could explain it. Why would a Chosen need to learn to draw?

“But you want to, right?”

“Well…”

Lloyd’s hands, even back then, had dwarfed her own. She felt the calluses against his palm as held her wrists gently, the lightness of his fingers as they seemed to dance over her knuckles, adjusting the shape of her hand. The pencil he gave her slipped easily into her grip.

“Just copy mine here. Try drawing Noishe!” He grinned at her, all teeth and stretching his cheeks that she thought she could see dimples. It made her stare, fascinated, and how this was something no one had told her about at all.

With his hands guiding her, she learned to draw for the very first time. It wasn’t anything particularly amazing, and her own doggy was lop-sided, complete with uneven ears and an oversized tongue. She had tried to capture the likeness of Noishe on that first day she had seen him standing beside Lloyd, on how the light made the green of his fur that much brighter, like the fields that surrounded Iselia.

Yet even as she saw the stark difference between her and Lloyd’s, his voice thrummed next to her in pride. “See? You can draw just fine!”

“Lloyd! Are you bothering people now?”

Raine’s voice was sudden, and with that, Lloyd had to let her go. The warmth of his hands left, even though she could remember the shape of it.

But still he smiled at her, inclining his head just a bit until so that only Colette could see. Only for her.

When she would go back home, she would try to practice drawing too, all within the margins of her own scripture books; little butterflies and happy dogs, and the wide-eyed smile of someone that filled her head during the day.

Her heart felt so, so full.

--

It was only natural for people to leave their home, to leave their friends behind.

Colette was just doing it sooner than most.

Outside, as the floorboards of the balcony creaked underneath them both, she went over the lie in her head, turning it over like a fine piece of jewelry. In the dark, she could hide away any small tells, any moments that Lloyd would catch her in.

She had to try not to laugh, because how easy it was to just let it free, a small giggle filled with every worry and fear in its waves.

“You know, this will be the first time we ever go somewhere that’s not just in Iselia.” Lloyd leaned back against the railing, his smile lighting something within her that it was almost too painful. But she took it as something good, something she would remember once she was on the last leg of her journey and… “We’ll get to see the whole world together!”

A world where she could be so easily lost, maybe forgotten. But she should want that for him, at least. “That’s what you always wanted to do, isn’t it?” she asked him, remembering the little dreams he’d tell her she’d ride on Noishe, his hand over her own to keep her steady, fingers entwining through green fur. “I think in a regenerated world, you can finally do that even more.”

The moonlight caught his eyes, and already she wanted to go and embrace him. But wouldn't she just trip right into the wood, with his hands reaching to keep her balanced? “Yeah. Maybe after the world’s regenerated, we can go on another trip together too. How about it?” He said it so casually, as if such dreams were not nearly as impossible as touching the stars in the sky. “But maybe once you become an angel, we can go back home for a little while. Is that okay?”

It was childish for her to wish for anything different.

In her heart, she brought with her the scent of oak as she left with Raine and Kratos in the early morning, the remembered texture of finely polished wood when she had leaned on the railing with Lloyd, looking up at the stars. And she kept the shape of his smile, lit up by the moon, tracing it over and over in her head.

Even if she had to lose a friend, she could keep parts of it, couldn’t she? These small memories that kept her mind afloat as she walked further away from home.

And when Lloyd lived in the new world, maybe, if he wanted to, he could do the same for her.

If he wanted to.

--

For a while, after Remiel called her forth and she felt her heart shatter in her chest, Colette had been adrift.

She knew of death, but she didn’t know how it would be for her. Would it be like the shutting of a door, cutting off light for her and leaving her in the dark? Or would it be like going to sleep, stuck in dreamlessness, never on the verge of waking up again?

Instead it was like she was floating out to sea, half-blind, with no compass to point out her way, and no sail to take her home. And through it all, she was left with the imprints of memories she had trouble placing.

She remembered the shape of the temple she would pray at, the scent of the tea her grandmother would make for her, the sad smile her father would sometimes have… and Lloyd, his hand in her own.

The longer she was away, the more she was beginning to forget.

Colette drifted as voices danced around her, half-remembering who they were, until she would forget again. Sometimes, she would still feel a hand inside her own, yet find nothing there.

And other times, she would see shadows out in the distance. The faces of friends she knew, and friends she didn’t yet. It was strange to see the new among the familiar, but in all of that, she could still see Lloyd, a passing ship that she tried to call out to. But, he couldn’t hear.

Or did he not want to hear her?

In all her drifting, she felt alone. And the fear that came when Remiel took away the last remaining thread of her humanity was her only companion.

There’s nowhere for you to go.

Colette tried to grip back the hand she could still feel. But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been. Even if she sometimes saw his face.

Lloyd will grow up. He will go away, the fear inside her said, continued to say. And you want to keep him locked in place?

When Sheena had spoken to him back in Sylvarant, he had smiled and laughed. She saw that now, in passing, like quick flashes of light. When a man with brilliant red hair had half-embraced Lloyd, he had grumbled but didn’t push him away. When a girl with eyes so familiar spoke, Lloyd would always turn to her.

She didn’t want him to keep from meeting these new people, new friends.

But then, what of her home?

Nowhere to go.

For a time, she stayed out in that nameless ocean, drifting and drifting, slowly losing her way. It was hard to look out for any familiar light through the darkness, easier to try and sleep. Still, she thought she felt that hand, the same hand that had brought her up to his house with no hesitation. But isn’t he gone? the fear in her kept asking. Why would he stay behind for you?

It was difficult to not be selfish.

“So that I could have a home to go back to.”

In that ocean of darkness and fading memories, she felt the hand there, remembered how it held the broken pieces of something precious. She would have accepted it as it was, kept it locked within her grip that she wouldn’t even give way to the angels. And once, when light flooded her senses, when she felt such a force try to take away a precious gift, she was able to keep that promise to herself.

Faces that she knew and didn’t know, all of it so much that she couldn’t even stay standing. But there was solid ground, and there was a hand to bring her back to her feet.

“Colette!” Lloyd called out, bringing her near, almost embracing her if it weren’t for the remnants of dirt on his jacket (and she could strangely recall a rigorous climb up a cliffside..) “You remember me?”

“Lloyd! Of course I do.” She felt the weight of the necklace on her, keeping her rooted, no longer adrift. “I think with this… I was able to find you.”

His smile always left her warm, left her nerves singing. “Heh, welcome back then. We missed you.”

Only did she realize just then – could a home be more than a place, but a person that lights your way?

--

There were little figurines on the stand, half of them already covered in snow.

“Are you looking for a souvenir?” spoke the salesman of the cart, decked in multiple layers, his mittened hands grasping one of the small things that had nearly drowned within the white. The finer details of its ears pressed flat against its head, the snout that made up its front, along with the embedded gems that served for its eyes – it all reminded her of something so familiar. She felt bad just getting one, and clumsily handed the gald to the salesman, carrying both charms in her shaking hands.

Was it because she was afraid? Or just so cold? The chill spread across her now unmarked skin, made her bones feel stiff, made her lungs ache from the sting of the cold air. Was she still afraid it would all go?

“They bring you luck,” the salesman had told her just before she left, his smile hidden away in the caverns of his scarf. “And we could all use a little luck nowadays.”

She wondered if she would have such luck now. She couldn’t stop shivering as she went to Zelos, asking a dear favor of him as she gave him the snow bunny to bring to Altessa. “Maybe he’d like it?” she asked of the other Chosen, wondering if he thought she sounded so childish just then. “It could go with his home, or maybe he could give it to Tabatha once she’s…”

Zelos patted her shoulder, and something in his motion felt more freeing. Maybe even relieving. “Anything for you, angel. Don’t mind doing a little delivery if it means I get to leave this place.”

“Ah, you don’t like the cold?” she asked him. But, no, she could see the smile on his face too, hear the little snicker that left his throat. “Or is it something else?”

“Don’t worry about it… but thanks for asking.” Zelos placed the bunny in his pocket, more carefully than any other gift he had ever received from a lady. “But you still got that other one, right?” He nodded to the snow bunny still clutched in her hands. “Make sure to give that guy a good home, too.”

Home has always meant something else to her, and maybe Zelos saw that too. With a wink, he left with the others on the Rheairds, and soon found herself rushing back to the inn, the cold biting her cheeks.

“Welcome back, Colette,” Lloyd had said to her, his gift hanging from her neck with a comforting weight. But in words, she heard something else too when he said that…

Or was that just wishful thinking?

Colette was all shivers as she rushed towards the inn, boots sinking into the snow, soaking them through. One charm flew across the ocean in the dark to reach a kind but grumpy dwarf, reminding her of Dirk in small ways, if not all. 

The other stayed clutched in her hands, small enough to hide away from sight. It was nothing more than a toy, a childish thing, yet it felt as nice to her as the necklace she wore. 

"Lloyd," she called out once she'd had the courage to knock on his door, to see him silhouetted against the windowpane and the snow flurries just outside. The room was doing all it could to stay warm with the heater in the corner, but she didn't mind the chill. It kept her awake as she kept asking. "Do you wanna go for a walk?"

She hated her own doubts, how much she worried for Lloyd to choose something else. But his smile to her gave her the answer, even before he spoke.

Home was warm with him.

--

“Welcome back, Colette.”

“Thanks.”

“Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“Ah well, I really like it when you say ‘welcome back.’

“Uh? Why?”

“Do you remember when you said it to me when I returned to my normal self?”

“You mean the time at Fooji Mountains.”

“Yeah. I was so happy. When you tell me, ‘welcome back,’ I really start to feel like I’m really back.”

“I see. I’ll say it at any time and as many times as you like!”

--

Colette was running late.

She had spent so long in Iselia throughout the evening. The temple where she had once endured hours of lessons and ritual was now a refuge for the orphans of fallen cities such as Palmacosta and Luin. The teachings of Martel couldn’t leave her, even after everything. She couldn’t help the prayers that fell naturally from her lips, or the soft remembrances of helping others. Many priests still made their pilgrimages, though it was now that they would stop at Iselia, to follow the once-Chosen in her charity.

But she hadn’t meant to stay so long…

In her haste, she had decided to use her wings, though only doing so once she was far enough away from the village. Easier to get past the trees and the steep cliffsides, the winding of the river that would make her circle around if she were on foot. But she could still follow it, knowing where it would eventually lead to.

She heard Noishe barking up ahead. “Ah, Noishe!” she called out, pink fluttering behind her, trailing stars as she saw the shape of the dog running across the grass – and the shape of a home she had long grown to know.

At the door, silhouetted by the firelight inside, was Lloyd. He waved both arms to her, his jacket unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his shoulders. “Colette! Welcome back!”

She hadn’t really meant to fly that much faster – already she was going at a fast pace as it was. But the sight of him made her want to fall that much quicker to the earth. Already Lloyd was there to catch her, his arms moving around to clasp her tight, feet stumbling to keep them upright.

“S-Sorry..” Colette apologized, winking in both amusement and shame. “Guess I must have tripped.”

“In the air?” Lloyd laughed, his voice traveling through her in a steady rhythm as they stayed close, one that she was beginning to know by heart. “But I can tell it was a good day for you.”

A nod, hands pressed lightly to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. “It really was. But, I’m glad to be home again.” She stayed there, in his hold, with the crackling of the fire in the forge nearby, hearing the footpads of Noishe as he walked around outside, happy enough to sleep knowing that everyone was back home. They were only staying here for a few weeks while Dirk was away, and then they would need to go back on their journey, but…

“What is it, Colette?” he asked, his voice soothing, his words sincere. He hadn’t let up his grip.

“Do you think you could…say it again?” She could fall asleep in his arms if she let herself, and there were times that she did, never having felt safer than she did right now. “I just like hearing it.”

She felt his hand – the hand that had once pulled her out of the dark – lift her chin to kiss her. It was just one of many that he gave to her, but it left her in a sea of sweetness all the same.

“Hey, Colette,” Lloyd whispered against her hair, then kissing her forehead lightly. Even within this home, and the cold wind at her back from the still-open door, she felt his warmth over everything else. The necklace around her neck and pressing against skin, the figurine she could feel at his chest, still tucked close. All these things that made her feel like she belonged. 

“Welcome back.”

[littletayyswriting]

Title: the mellow rays

Author: LittleTayy

Rating: Teen

Characters: Mark Sloan, Derek Shepherd, Addison Montgomery

Summary: Derek and Mark finally have a long overdue talk. A companion piece to Last Chance Surprise. 

AN: This is set about a month after baby Kendall is born. The title comes from the quote; ‘Sweet is the memory of distant friends! Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart.’ from Washington Irving. It felt rather appropriate for their friendship, or lack thereof, in this point in time in this universe for them. 

Read On: AO3 or ff.net

the mellow rays

Mark winces as he hears the doorbell ring, praying silently that it won't wake up the baby or Addison. Both are napping. And though he thinks he can handle Kendall on his own, Addison needs the sleep.

He makes his way to the door quickly, pulling it up with a frown. He's ready to tear into whoever it is but he's surprised to see Derek on the other side of the door. For a moment they both simply stand there awkwardly staring at each other.

"Uh, Derek. Wasn't really expecting you…" Mark starts, scratching the back of his neck absently. His words are low, careful not to make too much noise even though he doesn't think the sound of his voice will travel that far up the stairs. He doesn't want to risk it.

"I know," Derek says with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. "I wanted to talk to you."

Mark frowns and contemplates just shutting the door in his face but he doesn't. He's still not exactly happy to see Derek on his doorstep though. Their last encounter hadn't been a good one. "I thought you said all you needed to say a few months ago?" Mark retorts glibly, self deprecating smirk on his lips.

Derek sighs at the words, casting his gaze downwards for a moment before looking back up. "I thought I did too. But...I don't know, things are different now," Derek admits quietly, frowning as he looks at his old friend.

"Come in," Mark relents, gesturing him forward with his head as he steps aside. The door opens wider for the other man. "But be quiet. Addison and Kendall are sleeping," Mark warns, fixing Derek with a deadly serious look. Derek can only think of a few other times when Mark's ever been so serious.

Derek nods and let's Mark lead him into the living room. He takes a glance around, having never been inside Mark and Addison's home. Even thinking about them sharing a home together feels weird to him but he's trying to work through it. They are a couple and they have a child together now - as it's been pointed out to him he's just going to have to get over it and get used to it.

As he sits on an armchair and Mark takes the couch, he's surprised to see a basket full of laundry and various baby items scattered around the living room. On the coffee table pushed towards the wall to make room for a playmat, is a baby monitor. He's not surprised to see a little video screen on it; only the best for Addison's child.

He tries not to take notice of the few pictures scattered across the mantle, although there is one in particular that catches his eye. He wants to ask about it but Mark starts talking.

"Are you just gonna sit there like a mute or actually talk?" Mark asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

Derek sighs but figures he deserves that. After all, he did come to their home saying he wanted to talk. But he's finding that it's harder then he thought it was to start speaking and to get his thoughts in order. He needs to do this though because it's been almost two years and he just doesn't think he can survive feeling like he is anymore.

"I thought I'd moved on," Derek starts after a moment, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward a little. He looks at his clasped hands and then up at Mark. He needs to look him in the eyes for this. "But seeing Addison pregnant, seeing you two have a life and a family together… It made me feel like my entire life with her was a lie. We'd barely been divorced six months and then she was pregnant by you and...I ignored the rumors, you know? Before she announced it, there were rumors floating around that she was pregnant. That you were the father and I ignored it. I couldn't imagine you two actually doing that. But then I saw you two in the elevator that day. And Addison looked so happy, happier then I'd seen her in years Mark. And it made me question everything."

Mark frowns, shaking his head a little as he gazes at his best friend, unsure where exactly he's going with this explanation. "Derek…"

"Did I ever make her that happy? Could I have?" Derek asks abruptly then, wincing as he says the words.

Mark sighs then, grimacing a little at Derek's questions. "I think that's something you gotta ask Addie, man," Mark tells him. He looks thoughtful for a moment before adding. "But yeah, from an outsiders perspective, I think you did make her that happy. For a while at least," he says with a shrug.

He was around for a lot of their marriage but he only really remembers when it started going South.

Another moment passes in silence then and Derek sits up straighter, running a hand through his hair as he looks at Mark. "That actually wasn't what I came here to ask," he admits with a shrug. His eyes flit back up to the photograph on the mantle, the one that had caught his eye earlier. He took a deep breath. "Did you...always love her?" Derek asks softly, almost as if he's afraid of the answer.

"No," Mark answers quickly, shaking his head. "No, I wasn't always in love with her. Those last couple years though, well it was always Addie and I. You weren't around a lot Derek, whether you want to admit it or not. She became my best friend and...by the time I realised I was in love with her, actually in love, we'd messed it all up. You'd caught us and left. She was...well, a mess and I...wasn't much better. I hurt her and then she came here," Mark says with a sigh, eyes downcast for a moment. He looks up and meets Derek's eyes then. "She's the only woman I've ever loved and I don't plan on losing her again."

"So...so you weren't lusting after her the whole time we were married? And she-"

"No. She was just a friend to me for most of the time you two were together. Like I said before, some of these questions you'd be better off asking her. Might want to wait a month or two before asking her any of this though. A newborn is damn exhausting," Mark tells him with a shrug and a chuckle.

Derek chuckles lightly along with him, though he has no idea what having a newborn is like. And with the way his life is shaping up lately, he's not sure he'll even have the chance any time soon. He still doesn't quite understand how his life is in shambles and theirs is coming together beautifully.

"I bet. She's gorgeous though," Derek murmurs, eyes fixed on the stack of baby photos on the coffee table. The top photograph is of Addison holding Kendall, cradling her against her chest, and Derek is sure he's never seen the look of absolute love on Addison's face that she has when she's looking at her child.

"Yeah, she is," Mark replies wistfully, smiling as he thinks of his daughter and of Addison.

The silence is broken by a sharp cry crackling through the baby monitor. Mark stands quickly, grimacing sheepishly. "I better get her before she wakes Addie up. You good?" he shoots at him, already halfway out the door. Derek just nods.

Derek is left alone then as Mark hurries up the stairs and towards the baby. He stands, suddenly feeling the need to move now that he's alone. He doesn't want to snoop but his eye is drawn back to the picture on the mantle.

As he makes his way across the living room, it registers that he can hear Mark through the baby monitor. He frowns a little as he listens to his ex-best friend cooing sweetly to the infant. This is not the life he ever imagined Mark living and yet he is; with Derek's ex-wife. It feels surreal and painful.

He stops in front of the photo that keeps drawing his attention, leaning forward to look at it closer. It's a Polaroid and in it, Mark and Addison are sitting happily side by side. They're barely touching but Mark's gaze is on Addison, while she's smiling brightly up at the camera. There's something familiar about the setting though and as he picks it up and looks closer, he realises that they're at the Hamptons house. Derek tries to think of when they could've ventured to the Hamptons recently; but comes to the conclusion that the Polaroid must've been taken when he and Addison were still married.

Still contemplating this odd photograph and it's potential implications, Derek doesn't hear when Mark makes his way back downstairs and into the living room. He startles when he hears Mark's voice.

"I just have to give her a bottle," Mark tells him and when Derek looks up he's surprised to find the baby cradled in Mark's arms.

Derek nods and places the Polaroid back in its previous spot. He goes to follow Mark - they both somehow know their conversation isn't over yet. Derek pauses, pointing towards the Hamptons photo.

"When was that taken?" He questions, tone light. It shouldn't be so surprising to him that Addison and Mark had led lives outside of him back in New York.

Mark's eyes flash to the photo and he looks sheepish for a moment. "Almost 2 years. Not long before...you came to Seattle. 4th of July weekend," he says as plainly as possible, trying to hide the guilt as he heads for the kitchen.

Derek follows him, something niggling in his brain at the way Mark had answered. A notion strikes him then. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen, watching as Mark prepares the baby's bottle.

He's suddenly not sure if he wants to ask this question or not. But he feels like he needs to know. "Were you sleeping with her then?" Derek asks quietly, glancing down then back up again. He doesn't miss the way Mark winces.

For a moment the only sound is the baby cooing and the bottle warming up. Once that's done Mark finally turns to look at Derek again. He's still unsure what the point of all this is.

"That weekend was the first time," Mark tells him plainly, seeing no reason to lie, the guilt evident in his voice. Even now, when he has the woman and the baby, he still feels guilty. He doesn't think there'll ever be anything to absolve him of the wreck he made of his friendship with Derek.

Derek's lips purse and he tries not to let the anger overtake him. That wasn't what he was here for.

"So that night. It wasn't the first time?" He asks and even as he says the words, he can't believe he was foolish enough to believe them. He'd wanted so badly to believe Addison when she'd said it was the first time, even when she eventually admitted to staying with Mark afterwards. All the signs were there and he doesn't understand how he didn't see it.

"No," Mark shakes his head. "There were only a couple of other times before the night you walked in on us. That night you did was...the first time in a month or so though," Mark explains, unsure why he's still talking.

The bottle is finished now and he checks it quickly. He picks Kendall up, as well as the bottle and makes his way back towards the living room. He can't help noticing that Derek is stiff and angry as he passes him.

He doesn't think Derek is going to follow him. He thinks he'll just storm out of the house and that'll be the end of their conversation. He's readying himself for disappointment. So he's surprised when Derek settles himself on the armchair opposite him; tense but at least he's still there.

Mark is feeding his daughter now and gazing down at her he realises what he needs to do. He looks up, sighing quietly as he looks at Derek. He still considers Derek his best friend and he still wants to make this right.

"I'm sorry Derek. Never wanted to hurt you," Mark apologises and he thinks this time, Derek might actually listen.

Derek, despite his anger, nods his head. He knows that Mark is sorry; he'd attempted to apologise to him multiple times before but Derek just hadn't been ready to hear it. He wants to move on though, he needs to.

"I know," he murmurs, glancing around the room. His gaze settles on Mark then and watches as his old friend feeds his daughter, turning her over to burp her against his thigh. There's still something he needs to know though because Mark has been his best friend for some thirty odd years. If Derek really thinks about it, it's Mark's betrayal that stung worse. "But why...How could you do that Mark? You slept with my wife. You have a baby with her. I just don't understand how you could betray our friendship like that…"

Mark bristles at some of the phrasing, tensing up before remembering Kendall in his arms. He relaxes but his eyes are still hard as they look at Derek.

"Your ex-wife. I have a baby with your ex-wife...you two were already divorced," Mark corrects him because it feels like an important distinction to him. He sighs though, glancing down at his daughter resting so comfortably in his arms. He's so in love with her that he has to admit she far outweighs the 30 year friendship he ruined to have her. He knows though, that if he didn't have Addison and Kendall, he'd no doubt think differently but he does and he can't find it in him to be sorry for that.

But Derek is, was, his brother and he feels like he owes him an explanation of some sort. Though he doubts it'll be what Derek wants to hear.

"Mark."

"Sleeping with her wasn't about you, Derek. Not for me. I had feelings for her, strong ones and spend enough time together, is it really a surprise?" Mark starts, shrugging his shoulders a little. He focuses on Kendall for a moment, now finished with her bottle and he sets it down on the coffee table. He takes a moment to burp her, tapping her back gently but firmly and grinning when she gurgles out a burp; he'd never admit to anyone but Addison how cute he finds all of Kendall's little sighs and sounds and noises. "I am sorry I hurt you though. Do you think I wanted to fall for Addie? I hated myself for doing that to you. For falling for her, for sleeping with her. For how you found out… It's the worst thing I ever did," Mark tells him sincerely, the last words quiet and regretful.

"Then how can you-"

"But," Mark interrupts sharply because he has a good clue where Derek was going with his words. "I don't regret being with her now and I don't regret having a child with her. You two are divorced Derek. You moved on and Addison and I decided we wanted to try. Properly. And that may be hard for you to accept or...wrap your head around. But frankly man, it's not any of your business anymore," Mark tells him bluntly.

"Not my business?! You were my best friend and she's my wife!" Derek snaps loudly, glaring at his ex friend.

Kendall startles at the loudness of Derek's voice, a frown marring her perfect features and Mark glares. "Keep your voice down!" He whisper-snaps, trying not to radiate anger as he attempts to settle his four week old daughter. He gently bounces her, cuddling her closer to his chest so she can feel his heartbeat.

Derek looks ashamed, he hadn't meant to startle the baby. After a moment though he sighs sadly. "This could've been mine…" he murmurs out and Mark almost misses it.

An uncomfortable feeling twinges in his stomach at the thought but shakes it off. He doesn't want to imagine this life differently. He's still struggling to accept that this is real for him sometimes.

"Yeah. It could have been, if you hadn't checked out of your marriage."

Derek shakes his head with a frown. "I didn't check out…"

Mark snorts, rolling his eyes. "C'mon Derek. Of course you did. Long before the affair and that night and Seattle. You spent more time in an OR then with your wife in those last two years," Mark tells him plainly. At the look on Derek's face though, he scoffs. "You don't even realise what you did to her do you?"

"What are you talking about?" Derek asks with a frown, watching as the other man shifts off the couch and positions his daughter down on the playmat. He can't help but be fascinated by this new domestic, fatherly version of Mark Sloan. It's a side to him he'd never thought he'd see from his old friend.

"You made her so insecure and unsure of herself. God, she'd absolutely kill me if she knew I was telling you this. But you know what? I think you need to hear it. You weren't good to her Derek. Not those last couple years and damn sure not here. She had convinced herself that she was unlovable and ugly and that's why you didn't come home to her. You neglected her and ignored her and she blamed herself. She tried to fix herself somehow. She tried so, so hard Derek and we all saw it. But you couldn't get your damn head out of an OR long enough to even bother looking. And here? Well, you just screwed with her head some more," Mark tells him firmly, rubbing a hand soothingly over Kendall's full belly.

"I-I didn't realise," Derek says softly, frowning deeply at the words. He wants to dispute them but he's horrified to realise that he doesn't think he can.

"Course you didn't," Mark snorts, rolling his eyes. "So yeah, having a family and a home with Addie could've been yours. But it's not. You chose to divorce her and now you don't get to bitch and moan about how she moves on. She's not a possession and she doesn't owe you anything Derek. Not anymore," Mark continues, voice deadly serious. His eyes are fixed on Kendall for a moment before looking up and finding Derek's. "What we did was terrible and I'll always regret hurting you Derek. Cause you're my brother. But Addison, Kendall and I are a family now and if you can't accept that or at least be civil then...then I think it's best you just stay away."

Even as he says the words though, Mark feels his heart sink. He'd never in his life thought he'd be telling Derek, his best friend and brother, to stay away. But he reasons with himself, he's got his own family to worry about now.

They both sit there in silence for a long moment, letting the words settle between them. Mark focuses on Kendall, not at all comfortable with seeing Derek's reaction to his words.

"I...I don't think I want to stay away," Derek says after a while, his voice soft and contemplative. Mark's head pops up in surprise as he casts a glance at his former friend. "I'm not ready yet but I want to be. Seeing you three in the hospital the other day...you both looked so happy and...I want to be happy for you two. I don't want to just...throw away all that history between us all. I think I'd like to be a part of your lives and Kendall's," Derek tells him, voice sounding surer as he spoke.

Mark can't help but smile at Derek's words; so reminiscent of the ones Addison had spoken almost a year ago. "I'd really like that too, man," Mark replies with a small smirk.

"It'll take some time. But I'll get there. I want to," Derek remarks, relaxing a little. He watches Mark with his daughter, again fascinated by this seemingly new man. He realises then that he owes Mark an apology too. "I'm sorry. By the way. For...well, for all the shit I've said to you since finding out about the pregnancy. It was wrong of me to say the things I did, man. You're nothing like your father," he tells him sincerely. Even when he'd said it in the heat of anger, he'd known he'd crossed a line. The look on Mark's face had been so telling.

He watches as his former friend nods at his words, letting out a deep sigh. The man's eyes were still on his daughter and Derek could see how reverently he looked at her. "Thanks," is all he says and Derek knows Mark well enough to leave it alone.

It's awkward for a few seconds before Derek decides to stand. He thinks he may have worn out his welcome a little and frankly, he doesn't know what else to say to him. He's not used to being on this side of the equation; single and alone while Mark is in a stable relationship and with a child.

"I better get going," Derek says then, giving him a nod.

Mark stands up, then carefully leans over to pick up Kendall. He's got her against his shoulder, a hand smoothing over her back as her eyelids flutter closed. Again, Derek is struck by how strange the sight is to him. Mark Sloan, a father - he never thought he'd see the day.

"Uh, babe? Where's Kenny?" A familiar voice calls from the stairs and both men turn to find a sweatpant clad Addison making her way downstairs. She freezes when she sees both men and her baby.

"Hey Addie. I just...came to talk to Mark. I'm going now," Derek tells her giving her a small smile and a little wave. He turns to Mark then nodding once before turning towards the front door.

"Okay," Addison drawls out, looking between them cautiously.

Mark simply smiles, nodding back at Derek as they watch him leave. Things aren't fixed, obviously but this was a start and despite himself, Mark is feeling hopeful about their friendship.

"Well, I didn't hear any yelling," he hears Addison say and chuckles a little. He turns to look at her as she makes her way over to him and the baby. Her arms are outstretched and he knows she wants to hold Kendall.

"We just had a talk," he tells her plainly, shrugging slightly with one shoulder. "An overdue one, I think," he admits, carefully passing Kendall into Addison's waiting arms. He doesn't say anything more because he's not sure what else to say about their conversation. He does hope though that it's the start of rebuilding their friendship. Mark can admit, at least to himself, that he's missed Derek.

Addison smiles, leaning up to press a light kiss to his lips. "Good. I'm glad," she tells him, smiling as she rocks their daughter, making her way into the living room.

Mark smiles too, watching Addison and their daughter and exhales, feeling as if everything is going to be okay.

[puttingfingerstokeys]

[untitled]

Nanowrimo 2019 day 9  Featuring Leon Kennedy and Ricardo Irving Horror? ish? Resident Evil, alternate universe where Wesker picks Leon up instead of the US Government Unfinished and unedited

The contact was scheduled to arrive at the designated site—a predictably empty warehouse on the coast of a west African town called Kijuju—at six PM. As such, Leon Kennedy had arrived much earlier, set up his contingent of plainclothes and otherwise hidden men around the place in strategic locations, always assuming the so-called deal would go south. This was more of a recruitment mission anyway and, depending on the level of subterfuge and deception, this Ricardo Irving fellow would be a prime candidate for the position of VP of sales for Tricell, Africa. Irving, a black market drug or weapon (Leon was unsure which, though it had assuredly been in his file) dealer, knew none of this—neither the identity of his buyer, or any other affiliation was known to him, though Wesker had specifically instructed a trail of Umbrella-flavored bread crumbs to be left here and there to draw such a man in. This much had worked, though Leon suspected that Irving was too clever by half to fall hook, line, or sinker for the ruse.

It didn’t matter either way. They would get what they wanted. He was selling good product on behalf of a much more (ironically) well-known black market dealer who went under the moniker “Forrest Mars”. Leon was sharp of mind and absolutely of the opinion that it was a pseudonym of some kind, but neither he nor Wesker had been able to ascertain Forrest Mars’s true identity, so he supposed that, in the end, it was not so foolish after all. Sniping the competition’s best dealers was part of the bait to draw Mars out into the open. His name was known, but other than that, no one seemed to know anything. Through dubiously-supplied intel (Leon knew Ada Wong was at the other end of this little con), they had at least gathered the names of his top dealers. Ricardo Irving was priority one, as he seemed to be the most influential, if not the closest.

Leon paced, considering the choice. Irving was influential, meaning he made money. Making money was advantageous in its own way, but the fervor with which Irving moved his product told Leon something else: he was greedy. Greedy men could always be bought. Leon leaned against an abandoned vehicle which looked as if it had been put up on blocks when Leon was still in diapers. The rust scraped viciously against his battle suit, but did not so much as scuff the dark blue material. Leon didn’t dislike the tight getup, but he thought it was probably unnecessary for this deal. His sex appeal would not likely work on Irving, whose profile proclaimed him to be a prolific heterosexual.

“Should’ve sent Excella,” he rumbled, arms crossed over his chest. Of course he knew damn well why Wesker had not sent her. She was far too high profile. Her name and face (and breasts) were known. Still, he thought, she would have made a hell of a deal with this Irving bozo. Leon had not been impressed with the man’s psych profile. He was arrogant, greedy, and slimy as all hell, a Brooklynite if Leon had ever seen one—possibly Atlantic City. Not exactly a wholesome person himself, Leon felt he was a decent judge of these kinds of things. He sneered at his watch, deciding that if the guy didn’t show in five minutes—it was already ten after six—he would give Irving a welcome he wouldn’t forget and extract Forrest Mars’s information the fun way.

Just as he engaged his commlink to inform his team of this plan, they buzzed him. “Echo zero-one, this is Echo three-one, we have visual on the mark.”

“Solid copy,” Leon returned. “Echo zero-one maintaining radio silence for the duration. Don’t move without my signal, copy?”

“Copy. Over.”

The radios went silent and Leon shifted so that he looked as if he had been waiting far longer than he actually had. Setting Irving on edge right off the bat might make for a friendlier negotiation. If not, well Leon had no problem getting rough. Irving was dealing something Wesker needed—Leon was not paid to ask or to care—and he would get it for the man at whatever price he specified, not Irving. Leon thought that if Irving knew precisely with whom he was dealing, he might play nice, but that was never guaranteed either. Sharp as his mind was, he disliked this kind of shady negotiation crap. He was a field agent, much better with a firearm in his hand—not that he was currently unarmed; far from it—than a briefcase full of cash.

Presently, a small convoy of SUVs pulled up in front of the warehouse where Leon stood, leaning against the old vehicle up on blocks. He watched them but did not move, seeming more interested in the scenery than this obvious show of muscle and force. Maybe Irving did have an idea who his contact might be—or maybe his boss did. Leon’s steely blue eyes only moved from the scenery of the docks to the convoy when a short, skinny man hopped out of the middle vehicle. He wore a cheap-looking suit that was probably exceedingly expensive with a clashing orange button-down underneath the blazer. This, Leon thought, was intentional, either purely a fashion choice or, more likely, to give the impression of nigh-incompetence. Leon assumed it was the former, because he could not have been convinced of the latter now that he had seen the firepower Irving’s goons were packing.

Arms deal, then, not drugs, he thought to himself. Of course, why would Albert Wesker, of all people, need drugs? Tricell was the world’s foremost manufacturer of everything from ibuprofen to chemotherapy pills. It was irrelevant, however. No matter what Irving was dealing or carrying, Leon and his men would walk away with it and either Irving himself or, failing that, information on his employer. It was a win-win. Patience was a virtue, but Leon had never considered himself particularly virtuous and he was tired of waiting for this “win”. He caught movement on a nearby rooftop out of the corner of one eye, but betrayed nothing. The flash of a scope would set off Irving’s guards for sure, but this sniper had positioned himself with his back to the sinking sun.

“You’re late,” he pointed out, opting to break the ice and take control of the conversation. Leon pushed off the truck and moved forward, not extending his hand, but giving Irving and his men a full look at him, showing he was unarmed. Irving eyed him up and down, but did not appear to be searching for armaments of any kind. In fact, Irving’s ravenous gaze actually settled upon Leon’s chest, which was tastefully exposed. He had been instructed to give the impression that the battle suit was warm in this vicious, African heat, and that he had done what any uncomfortably hot person might have: unzipped. That he was also instructed to “forget” he had done so was just another part of his job.

“Traffic was murder,” responded Irving, not taking his eyes off Leon’s ample chest. Leon himself made a mental note to scratch out “prolific heterosexual” from Irving’s profile and replace it with “opportunistic”. He was not entirely sure of this yet, but most men did not eye his assets that way.

“Yeah, they’re real,” Leon said, stopping so that there was little more than five feet between the two of them and resting his weight on one foot. “My eyes are up here, big guy. What’ve you got?”

“Y’mean you don’t know?” Irving sounded incredulous. He was far too shameless and slimy to blush however and took his sweet time letting his eyes wander up to Leon’s. When they met, Irving suddenly wished he had not. He had seen eyes like that before, bombardier’s eyes, gunslinger’s eyes. This guy’s playin’ for the wrong team, he thought shrilly. He looks like one of those goddamn war hero types, but not the General so-and-sos, more like a fuckin’ black ops dudes. He checked his gaze from then on, wondering just how close he was to the truth. Leon wasn’t telling.

“I don’t get paid to ask questions, Irving,” responded Leon evenly, as if this was the simplest piece of knowledge, the easiest fact to grasp in all the world. “I’m a middle man, that’s all.”

Leon Kennedy was not, in fact, a middle man. After Raccoon City, the US government had picked him up and introduced him to the anti-Umbrella initiative, a small group of special operatives and the government officials who had volunteered to back them up, seeking to root out everything even vaguely resembling the perpetrator of the Raccoon City tragedy. They had given him special training, enrolled him with the CIA, sent him to the SEALs with no explanation to his commanding officers, and then, when the training was done, had sent him into the field. Operation Javier was his first foray and he had been partnered with a man named Jack Krauser. He had been fond of Leon, for some reason, and the two had gotten along strangely well, given their differing backgrounds. Leon’s experience with the undead paired well, it turned out, with Krauser’s days in the Rangers.

It was, ironically, this first exercise of trust that made Leon lose faith in the US government. He used the skills they had given him to disappear soon after returning, heeding the call of a mysterious woman in red who had appeared in 1998, in Raccoon, and had dogged his steps ever since, seeking to recruit him for “something greater”. At the end of that rainbow had been Albert Wesker, an Umbrella employee himself and the former STARS captain. Once the initial shock wore off, Wesker pled his case and Leon… had been swayed. “Umbrella made a mistake,” Wesker had said, “one which I will not repeat.”

Now, in 2009, Leon stood, making deals and scouting new recruits for Wesker, much like what Ada had done to him. She had long since defected, but still threw intel their way from time to time, keeping one step ahead only by Wesker’s good graces. Should he send Leon after her… Leon was grateful he did not. It was hardly a question of fondness; she had done nothing but play with him from the start, but rather a sick fascination with someone so much like him, yet so utterly different. She was quick and clever and devilishly devious. Did he admire this? Maybe a little. Leon’s tactics tended to be much more forthright, in the field at least. He and Jack Krauser had crossed blades, for example, multiple times since he had expatriated, though Leon was sure the man had died in Spain in 2003—regardless, their encounters had always been deliberate one-on-one tests of strength and cunning. He missed that. He did not miss Ada. Her intel was good, but her methods were undesirable at best. Still, whether he wanted it or not, the fascination remained.

“The goods’re back here; where’s the cash?” Irving was right down to business now. Leon had felt the shift when the man looked into his eyes. Good, he thought, get this ball rolling. His instructions had also included swiftness, as the BSAA had been seen sniffing around Kijuju recently. The last thing Leon needed was an encounter with that upstanding organization’s golden boy, Chris Redfield. He had survived with two other people in Raccoon, a girl named Sherry Birkin, and a woman named Claire… Claire Redfield. She was, in fact, Chris’s younger sister and for some reason, seeing her brother would have, he was sure, incite some strange feelings of regret, remorse, and/or guilt. He wanted none of those. He had no time for those. This was business. The US government had failed him, had failed them all—they had been the ones to cover up Umbrella’s “mistake”. Albert Wesker had not failed him once. It was to that man he owed his life and sense of purpose. It was not simple, but it was good enough for Leon. Why complicate things further?

[theguineapig3]

Tales Whump Week Day 4: Accident

“Family Planning”

Tales of Symphonia Words: 3708 way longer than i expected; i need to be Stopped™ Characters: Kratos Aurion, Anna Irving, Noishe Pairing: Kratos/Anna

Anna Irving was the kind of person who wasn't afraid of anything. Kratos had known her for years before the first time he ever saw true, unbridled fear in her eyes. He’d always imagined that moment with him stepping in to defend her from whatever had scared her… so he hadn't considered that he would be the one she was afraid of.

Anna has been especially secretive for a few weeks now.

Kratos wasn't worried at first- after all, this wasn't the first time she had been like this. A few years back, she had planned for months to throw him a surprise birthday party, doing her best to keep her plans under wraps. He had figured it out, of course, but was happy to play along. Their unpredictable life, constantly moving from place to place to keep Cruxis off their trail, was stressful and Anna deserved to have her fun when she could. Besides that, Kratos respected her privacy. When she requested time alone, he always allowed it unless there was a reason to suspect her life might be in danger. Many times when visiting cities for supplies, they split up to avoid drawing attention to themselves. If Anna suggested they keep a low profile by separating for a few hours or even days, Kratos usually trusted her intuition. She knew well the dangers they faced and Kratos was grateful for the keen senses she’d developed while living in the human ranch. He hadn't been given a reason to distrust her.

At least, not until now.

Her attitude and stamina seemed to be deteriorating, and the number of times she refused dinner was starting to get suspicious. At night she tossed and turned to the point that he started to lose sleep as well, and his questions about her wellbeing were met with the same chipper “I’m fine!” every time. Noishe had started trailing especially close to her, whining pitifully whenever she left his side. Kratos began to worry, and while he forced himself to give her the space she wanted, eventually she went on a walk with Noishe after lunch one day and only Noishe returned.

Kratos followed a panicked Noishe over Anna’s usual walking route and managed to find her beside a large oak tree, doubled over and half-conscious. He carried her back to their current hideout and put her in bed, looking her over to see what was wrong. She wasn't feverish, but she was dehydrated, so his first reaction was to give her water. Anna was conscious enough to sit up and drink, but even slow sips of water seemed to exacerbate her nausea. Kratos had seen severe gastrointestinal illnesses product similar symptoms, but he wasn't totally sure what to do.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked as he refilled the glass of water. “When was the last time you were able to keep something down?”

Anna was making a point not to look at him. “It comes and goes,” she answered. “I'll be fine. I just need some rest.”

“Without food to give you energy, resting will only do so much. And if you stay dehydrated like this, you’re only going to get worse.”

Anna frowned, glanced over at the glass of water, and looked back at Kratos.

“Can you get me some juice? I still have a bad taste in my mouth from earlier, so the water isn't exactly helping. And maybe a biscuit too- one of those really bland ones.”

Satisfied that Noishe was watching over her, Kratos moved to the cupboard and fished through their supplies for the hardtack they kept on hand in case of emergencies. She hadn't specified what kind of juice, so he chose an orange from the bag of supplies he’d brought in from Palmacosta the day before, hoping the extra vitamins would help her fight whatever infection was.

But, come to think of it… she’d been acting strange for a long time now. Had she been this ill the whole time? Is that why Noishe was being so attentive? If Anna was having trouble keeping food down, it was no wonder she was losing energy. Why hadn't she told him? She never hid when she was feeling sick. The sooner they identified what was wrong, the sooner they could treat it, and they had come to an unspoken understanding that their pride was not as important as their safety in situations like these. The only explanation he could think of was that she was suffering from something that wasn't curable. But that was absurd- she might be uncomfortable and potentially putting herself in danger from outside sources, but she wasn't dying.

Maybe, then, it was just the opposite.

Kratos’ hand slipped on the reamer, and orange juice and seeds sloshed out onto the counter. He grabbed a rag to clean it up, but his mind was elsewhere. He was trying to reason with himself, trying to rule out his sudden, absurd hypothesis. She would've told him about something like that, he was sure of it! He was mostly sure of it. Okay, he wanted to be sure of it. But the thought wouldn't leave his mind. It also didn't help that when he stopped to review their recent, erm, activities, he realized how little care they'd taken to prevent something like this. It had only been a matter of time before an… accident happened.

Trying to dispel thoughts he hadn't yet confirmed, Kratos thought back to the medicine he’d been considering. Herbal tea was something they kept on hand for such occasions as a good cure-all for sinus, throat, and stomach problems. It would help with her nausea, and he was pretty sure it was safe for- oh, here we go again.

At this point, he might as well be blunt and ask. If it wasn't the case, the worst he might get was a slap and a scolding for being rude. But if it was, then they could discuss it. He could find out why she’d been keeping it from him and what she planned to do. Kratos set a kettle of water on the hearth for tea and poured the juice into a cup to take back to Anna. She was sitting up by this point, and hungrily accepted the biscuits and juice despite Kratos’ warnings to eat and drink slowly. He sighed as he watched her and finally steeled himself to speak.

“Anna, may I ask a particularly stupid question?”

She looked up from her half-eaten biscuit and swallowed. “Isn't that usually my job?”

Her sense of humor was coming back. That was a good sign at least.

“Your job right now is resting and feeling better. I was trying to come up with a diagnosis just with the symptoms I've seen, but I…” He cut off his sentence, not wanting to talk in circles any longer. “Anna, are you pregnant?”

He saw her freeze with the cup of juice still pressed to her lips. Noishe let out a punctuated whine, sending her unease. Anna swallowed the rest of the juice and gently handed the cup back to him.

“I'm… feeling tired. I should get some sleep.”

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, Anna. I just need an answer-”

“Didn't you just say that my job right now is to rest? I have work to do.”

She didn't give him a chance to protest, diving back against her pillow and pulling the blankets over her head. Kratos sighed and pulled himself to his feet, trying to come to terms with the situation.

He knew Anna well enough to know that he’d just received a clear “yes.”

Noishe had curled up next to her on the bed, so Kratos went back to the cupboard and looked over the teas they had on-hand. What was good for nausea again? Ginger? Mint? He pulled each container out and looked them over, but he couldn't force himself to think too hard about them. Not when he had so much weighing on his mind. More than anything, he didn't want her suffering like this. He wanted to make her feel better, had to make her feel better. Maybe he could blend them together? If one of the teas was good on its own, then TWO of them together would be even-

Look at me. I'm so flustered, I’m starting to use Anna’s messed-up logic.

Still, he put a little of both in the infuser. Might as well give it a try, at least.

He left the tea to brew and passed the time watching Anna and Noishe curled up in the bed next to one another. It was obvious that she wasn't asleep; beneath the blankets he could see her giving Noishe a good scratch- just below his right ear, if that familiar twitch of his leg was any indication. It wasn't an uncommon scene; Noishe seemed to love Anna even more than Kratos did, and Anna returned the sentiment. For the first time, Kratos imagined a third member of the group curled up in the middle, a tiny child wrapped up in Anna’s arms and resting against Noishe’s soft fur. What would the child be like? Would it inherit Anna’s beautiful brown eyes and dark hair? Her inner strength and optimism? Her boundless enthusiasm for the world she lived in and the people she loved…?

His heart raced from the vivid images, and he had to stop himself before he got too involved. That was a dangerous road to go down, given that Anna was still trying to hide the situation from him. He hadn't worked out why yet, but he had some ideas. It wasn't that she was afraid he’d leave her- no, Anna wasn't the sharpest, but she wasn't that stupid either. And she couldn't hide it forever, given that it would become visibly obvious within a few months. But if she hadn't told him by now, perhaps she never planned to. Maybe she was searching for someone who could safely terminate the pregnancy and hoped that she could spare her husband the pain and worry by leaving him none the wiser. If that was the case, he needed to support her rather than get too attached to those fantasies.

Another thought occurred to him along those lines- was she afraid he’d try to stop her? It was her body, her decision, and with the Desians still pouring resources into the search for the Angelus exsphere, avoiding the physical toll of a pregnancy and the work involved in childcare might be the best course of action for her own safety. But Kratos couldn't be sure what she was thinking, and what she thought he was thinking was an even greater mystery.

After all that thinking about thinking, he finally realised that the tea had been steeping for at least twenty minutes. He stumbled awkwardly over to the teapot and poured a cup for her. It was strong, but perhaps that was a good thing. All he wanted was for it to help.

“Anna, I know you're not asleep. Sit up; I made you some tea.”

She poked her head out from under the blankets and frowned, but sat up anyway. “I'm feeling a lot better. Maybe having something in my stomach helped after all. I don't need any tea-”

“You only had one glass of juice, so I'm sure you're still dehydrated. Just try to drink the tea, will you?”

Anna’s stuck out her bottom lip in a pout, and once Kratos handed her the cup, she made a show of analyzing the scent.

“What is this?”

“It’s, er, my own personal blend…” Kratos looked away, suddenly embarrassed that he’d thrown it together so haphazardly. “Just try it. It should make things better.”

Anna’s frown grew stern and she handed the cup back to Kratos. “I'm not going to drink this.”

“Please, Anna, don't be so stubborn. If it would help, I could put some honey in it-”

“NO, I’M NOT GOING TO!”

She shoved the cup back at him, not even thinking about the temperature of its contents. It spilled across his arm and chest, and he let out a scream of pain that sent Noishe scrambling to his feet. Anna gasped and reached for him, her voice cracking with a pitiful “oh no, no, no, I'm so sorry, I-” but Kratos had already gotten up to retrieve the shards of the broken cup that now littered the floor. He picked up as many as he could and took them across the room to the kitchen area, and as he did so, he heard Anna get up from bed.

“Hey, don't go anywhere. There are still some sharp pieces on the flo- hey! Anna!”

She was already at the door by the time he turned around, and he could hear her sobbing as she ran out into the mid-afternoon sun. Noishe followed, and Kratos shoved the cup shards aside to run after them. The burns on his arm and torso were minor, and could easily be soothed with some aloe later. His concern now was figuring out just what had made Anna so upset- and what he could do to avoid upsetting her like this again.

“...Anna?” Kratos walked around the side of the structure, an old abandoned bunker built into one of the hillsides north of Palmacosta. It was a great place to hide: cool, comfortable, and invisible from any of the main roads, while still maintaining the semblance of a home. Anna loved it and tried not to loiter around the outside for fear that tipping off any passersby of their location would mean they'd have to abandon the bunker altogether. It took Kratos a few minutes to figure out where she had gone, but he eventually was able to follow the sound of her crying to a large tree near the riverbank. Noishe was pacing around the outside, and Anna was curled up inside a hollow in the trunk. As soon as Noishe saw Kratos approaching, he ran around behind him and pushed him closer.

“Y-yes, Noishe, I see her. I’m going, I'm going, don’t push-”

Kratos’ reassurances were cut off as he tripped over an exposed tree root and fell over, grabbing onto the tree trunk for support. He was leaning over Anna, and saw her eyes widen at the sight of him.

He’d never seen her eyes like that before. They were full of sheer terror, the likes of which she had never shown even in the face of Desian experiments and torture. It made her look so small, so young, so vulnerable, Kratos’ wanted nothing more than to step in and protect her from whatever it was that was causing her such fear. Unfortunately, he realized… it was him.

“Get away from me!” Anna yelled, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Don't touch me!”

“I’m not… I won’t…” Kratos stepped back and fell to his knees, holding up his hands to show that he had no intention of reaching towards her. “Whatever I've done to scare you, I’m so sorry. Please tell me so I can make it right. I don't want to hurt you- I just want to make things better.”

His posture and words seemed to reassure her, and she relaxed a little. “I…” she stammered through sobs. “...I don't want to ‘make it better.”

“What do you mean? You really want to keep feeling so awful?”

“Yes! I do!”

“Why?”

There was a pause. Anna removed one arm from around her waist in order to wipe away the tears that were flowing faster now. “B-because I… I want to do whatever I can to… protect my baby…”

There. It was the first time she’d confirmed it outright. Somehow, even though he had been certain of it before, this brought Kratos to another level of anxiety.

“Anna, you-”

“Please!” she exclaimed, interrupting him. Her head was bowed so he could no longer see her eyes, but there was still a twinge of fear in her voice. “Please, Kratos, I'll be good! I'll stop being so reckless, I’ll stop getting into fights and putting myself in danger, I’ll get better rest and eat right and all the things you tell me to do, just… please, please, let me keep him.”

Kratos froze. “I don't understand-”

“I’ll study and learn everything I can about being a good mother! I’ll read all the books I need to, even if they're the hard kind with no pictures! I’ll do whatever I can to keep you from worrying- just let me keep him!”

“Anna, you…” Kratos stammered a reply through his shock. “...you sound like a little girl begging for a puppy. This isn't at all like bringing home a stray dog.”

“I know! I know it isn't! But I still-”

“This is not some stray animal. This is your child. That's why I'd never force you to give it up or to make a decision you were unhappy with. Have a little more faith in me, would you?”

Her face shot up to look at him, and he saw the fear in her eyes replaced by a look of shock. “You…”

“You thought I put something in the tea. That’s why you were so scared.” For the first time in countless centuries, Kratos actually had to choke back tears. “How could you think I was capable of doing something like that to you? To anyone?”

“I… I just…”

“No, I shouldn’t have said it like that. With the things I've done in the past, I shouldn't be offended by those sorts of assumptions.”

“It's not like that!” Anna crawled out from her hollow and threw her arms around him. He let out a pained gasp as she touched his chest where he’d been burned, and she pulled back. “I'm so sorry. I panicked, that’s all. But I didn't think you’d hurt me- not really. I just…”

Kratos pulled Anna so that she was sitting in his lap, allowing her to put her arms around his shoulders and lean against the good side of his chest. It felt good to have her close again, to know she was still comfortable being close to him. The idea that he would poison her, poison their child, had hit him too hard, and he didn’t want to be too forward with her until he was sure she was no longer afraid of him.

“...remember about a year ago, when we rescued that little girl from the Desians?” Anna asked as she spoke up again. “I suggested we adopt her more out of guilt that we couldn't save her parents than anything else, but you shut down the idea so fast that I didn't have time to even consider if I really wanted it. I know you were right, that she’d be better off with that family in Izoold, but even so, what you said stuck with me. You said that it wouldn't be right to subject a child to the kind of life we lead, that the dangers we faced on a regular basis were not situations that a child should ever be in. So, a few weeks ago, when I found out I was… oh, gods, Kratos, I was terrified. I was sure you'd convince me not to go through with it.”

“That's why you tried to keep it a secret?” Kratos asked, placing a comforting hand against the back of her head. “No matter how sick you were feeling?”

“Like I  said, it comes and goes…” Anna leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. “I thought that, if I could keep it a secret long enough, then I could tell you when I was far enough along that you’d have to let me keep it.”

“I see. That’s what you were thinking.” It was a flawed plan in more ways than one, but Kratos wasn't in the mood to criticize her. He should be reassuring her. “You weren't completely wrong; I did consider whether or not this was a good idea. But it's not up to me. You're the one who has to decide what’s best for you, and it’s my job to support you through that. And if you decide you want to be parents-” He paused, the word suddenly feeling heavy now that he’d said it out loud. “-then it’s also my job to be the best father I can be. It may be asking a lot, but I want you to trust me.”

Anna leaned against the side of his chest, her voice betraying the tears in her eyes. “I never didn't trust you. I knew you would only do what you thought was best for me. I should've had more faith that my feelings would matter to you as much as my safety did. I’m sorry, Kratos.”

She squeezed him in a tight hug, trying not to touch his chest where it had been burned. It wouldn't have mattered to him if she did, though. He just wanted to keep her close.

“I love you so much, Anna.”

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I love you too. And Noishe loves you, and-” She glanced over at Noishe for a moment and then took one of Kratos’ hands in hers to place against her stomach. “-and he loves you too.”

Kratos stared for a moment, the sensation new and different. There wasn't a part of Anna’s body that he hadn’t explored by now, but he felt a sudden rush of nervousness like he’d had years before when it was all still new to him.

Even so, all the emotional turmoil couldn't silence the logical part of his brain.

“Anna… you know that’s your liver, right?” Kratos moved their hands down a little. “The baby would be closer to here.”

“Aw, come on.” She made a show of pouting, but there was an amusement to her words that betrayed her relief at the familiar tone in his voice. “I was just trying to be sentimental. You know I'm no good with that sciencey stuff.”

“And besides that, what's with this ‘he’ business? You can't know the baby’s gender-”

“I'm his mother! I can tell!”

“Anna, at this point in development, even the baby doesn't know what it is yet.”

“Oh? You wanna bet?”

The two continued their playful argument, all too happy to return to their usual light-hearted banter. Noishe stayed beside them, his tail wagging in contentment as he settled down to listen and his eyes never straying from the scene.

Everything wasn’t fixed, but it was at least on the right track.

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Twenty Eight: What Has Been Forgotten Has Not Yet Been Lost

Excerpt:

Aurora frowns. Her heart races. “I don’t–”

“Yes you do, Aurora. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Please, promise me you will help us.”

Aurora doesn’t know what to do. She trembles in his hands. If she does what he asks everyone will know, and she may never be safe again. If she doesn’t, and Corypheus wins, Thedas is over. Conflicted is an understatement for how she feels. She wishes Greagior and Irving were here. They taught her to hide and control her power… they would know what to do now. They would protect her. Her heart aches at the thought.

The only men she’s ever trusted with her secret are dead.

[Read Chapter 28 on AO3]  or  [Start from the Beginning]

-Aurora-

“Sand is so dumb,” Aurora sneers wiping herself of the grains that coat her riding gear and hide in every crevice.

“How very eloquent, my dear,” Dorian muses and she grins at him through the corner of her eye. “One could almost confuse you for Sera.”

“Ey! Yer tryin’a be smart, but she’s right. Sand is dumb,” Sera pouts and sticks her tongue out at the Tevinter Altus while she helps shake grains from Aurora’s hooded cloak.

They’ve finally made it to Griffon Wing Keep and Aurora hopes that the high walls will help protect her from sand whipping and blowing in her face all Maker-damned day.

She’s been uncomfortable ever since they hit the desert. Couple that with the fact that the veil has also been particularly strange, and has only grown more so the deeper they traveled, Aurora can definitively say that she is not a fan of the Western Approach. There is an evil presence hiding in this land, but she’s not sure if it’s only her power that can sense it. She’s kept quiet about it, watching the others to see if anyone complains of strange feelings or nightmares.

No one has, to her knowledge, but they may also be keeping their experiences to themselves.

Upon reaching the keep, everyone had steered their horses directly to waiting stable hands. Not long after, workers came rushing from the keep, diligently retrieving the caravan’s supplies and chest’s from the wagons. Aurora and her fellow travelers are all exhausted and relieved to have finally made it. As the last of them finish dismounting their horses, she follows Dorian and Sera amongst the group of slouching shoulders, sleepy eyes, and sore bottoms. They all blearily trudge up a steep, sandy incline to the keep’s front gates.

“Who we gotta see about findin’ our rooms?” Sera asks, standing on her tiptoes and searching through the bodies of people. “I wanna room with Rory this time. You got her in yer tent the whole trip, ‘s my turn,” she says to Dorian as she gives him a light smack on the arm.

Aurora smiles to herself, glad that if nothing else, she has two good friends with her in this blasted desert with its funky fade. Sera is always fun to have around, like a partner in crime, and Dorian… She’d been pretty angry that he took her away from Skyhold, but on the road, they’ve actually bonded. Aurora now has a fondness for the fellow mage. It surprises her, but she really enjoys his company and the in depth conversations they can have about magic, politics, theory, and well… anything, really.

It doesn’t take long for the Inquisitor to be pulled away. She barely steps foot in keep before she has to turn around and take a team with her to some ritual tower. She takes Dorian with her too, leaving Sera and Aurora to figure out how to settle in without him. Sera, determined to get a room with her, starts running around and bothering every person she can find, shrieking about where the rooms are, and getting distracted by more than one pretty face along the way.

“We actually planned on grouping the women together, aside from Madame Inquisitor, of course,” a young Orlesian requisition girl finally informs them. She then looks down, mumbling under her breath, “Like we did with the men, except for that Hawke… No one wanted him in their room…” Shaking her head she sighs and looks at Sera and Aurora with worry in her eyes. “But Madame De Fer also requested her own quarters… I’m not sure what we’re going to do, we only have so much space. She’s taken the room meant for all of you. There are a couple of bunks in the women’s bunk house, though…” she looks at them with hopeful eyes and Aurora can only imagine what Vivienne had put the poor girl through.

“That will be fine,” Aurora pipes up. “We don’t need anything fancy.” Sera shoots her a scrunchy face of disgust, but doesn't object.

“I guess, if Vivienne had to swipe our room for herself,” the blonde elf groans, then mutters, “ Bitch ,” under her breath.

The pair follow the lead of the relieved young woman to the lower depths of the keep where the soldiers and workers bunk rooms are kept. Gawking, Aurora stares at her surroundings the entire way. She’s never been this far from Ferelden before. This building is old like Skyhold but so, so different. Put together with sandstones and ancient ornate reliefs that she feared would crumble to dust from only looking at them for too long.

They arrive in the women’s bunk room and Aurora grins, it’s really not that different from what she’s used to in Skyhold. More women and more beds line the walls than her small mage quarters, but nothing she can’t adjust to. It actually takes her back to the days when she was a young apprentice in the circle. Sometimes it’s nice to be surrounded by other women. Perhaps comradery will build. Something to help keep Aurora’s mind off of… other things.

Sera, however, is used to having her own little room in the tavern and at first, looks around the space with disappointment in her eyes.

“Just think of it as the tavern. With beds instead of tables,” Aurora grins and pats her friend on the back. Following the requisition agent to empty bunk beds, Aurora squeezes Sera’s shoulder. “You want top or bottom?”

“Top!” Sera screeches and launches herself sky-high to climb onto her bed. Swinging her feet off the edge, she presses the mattress with her hands, testing the springiness. “Guess it’s better than a bedroll on the ground. This’ll do.”

Aurora crawls underneath her and onto her bed after thanking the young woman who brought them there. Sera’s kicking feet quickly disappear and are replaced with her head hanging upside down, a wide grin on her face as she looks around Aurora’s lower bunk. “At least we still get to be together.” She points at the bare wall behind the mage. “Find me some paper and I’ll draw you some pictures of things you like, to tack on yer wall.”

Aurora smiles, both Sera and Dorian have been doing such a great job with making her feel better while they have been on this trip. She’s been feeling a lot lighter lately, almost like she did back before this whole mess began. She tries not to think about Delrin, or the Templar attack, and she’s even almost forgotten how scared she is to be here.

At that time, Lace Harding comes into view, walking up to their bunk from the back of the room. Aurora doesn’t know her well, but every encounter they've had has been pleasant. The pretty dwarf smiles softly as she comes up behind Sera and Aurora returns a warm grin.

“Aurora… hi,” she says. Sera cranks her head to see the freckle-faced redhead. “Hi, Sera.”

“Hey Lace, wanna have a bow competition later? I’m itchin’ to stomp someone’s arse and Varric always cheats,” Sera asks in a taunting but friendly way and spins into a backflip to hop off her bunk, landing beside the dwarf.

“You could try to beat me, I suppose, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s going to be stomped, Sera,” she replies, grinning. Sera sticks out her tongue and thumbs her nose. Lace winks back while returning her attention to Aurora. “I have these for you,” she says, producing a bundle of letters from behind her back. “They started coming in not long after you all left Skyhold. I’ve kept them safe in my bunk for you, until now.”

Aurora stares at the bundle baffled, but takes the neatly wrapped and tied collection of parchment from Lace’s hand and sets it in her lap. “Thank you,” she says, staring at the bundle, heart racing as she thumbs the edges.

“They’re… all from the same person. Each one has--”

“The Knight-Commander’s seal,” Aurora finishes Lace’s sentence in a soft, hushed voice. She feels emotion well in her chest and behind her eyes, wondering - no, dreading - what words lie beyond the folded parchment.

“I intercepted all of them,” Lace continues, “No one else knows he’s been writing to you. I had a feeling you would prefer it that way.”

“Thank you, Lace,” Aurora whispers, still staring at the letters in silent fear. Lace Harding was right, Aurora wasn't sure what was going on between her and Delrin anymore, but she knew for certain that she wants it kept private. The less of a chance of a repeat attack, because of their connection, the better. But maybe these letters have nothing to do with that. Maybe this is him ending things, officially. Perhaps he wants to put her on trial… maybe that Templar made up stories to cover his ass.

Whatever is in these letters, she can't allow herself to be hopeful.

After setting up a time for a friendly bow competition later with Sera, the dwarf leaves their bunks and Sera sits beside Aurora - still staring at the bundle.

Sera brings her knees in, sitting cross-legged and facing her friend while softly rubbing her back. “You gonna open ‘em?” she asks.

“I’m… I’m afraid of what they might say.”

“You got yerself a lil’ pile there, I’d guess that the odds are in yer favor.”

Aurora just sighs, placing the palm of her hand over the top letter. She can almost feel him.

“You won’t know until you read. You’ll drive yerself nuts worrying about what they say. Just start with the first one and go from there. I’m here for you.”

“Will you read them? I don’t know if I can.”

“Rory…”

“Please?” Aurora pulls the top letter from pile and hands it to Sera while looking the opposite direction. “I can’t… Please, Sera.”

The elf takes the letter with a sigh and Aurora hears her break the wax seal. The Templar seal. The Templar Knight-Commander seal…

Sera clears her throat and takes a deep breath. “Andraste, what I step in?” she mutters under her breath, “Oh, seriously?” Aurora turns to see Sera glaring at the parchment.

“Aloud, Sera. Read it aloud.”

“Right, sorry,” she clears her throat again. “My Dearest Aurora,” she rolls her eyes and makes gagging sounds. “I have failed you. You were attacked by one of my men, a man right under my nose, a man known for his harsh views on mages, yet I let him roam Skyhold unchecked. Now that he has hurt you, I’m not sure that I can forgive myself for allowing it to happen.

Not only that, but I let your story cloud me. I allowed myself to get caught up in details that have no bearing on how I feel about you.

I hadn’t realized that you had a history with the Knight-Commander of the Ferelden Circle. I let my own doubt sway me and I regret it. I wish I had come to you after I left the cells that night. I wish I had seen you off before you left Skyhold. I told you I would be there for you, and I failed you.

I shouldn’t have let your past affect the trust I have for you today. I know better than that. I hope you will forgive me and that we can talk about this when you return. Please be safe, Delrin.” Sera finishes and looks up at Aurora. “That’s it.” She pauses for a moment then mutters, “Asshole.”

Aurora takes the parchment from her hands and stares at the words, stares at the the letters written in ink by Delrin’s hand. “You think?” Aurora asks, a fingertip lightly tracing the ink, wanting to it to be him, wishing she could touch him.

“He lets that tit run ‘round Skyhold all puffed up n’ pissed! Yeah, I think he’s an asshole. You could have died, Rory.”

No, she couldn’t have, the Templar would have died, Aurora knows that. The tit was no match for her.

“And then he was holdin’ your relationship with the other one against you? Pfffft ,” Sera crosses her arms and rolls her eyes.

“He probably was worried I set out to use him like I did Greagior.” Sera groans at that. “But I did Sera, the first time I met Delrin, I had every intention of doing that.”

“But that’s not what it’s about now .”

“But he didn’t know that… or well, he questioned that. I think he had every right to question that.” It was true. It is the very thing she’s worried about. Delrin discovering who she is and doubting her. Now it’s happened, and while he sounds like he wants to continue whatever it is that they are doing, she wonders if it's best to let him go. It will hurt, she knows that, but if learning about Greagior made him pause… what will his reaction be when he finds out the rest? She’s so uncertain. If only she was still in Skyhold and not in this blasted sandy basement.

“Sounds like you want to forgive ‘im.”

“I think I’m the one who needs forgiving,” Aurora says through hushed breath. Delrin only did what she’d expect any man in his position would do.

“Oh, piss on that. If I can trust you, then Ser Stick-Up-His-Arse should be able to wrap his big, dumb head ‘round it.”

“He doesn’t have a stick up his ass.”

“Whatever.”

“They’re back from the tower!” Aurora hears a soldier call into the bunk house before they quickly run back toward the stairs up to the main level of the keep.

Aurora refolds the letter carefully. “We should go see what happened,” she says. She turns to tuck her bundle under her blanket and between the wall and her bed. Sera follows when she rises and they find their way up to the courtyard. When they emerge, the sun almost blinds them after having been adjusted to a much dimmer basement of the keep.

Dorian sees the pair squinting in the sunlight and rushes toward them, panic plastered on his face.

“What happened, why do you look so worried?” Aurora asks.

“Bad news, I’m afraid,” he responds and grabs her elbow, steering her and Sera to a private corner of a look-out tower, away from listening ears. “The Grey Wardens are enslaving their mages to Corypheus, and sacrificing the rest to make it happen.”

Aurora gasps, covering her mouth in abject horror. “How could they do that?”

“It appears that they have been tricked by a…” he sighs and rolls his eyes, “Now don’t go pointing and wagging your fingers at me when I tell you this, we are not all like him. They have been tricked by a Tevinter Magister.”

“Fucking tits, the lot of ‘em.” Sera scowls and crosses her arms. “How are they gettin’ enslaved, anyway? What does Coryphishit want with warden mages?”

“They are using blood magic to bind them with demons. Corypheus is building an army.” Dorian answers, shaking his head and dipping it low with disbelief. He presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Izzy is sending out Ravens right now to Skyhold, and sending scouts toward a gigantic fortress to the east where we think the wardens are wholed up.” He groans and peers out a window in the look out tower, watching sand blow by and staring at the horizon. “I think we are going to war.”

“Shit,” Aurora and Sera sigh in unison.

“How is Alistair taking the news?” Aurora asks, she’d bonded with the man. He has such a kind a good spirit, and he loves the wardens. This revelation must be killing him.

“Hmph,” Dorian grunts, turning back to her and bobbing his head with crossed arms. “He and Hawke are almost ready to kill each other. I swear, there sniping has given me a headache. We have enough on our plates, but they continue to take it out on each other.” He looks at Sera and smiles in a soft hopeful way. “Sera? Would you be a so kind as to fish out some kind of remedy for my aching head? I can barely even think straight. A bottle of wine should do the trick… maybe two.”

Sera grunts at the mage, but when he bats his eyes and asks her nicely with a “ Please? ” she rolls her eyes and walks off to retrieve some wine. Once she is out of earshot Dorian pulls Aurora closer and deeper into the corner. “Finally,” he sighs. “Listen, Rory. I know you aren’t going to like this, but we need you.”

Aurora hesitates, “Need me?”

“You have fought against an onslaught of demons before, do you have any insight?”

Aurora relaxes a little. Knowledge. He wants knowledge. Knowledge she can do. “The Hero of Ferelden saved the tower, but she had to fight through the fade to do so. There was a powerful demon there that she had to defeat before she could get to the mages.” She dips her head a little and whispers, “Does the veil feel funny here, to you?”

Dorian nods with a shrug, “Maybe a little.”

“Oh, to me it feels crazy. I sense something really strong on the other side. Maybe it’s what’s causing the fake calling for the wardens.”

“Erimond did mention a demon working with Corypheus…”

Aurora nods, “That must be it. Dorian... It’s massive . Powerful. And the veil is so thin. You can’t feel that?”

“I guess not. Not in the way you can, at least. But I thought you held more power than me. This proves me right.”

Aurora stiffens, color leaving her face. She’s said too much. She should have kept her stupid mouth shut.

He squeezes her arms in his hands and levels his eyes with hers. The seriousness of his gaze is unsettling. “Even if the power I sense within you is only a fraction of what you truly yield, Aurora, we need you. I know you don’t like to kill. I’m aware you want to hide who you are, but darling, this is going to be bloody. And we have to win. Corypheus cannot succeed with creating a demon army. You are going to have to fight with us. Really fight, too. None of this just flitting your staff around like you don’t know what you’re doing, as you did on our trip.”

Aurora frowns. Her heart races. “I don’t--”

“Yes you do, Aurora. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Please, promise me you will help us.”

Aurora doesn't know what to do. She trembles in his hands. If she does what he asks everyone will know, and she may never be safe again. If she doesn’t, and Corypheus wins, Thedas is over. Conflicted is an understatement for how she feels. She wishes Greagior and Irving were here. They taught her to hide and control her power… they would know what to do now. They would protect her. Her heart aches at the thought.

The only men she’s ever trusted with her secret are dead.

“Aurora, please,” Dorian pleads again, she’s been staring at him in fear for too long.

“I… I… I... will try,” she laments. That is at least close to what he wants to hear, and he pulls her into his arms. Whether or not she means her words matters not at this moment. She can't allow Thedas to fall to Corypheus, but she needs to keep herself in check, too.

“I suppose that’s all I can ask.” He leans back, looking into her eyes but still holding her. His curled mustache twitches and his eye sparkle with a smile. “You know, for all you have against Tevinter, they would at least celebrate you rather than making you feel like you had to hide who you actually are.” Aurora tips her head and sighs. “I know, I know. Ewww, Vints .” He releases her and guides her out of the look-out tower. “Come. Let’s go see if that elf has found anything decent to drink. I really do have a headache, you know.”

[mllemaenad]

Vivienne says herself that not every Circle experience is the same and thus admits her """"privilege"""" as... a mage... and a black woman (shown in a banter with Cole, there is indeed colorism in at least Orlais) caught in the same system... as everyone else... why does everyone say that her being successful in a systematically oppressive environment make her a bad guy. I love your analysis stuff but don't be That Guy

... I ... well, look. I’m sorry if I have said something offensive. I am capable of it, I know.

But ... I don’t think she’s ‘a bad guy’, any more than I think that of the Iron Bull or Dorian. I am disappointed in a great many of Bioware’s writing choices in Inquisition, and I include some of Vivienne’s story in that disappointment.

I mean, let’s be clear here: Vivienne is amazing. She got out. She got herself right the fuck out of that Circle and all the way to the Orlesian court. She’s a candidate for the role of Divine, despite being a mage. A breaker of boundaries, a long-term survivor – indeed winner of the Game – and one of the few mages in southern Thedas to have actual combat training.

Vivienne can be kind to those she likes and respects, and give solid advice in a crisis, she can play high politics and dirty tricks with the same aplomb, she is fierce in battle and deadly at court.

She is an incredible and accomplished woman.

But do I think she admits and understands the full extent of her privilege? No. Further, I think much of what she learned in the Orlesian court was actively harmful and wrong. Orlais is a cruel and vicious place. It is bigoted, violent and awful, and has strong prejudices against mages, elves, non-Andrastians and foreigners of all descriptions – I doubt I can begin to imagine the slurs and insults they’d have for a woman of Rivaini heritage. I daresay Cole barely scratches the surface.

Mages rise quickly in the new Circle, having more freedom and responsibility than ever before - even if all true power lies with her.

Epilogue – Inquisition

That’s Vivienne’s ending slide if you make her Divine, and it makes me so sad. It makes sense, of course, that she would do these things. In Orlais self-interest is all. You’re a fool if you don’t accrue as much power as you can, because you can’t trust anyone but yourself. And of course she treats her fellow mages well: she is absolutely not a villain.

But – oh, Vivienne, Vivienne, what have you done? You brought the mages back to the Circles, and you placed the Divine over them with absolute power. I trust you not to go around butchering them or making them Tranquil; of course I do. But your successor? Or the one who comes after her? Them I do not trust. They’re not going to stop hating mages in Orlais because one sits on the Sunburst Throne. Orlais being ... Orlais, they may well hate them more. You’ve given your successor a weapon, Vivienne, and it’s pointed right at the mages’ throats.

And you did it because you only know Orlais and the Game. Because you don’t much like things outside of it. And – and this part isn’t your fault – because they gave you so little opportunity to learn.

They silenced Fiona, you see. They took the quest for the mage rebellion and flung it into the future, into a world that has so little to do with their struggles. All those voices that cried out in the earlier games and the novels – they shut them up nicely.

Solas speaks in favour of the rebellion, a bit, but he is fundamentally outside it. He favours the rebellion of slaves in general rather than this one specifically. He can’t talk about it like someone on the inside could.

Why is Fiona – elven woman, mage, former slave – standing meekly in the library instead of right up in your face, arguing. I would pay to see your duel of words: I may think Fiona is right and you are wrong, but you’re both so damn smart and brave and interesting, it would be worth it just to watch the fight.

Why doesn’t In Hushed Whispers put you in with the rebellion, withstanding a Templar siege, allowing the rebels to be courageous and desperate and afraid instead of just – giving you a couple of discontented voices in a pub? Why can’t Vivienne walk into the heart of that with you, and hear what they have to say?

I don’t think she fully appreciates how much suffering she escaped – or indeed, how much harm the Circle did to her, and how much harm it will continue to do, if she restores it.

Vivienne: You must see the value in restoring the circles, Cassandra.

Cassandra: Provided they fulfill their purpose. Too many have suffered since the mage rebellion began, but we cannot ignore the abuses that prompted it. Without change, we risk repeating the events at Kirkwall.

Vivienne: Or recreating its opposite. An overly lenient circle is a comparable threat. Kirkwall is lamentable, but it was the misuse of power, not restrictions, that led to the first Blight.

– Vivienne Dialogue

They could have sent you to Kirkwall, Vivienne. They could have done it to you when you were ten years old, too young to know how to stop them. Of course you acknowledge that what happened in Kirkwall was an abuse of power: you’re neither a fool nor a monster. But the person who sent you wouldn’t have been abusing power. You’d have been nothing more than part of a quota. It’s their job to shuffle mages around: alleviate overcrowding here, supplement some talent there. That’s the Circle: guardians of mages, treating them like children and packing them off to places for ‘their own good’.

They’d have made you Tranquil, Vivienne. Or they’d have snuffed out your life in some dark corner. Because you don’t know how to be mediocre. It would destroy you to pretend to be just average at magic, to sit in your cell and do nothing, and make sure never to draw attention to yourself.

The Circle has killed so many people, Vivienne, only through not caring what they wanted. Why can’t Hawke tell you that, Vivienne? Why can’t a pro-mage Hawke howl their outrage at this? You could be Karl Thekla, Vivienne, if your luck had been a little different, and Hawke would know that.

Cassandra: You would prefer to have the templars return to guarding the circles, Vivienne?

Vivienne: Of course, my dear. They need better oversight, clearly, but one does not throw away a tool because it was misused.

Cassandra: Few mages would ask for templars in the circle.

Vivienne: Speak to Ferelden's first enchanter. You might be surprised. When abominations ravaged your tower, suddenly the world holds far too few templars.

– Vivienne Dialogue 

Did you ask him, Vivienne? Or did you just believe what the Chantry said about that little incident? I can only think the latter, because First Enchanter Irving could have told you that the Templars just ran away from trouble. They locked all the mages in with the demons, Vivienne, even the children, and they plotted to murder them all. Think of that, Vivienne: I know demons frighten you. The Templars would have had no qualms about letting them rip out your heart.

It was mages who saved the day, Vivienne. It was Wynne who protected survivors, and then fought her way to the top of the tower to free her fellows. It was Niall who got the Litany of Adralla. Maybe the Hero of Ferelden was a mage too. And Irving and his people – so many of them resisted torture that they could still make up an army to fight the Archdemon. And they did that, too.

Why can’t Leliana tell you that, Vivienne? She was there. She favoured helping the mages. She could tell you who was better at fighting demons; who was brave enough to face them down and win.

Inquisitor: Cole, Vivienne doesn't want to talk right now.

Cole: She's afraid!

Cole: Everything bright, roar of anger as the demon rears. No, I will not fall. No one will control me ever again.

Cole: Flash of white as the world comes back. Shaking, hollow, Harrowed, but smiling at templars to show them I'm me.

Cole: I am not like that. I can protect you. If templars come for you, I will kill them.

Vivienne: Delightful.

– Vivienne Dialogue

The Circle did that to you, Vivienne. It forced you to fight a demon, it made you smile at the Templars who dragged you in there because they’d kill you if you didn’t. And it’s left you so scared. You’re scared of Cole; you’re scared of any spirit. You do care about him: you’re more than smart enough to see past the horrors of your training, to realise he’s a person and worry about him. But you’ll likely never kill that fear, Vivienne. And they’ll do it to more mages, Vivienne. Some of them will die, and some of them will be left as scared as you. They do it to spirits, too: every bit of misinformation, every bungled summoning, every spirit dragged into the world against its will and turned into a demon – because the Chantry thinks it knows about spirits when it bloody doesn’t.

You could listen to the Avvar, Vivienne, or we could go to Rivain. You could talk about it with Dorian, when the pair of you have finished snarking. You could listen to a Dalish Inquisitor. We could find ways to show you that it needn’t be this way, if only the opportunities were there.

I don’t want to destroy Vivienne, or make her less than she is. I want her to keep on being awesome, and being a candidate for Divine. I just want the game to engage with some of the points it brings up, instead of just letting it sit there.

What I wrote about her was one line in a post that was otherwise about the Iron Bull. I referenced Cassandra, Dorian and Cullen in the same paragraph, precisely because Vivienne is often singled out and I don’t think that’s fair because the problem is not with her, but rather with the game’s writing in general. It was meant to point out that most of the characters have this problem: they are dangerously wrong on some point, favouring oppressive systems or bigotry, and the game does nothing with it at all – at best it lets the Inquisitor deliver an objection that is not in any sense ‘remembered’ by the game in later quests or dialogue.

But – that said, I am flawed, and I am more than capable of being wrong. I wrote all of this to explain my issues with the game in relation to Vivienne, as I did in relation to the Iron Bull before. I could write much the same thing for any character in Inquisition.

If you still think I’m being unfair to her, or prejudiced, then say so and I’ll simply apologise. I can remove the line from the earlier post, too, if you like.

[junker-town]

The year the Celtics became real

Even in defeat to a superior foe, Boston found a solid winning formula and built a foundation for its future.

For the past four years, the Boston Celtics have existed more in theory than reality. Whatever they accomplished was merely a prelude to a time when draft picks and free agents became tangible roster elements instead of dreamy fantasies. Hiding behind the space reserved in the rafters for Banner 18 is an existential quandary that has followed this team around all season: Does any of this really mean anything?

Here’s a test. If you were to ask a Celtics fan back in October if they would be happy with a 53-win season that ended in the conference finals they would say, “Yes. Obviously.” They would want details, of course, and most of the details have been positive.

Isaiah Thomas became an All-NBA player and top-10 finisher in the Most Valuable Player voting. Prized free agent big man Al Horford showed his worth in the postseason after a solid, if occasionally uneven, first season in Boston. Avery Bradley continued to improve as an offensive player and was a defensive monster in the playoffs. Jae Crowder posted career best marks in 3-point shooting, rebounding, and assists.

The young players also made contributions. Marcus Smart did so many Smartian things that he became became an impactful player in the league even without a reliable jump shot. Second-year man Terry Rozier showed remarkable flashes of speed and power, becoming one of the best rebounding guards in the league, albeit in a limited role. Rookie Jaylen Brown offered glimpses of a ceiling many thought was beyond him when he was drafted, and pushed through the rookie wall to earn significant playoff minutes.

There were things the Celtics did well, and things that needed improvement, such as their wandering defensive intensity during stretches of the season. There were also fatal flaws, namely an inability to control the defensive boards and generate consistent offense without Thomas.

Still, there was much to appreciate about the Celtics’ season and that’s before we get to the first overall pick they won in the lottery via the legendary Brooklyn trade.

Taking all those factors together, there is no logical way to argue that this has been anything but a smashing success.

And yet, the C’s were overwhelmed in the conference finals by LeBron James and the Cavaliers in five games that included three losses on their home floor by an astonishing total of 90 points. They tested the limits of their abilities and it turned out to be exactly where everyone thought it was.

“We had a great year,” Brad Stevens said. “In some ways, we made a run at it. We made progress, but not good enough. And you know, I've said this before, if you coach in Boston, good enough is what matters.”

If LeBron and the Cavs are the measuring stick, then the Celtics failed their final test, just as Atlanta, Toronto, and so many others have before them. There is surely a case to be made that the only thing that matters is winning championships and everything else (even the super-fun stuff) is just for show. But that’s only half right.

“I don't have any objectives other than winning the whole thing,” Stevens said. “To me, that's the only goal you shoot for because then if you don't, if you put your goals lower, then you create a ceiling for your team, and I don't think that's fair to your team.”

Fair, but there is space between the good and bad when judging a season in full. This is the territory that Stevens works as a coach and this is where we really should examine their season.

After they beat the Wizards in seven games, I tried to get Stevens to bite on a big-picture question. He wasn’t having it. With Stevens, there are no mystical forces at work and the Basketball Gods find no favor here.

When I joked with him later that my goal in the playoffs is to get him to be introspective, Stevens casually replied that he has certain principles and he lives his life by those credos. The critical validation that comes with winning a couple of playoff series isn’t important to him.

Ken Blaze-USA TODAY Sports

Stevens’ principles involve simple things like honesty and clarity. They also work on deeper levels, such as his belief in the ability to evolve and improve every day through practice and experience. That’s where the interesting stuff takes place. Get at that and you can understand what makes Stevens a good coach and what truly characterizes this team.

That Stevens is good at what he does is no great revelation. It’s obvious to even casual fans that he draws up super-neato plays out of timeouts that lend themselves to Zapruder-like breakdowns the next day. (The weakside screen is back and to the left.)

Yet, the X’s and O’s are merely the textures on the canvas that make the painting come alive. The broader outlines of the portrait take a bit longer to come into focus but are no less illuminating. This is the light they need to be viewed in at the moment.

In full view, the Celtics displayed an admirable feistiness that played well in Boston (as it would everywhere), and that quality defined them across the league. Coaches worried about getting run out of the Garden and opponents respected them because they’re a pain to play against. Whether they feared them is another matter.

Even the Celtics’ most ardent detractors gave them nods of grudging respect, while hoping they get put back in their place by better teams. Including the postseason, they were 2-7 against the Cavs and 19-16 against the rest of the East playoff field, which was hardly the stuff of dominance.

They did, however, beat every team in the league at least once except San Antonio, Oklahoma City, and (oddly) Denver. So, while they sometimes overmatched, they were usually competitive. You can’t win 53 games by accident.

That secured the top seed in the East and it was a weird achievement. They had their chance to take control of the race late in the season and were blown out by the very Cavaliers who gifted them the top spot with their lethargic disinterest down the stretch. That left the Celtics in the awkward position of defending their regular season status while needing to prove themselves worthy in the postseason.

What happened during the playoffs was validation, to a point. The Chicago series was harder than it should have been, and the C’s were fortunate that Rajon Rondo was injured during Game 2. When the Bulls took the fight to them, however, they responded. Bradley and Smart stood toe-to-toe with Jimmy Butler and Dwyane Wade and they ripped off four straight wins.

The Celtics then went seven frantic games with the Wizards, which seemed right. The C’s rallied to win games at home, while the Wiz won convincingly on their floor. There was a draining closeout attempt in Game 6 that ended in a crushing defeat, but they persevered in a memorable Game 7 performance.

It was a great series, arguably the best of the entire postseason, and either team could have won. The Wizards have been proclaiming themselves superior ever since, but that’s a hollow boast. Expectations may be graded on a curve, but wins and losses are not.

Ken Blaze-USA TODAY Sports

Again there were positive individual signs. Horford came through like the max free agent he is with brilliant all-around performances. Even Kelly Olynyk -- long the most beleaguered member of the team by the home fans -- had his turn as a cult favorite and Game 7 hero.

Equally important was the play of Isaiah Thomas. Many people went into that series believing that John Wall was the best player on the court and while he often was, Thomas matched his best moments and even surpassed them.

The debate over whether Thomas is a great player or just a small guy doing amazing things will rage forever and it may ultimately define their future course. During the 2016-17 season, however, Thomas was a marvel to watch and one of the single best things about the NBA experience.

His postseason run has to be viewed as the culmination of that incredible star trip. That he persevered through personal tragedy and injury to deliver heroic performances when many wondered how effective he’d be during the postseason is now the stuff of legend.

Getting past the Bulls and Wizards were notable achievements and that’s where things stood heading into the conference finals. Even with homecourt advantage, no one seriously gave them a chance to beat Cleveland and they didn’t come close.

They were blown out and embarrassed at home in the first two games, losing Thomas to a hip injury in the process. Coming back to win Game 3 in Cleveland was astonishing and an immense credit to their character. They had a shot in Game 4, but had no answer for the individual brilliance of LeBron and Kyrie Irving.

Back home at the Garden for Game 5, their closeout game had all the intensity of a regular season blowout in December. That left a bitter taste to an otherwise fine season and all of that brings us right back to the beginning.

They will try to get a star in the draft and maybe even one during the summer. There will be roster decisions that will bring clarity to their ultimate direction. The Celtics will keep evolving because they have to if they want to truly be among the elite. This season needs to be viewed in that context, as a bridge to another destination.

This was the season when the Celtics went from a hypothetical entity to team of significance and it must also be said that the journey was a helluva lot of fun. They reached their potential and even if it left them wanting more, it’s hard to ask for much more than that from an NBA season.

[darkhymns-fic]

The Stars Pull Us Together

Having recently transferred to Luin Academy, Colette prepares to start on one of her first assignments - which she needs to use the school's own observatory for.

She didn't expect to literally run into Lloyd on the way.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: For Colloyd Week, Day 4: Stargazing! Because I need to write at least one modern au fic of them.

--

It was still early evening when Colette arrived at the observatory, the sun just teetering at the edge of the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink. There were only two of the dome structures, a bit smaller than she expected, just off to the side of the campus grounds and overlooking the undulating hills that made up the Asgard terrain. The autumn season made the air brisk, the wind slightly strong as it tugged at her hair. She had to hug her books close, hunch her shoulders just to withstand the sudden cold.

I just need to get inside, she told herself, feet crunching against the gravel. A hand reached out to the door handle of the first observatory, pulled on it and… found it stuck? Oh…

It took Colette a good minute to realize that this was the wrong observatory anyway, once she saw the construction sign to the left of her, half-hidden in the shadows. Slightly embarrassed, but at least relieved that no one was around to see her blunder, she then walked to the second observatory.

She sensed there was something different here, until she noticed the rows of potted plants that lined the steps and small ledge that circled around the building, from small ficuses to even a charming aloe vera. It was a pleasant spot of greenery over the stark whiteness of the observatory’s walls. There were no construction signs here – unless you counted the little greeting by the small steps (with a small cactus plant placed next to it) that said, ‘Welcome to the Luin observatory! Please watch your step!!!’ The letters looked to be handwritten, and Colette couldn’t help but draw her attention to it, marveling a bit at the multiple exclamation marks…

And by looking at it, she didn’t watch her step at all.

Colette flailed, and by doing so, she had let go of her books to fall to the ground. She was about to crash headfirst into the door until it suddenly opened inward, along with a shout of, “Whoa what-!?”

So she wasn’t the only one at the observatory tonight. 

Papers falling around them like lost wings, a groan beneath her chin, and Colette was ready to faint from the shame of not only falling down, but bringing another person down with her… “Ah… I’m so sorry…” she voiced, blinking open her eyes to find herself inside the observatory now. It was mostly bare except for a few laptops on a nearby desk, a coffee maker to the side, and of course, the great telescope that was in the middle, its end pointing upwards to a currently shuttered roof.

Another groan. “S’okay… I kinda walked into that one anyway.”

The voice was familiar to her. Colette looked to see a guy half-seated, one hand planted against the floor. His plaid jacket caught her eyes on the rich redness of the fabric, reminding her suddenly of winter flurries that would freeze her cheeks, and summer storms that always came by so fast, and how he would try to shield her with a broken umbrella… “Wait, Lloyd?”

He blinked, looking so confused for a moment that she wondered if she was mistaken. But the tousle of brown hair on his head, going off in different directions, told her otherwise. “Hold on a sec… Colette! It’s you!”

“Y-yeah!” When he smiled, she was brought back to the boy with the scuffed sneakers, whose home she’d visit that was off the road, overrun by bramble on the way. “I haven’t seen you since we graduated.”

“Right, like that was what, three years ago?” Lloyd mused on that as he tried to shift upwards, and then couldn’t with Colette still half on him. “Um.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She giggled as she hurriedly got to her feet, trying very hard to not slip and fall again. She inwardly winced at her laugh, that nervous tic that she could never get rid of, even now. “Guess I’m still a klutz.”

“Don’t worry about it… It’s good, because I’m still catching you!” He laughed too, and the sound brought back even more memories out on the grass, with the sky stretching overhead that, for a brief moment, she was lost in it.

Lloyd looked older, now that she got a better look at him when she wasn’t at a tilt anymore. There was only the hint of a stubble at his chin, but his hair had grown out more, even as it made the same waves that she remembered back from childhood. He wore similar clothes from high school still, with his plaid jackets, his frayed jeans, and his work boots. It was so familiar, that she wondered if maybe they had never separated at all.

“…Colette, you alright?” Lloyd asked her, in a tone that felt comforting all at once. “You didn’t really hit your head, did you…?”

“Ah, no no, don’t worry! I’m still just… surprised to see you!” Her hands clasped each other as she looked up at him, noticing the few inches he had gained in height now. “Does this mean you go to Luin Academy too?”

“Oh, well… about that…” Lloyd’s gaze shifted to the side, and she thought she caught something pass in his expression – that is, until a flying piece of paper smacked him right in the face. “Ack!”

“Oh no, I forgot!”

After a hectic dash of Lloyd and Colette trying to grasp the sheets that had escaped her textbooks, some of them flying far back outside to the second observatory, eventually they’d gotten them all. Or, Colette hoped they did. But at the end, she was shivering and felt a little winded from chasing about various articles that her professor had given her all over the grounds.

“It’s seriously cold out. You don’t have a jacket with you?” Lloyd had latched shut the metal door, leaving them both in the observatory that was basically one mid-sized room with a giant telescope in the middle. Colette noted the metal staircase on the side, leading to the curved ceiling and any other mechanisms that she missed. There was even more of an assortment of plants here, some set nearer the ceiling while others were at the table she sat at. There was the soft hum of a laptop next to her, which she carefully placed her books near. Lloyd was already brewing up coffee, the scent quickly filling the air.

“I didn’t think I’d need it.” Colette shivered in her blouse. Though long-sleeved, the material was still light. She gratefully took the warm mug he handed to her, heating up her palms. “It gets even colder out here than back at home.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Lloyd took a seat next to her easily. “I can give you one of mine if you want.”

“I’m sure I still have the last one you gave me!” She laughed, making sure to swallow her sip of coffee before doing so. Not too hot, not too bitter. In fact, it had a sweetness to it – of vanilla creamer – and she was surprised he still remembered.

“That old thing?” Lloyd asked with such curiosity in his eyes that it made her smile even more. “It’s fine if you wanted to throw it away! Does it even still fit?”

“Yup! It fits me like a blanket still!” And it was true, that old spare jacket that Lloyd had once given her as a joke gift, but she had treasured it all the same. It wasn’t uncommon for her to wear it often when they went to school together, getting stares from other students, but neither caring at all.

She clutched the now half-full mug, looking at Lloyd with a bit of awe. He was holding his, its surface a bit more scratched, but fitting him oddly well. “You know, I thought you went to that other college?” he asked, scrunching his forehead as he tried to remember the name. “The…Spirit…something?”

“The Spiritua University,” Colette corrected kindly. “But, I was having trouble adjusting, so I transferred to Luin instead. Sorry, I think I forgot to tell you that in my last email.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Lloyd rushed a hand through his hair, grinning. “I kinda…forgot the password to that email anyway… Genis was supposed to make me another one but he’s been busy over at Palmacosta.”

“I haven’t talked to him much either.” It had been so many months without seeing her old friends – yet here was Lloyd before her, as if walking straight out of her memories.

Maybe she had been staring for too long – a nervous chuckle from Lloyd, the exact same tone that she remembered from years back. “It’s probably weird to just find me here, huh?”

Colette shook her head. “I don’t think that’s weird. I think it’s lucky that we’re able to find each other again.”

Lloyd visibly relaxed his shoulders. “Heh, you know, I think so too.”

She took her time studying him even more, from his more grown-out (but still messy) hair, to the way he sat on the plastic chair. The lights inside of the observatory were dim, just bright enough for reading, but not too much light pollution to make using the telescope difficult. It felt relaxing being in here, with him.

She remembered his words from earlier, then gently asked, “How come you are here though?”

It only took a moment longer before Lloyd explained himself. “Well… I did actually try to get into Luin. Did the application and everything. I think I wrote the longest essay of my life too. But… my grades really held me back anyway, I guess.”

Lloyd had still been undecided when she left for school back then. He would travel instead, he told her, or he’d take over Dirk’s specialty workshop. She’d never asked him if he’d wanted something else entirely. “I’m sorry.”

“You dork, you’re still apologizing for nothing after all this time?”

“I can’t help it!”

Another laugh, feeling as warm as the dim lights around them. “I don’t think I’m a good fit for it anyway.” Lloyd shrugged, but she saw the grin still on his face, boots tapping the floor in barely concealed excitement. “But you know? One of the teachers read my essay and contacted me! He…kinda kept talking about all the spelling mistakes and junk, until he told me about a side job I could do here. I wouldn’t have to be in classes but he said he’d teach me anyway.”

Even Colette was stunned at this random act of kindness from a stranger. “Really?

“Yeah! And, it definitely seemed a little weird that he just offered, but then I thought, why not? So that’s why I’m here!”

Curious on the story, and having her suspicions, she asked. “Who was the teacher that spoke to you?”

“Oh, it was…” Lloyd scrunched his forehead, but then his eyes lit up, remembering. “Kratos Aurion, I think. Maybe you know him? He really liked what I wrote.”

“He’s my astrophysics professor! I’m actually doing an assignment for his class.” Colette was slowly figuring out what he must have written. She gauged it from where they sat at, from the past nights they’d both lay on the grass of his backyard, matching patterns in the black as much as they could go. “You did always like the stars, didn’t you?”

The same smile she would sometimes think about before she slept beamed at her just then. “So do you. That’s why you’re here, right?”

She nodded, feeling more excited than before – or maybe it was just the caffeine in her system taking over. “And now you work at the Luin observatory. That’s great, Lloyd!”

“Yeah! But uh… I didn’t realize that you basically needed to know math to be an actual astronomer… So I just clean up things here and make sure stuff is working alright. It’s good enough!”

Colette giggled, looking around at the small room, neatly tidied up, just how much coffee he drank in here. “You even got some of your plants here too!”

“Hehe, well at least the ones that at least don’t need much sunlight. So no flowers or anything..”

So natural had they fallen into the rhythm of talking aimlessly like they used to, that Colette nearly forgot why she was here. It took the beeping of her phone alarm – to warn her of the small time window that she had – to jog her memory, as well as Lloyd’s.

“Oh shoot, sorry! You came here to use this thing, didn’t you?” Lloyd quickly got to his feet, downing the cup of coffee in one go, surprising Colette that he could do so while it was still fairly hot. “I may not be smart, but I’ve been learning how to operate these machines. It’s not too hard once you get the hang of it.”

“Ah, well, maybe then…” Colette went to grasp the papers, at the numbers she had written out hastily over the gridlines. “Professor Aurion gave me some coordinates to look up, can you use these?”

She suspected Lloyd wasn’t as bad at math as he claimed. Because when it came to something he really liked, he always did try his best. He looked at where she pointed, then gave her a thumbs up. “You got it.”

Luin’s observatory was a first for her, but she had used such things before. She gathered her notebook in her lap, looking over at the telescope that was bigger than most. It swiveled gently as she moved it to the right, checked over the viewing piece. It was well-maintained, which she had expected.

“Ready?” Lloyd called from the side, hands hovering near a panel.

“Ready!” she called back. Her hands turned the dial of the telescope, and then adjusted the contraption just a bit on its tripod so that it hit the exact angle for her. It was a tall piece of equipment, so she had to perch on a metal seat just underneath to view it properly.

Once the lights dimmed even lower, the ceiling of the dome shifted. She could see it rotate to the coordinates she had told Lloyd of. Another small shake, and then the middle shutter of the dome slowly panned open, revealing the now clear night sky, the blanket of stars up above.

Sometimes it was a gamble when the skies would be good for observing, especially during the cold seasons – but the cold season was also the best time to stargaze too. That was one thing that she remembered from back then.

And looking at the stars had always calmed her.

“Can you see through it okay?”

“Um, just a bit…” She tried to get more comfortable in her seat, but the metal of it was prodding her leg, and soon she knew she had edged out too far to nearly stumble off.

By then, she already felt hands on her shoulders, Lloyd quickly climbing up to join her in the observing seat. “Do you need me to be your seatbelt?”

Colette hoped her happiness didn’t show off too obviously, but his hands felt even stronger too now. “Hehe, maybe for a little while if you don’t mind it.”

She leaned back to the telescope and near the eyepiece, hands gently placed on the handles while she felt Lloyd nearby, keeping her steady.

The night was clear, and the coordinates Lloyd had set the observatory had been right. She didn’t have to get used to any haziness, or peer through a cloudy sky. The stars were so numerous, painted against greyscale, or an old film reel. But she found the cluster she had been looking for, and already set to write down her findings.

“Lloyd, you should see this too!”

“You sure? I’ve looked through it plenty of times this week.”

Colette shook her head, bringing Lloyd’s hands from her shoulders to the telescope. “I think you’ll like it.” She winked at him. “Besides, have you seen it from this spot?”

“Ya got me there.” And like an excited kid, which she had already suspected had never left him, he looked through it too, hands handling the telescope with care and precision. Colette craned her head to look past the instrument to the sky above. While specific nebulae and clusters were hidden from her, the stars to the naked eye were still spread out, like a trail through the dark.

“That’s awesome! That’s the Hercule something, right?”

“The Hercules cluster, yeah!”

It was and yet wasn’t like stargazing out in the fields, with just the crickets and the gentle breeze for ambience. A metal room instead of outdoors, (though the plants helped) and the sky partially blocked from the roof, but she still saw the same light in Lloyd’s eyes – always whenever he would look up at the starry skies.

“So, what did Kratos wanted you to do for this?”

She tilted her head. “You know, it was kind of strange but… he just said I should count the stars here.”

Lloyd turned to her in disbelief. “Huh? Wait… all of these stars? There’s too many! And just plain impossible!”

“He said that too! That an average human lifespan isn’t enough to count every single one…not to mention new ones appear while others fade away.” She tapped her pen against the paper, feeling a smile curve her lips. “But he said we should try anyway.”

“Man… this guy’s weird.”

“Hehe. But he’s very kind. Don’t you think?” Colette took Lloyd’s hand, held it like it was second-nature. “I told him about Iselia. I wonder if he figured out that we knew each other.”

“Huh.” Lloyd gripped her hand back, still half perched on the side of the observing seat, not at all mindful to the height. “He could’ve just asked one of us.”

Colette, feeling more confident then she had in years, scooted a bit from her seat and gestured for Lloyd to come near. “There’s room for both of us here! Maybe if we counted together, we could get it all.”

Lloyd barely hesitated, sitting next to her in only a somewhat tight fit. But she didn’t mind the feel of his jeans pressed against her leg, the scent of him comforting in its familiarity. “I bet I could count more! Though, can we even share the telescope between us?”

“Hmm…we can take turns!” And even as they did at first, giggling as both tried to take their stay at the eyepiece for longer, they eventually leaned back to watch the stars through the open shutter, clear from light pollution and misty clouds.

She had always liked the stars too, she thought, with Lloyd leaning against her shoulder, eyes bright as the night continued, way past the closing hours for the observatory. But now, she knew the exact reason why.

[flauntpage]

Dear Boston Celtics, Don’t Even Think of Trading That Draft Pick

Four years ago, the Boston Celtics won 25 games. They had the fifth-worst point differential in the NBA, and Jeff Green was their leading scorer.

Today, they're the youngest one-seed in 40 years, an Eastern Conference finalist, and now, thanks to one of the most lopsided trades in NBA history, official owners of the first overall pick in the 2017 NBA draft.

Rather than retrace the steps Boston's front office took to get here, let's just say that it's an abnormally charmed story, one that reads more like a fairytale for Celtics fans. While it's true they've been blessed with several pinches of good luck, they also didn't cut corners on their way from the bottom of the league to the Eastern Conference finals, repeatedly refusing to forfeit valuable future assets or continuity in favor of an ostensible short-term upgrade.

Now the Celtics are at a crossroads: either continue on that slow and steady path by keeping their pick and selecting their next franchise player, or trade it for an established star to make an immediate full-blown run for the title. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Boston. The lottery was designed to provide hope for the league's most dejected teams. It's not here to supplement a conference finalist with the most attractive asset in professional sports.

"I think the top of the draft isn't as obvious as some [years], and it's more obvious than others," Boston's President of Basketball Operations Danny Ainge told reporters on Tuesday night. "But I think that it's going to be a tough choice for us where we sit at No. 1."

All drafts are a crapshoot, at least to some degree, but the odds would be in Boston's favor to add a potentially transformative talent to the team. Here are the first overall picks since 2008: Derrick Rose, Blake Griffin, John Wall, Kyrie Irving, Anthony Davis, Anthony Bennett, Andrew Wiggins, and Karl-Anthony Towns. Not a bad club.

If the Celtics keep the pick, they have a few options. Lonzo Ball floats around the court with transcendent selflessness, and it's scary to picture a Josh Jackson/Jaylen Brown tandem terrorizing opposing wings for the next ten years. But more likely than not, Ainge's eyes won't stray too far from Markelle Fultz.

Fultz would likely be Boston's pick. Photo by Ron Chenoy-USA TODAY Sports

The 19-year-old, 6'4" combo guard averaged 23.2 points, 5.9 assists, and 5.7 rebounds during his freshman year at the University of Washington. Fultz's physical makeup was NBA-ready yesterday; with a wingspan measuring 6'10'', he's built to handle himself on the defensive end, and he's strong enough to finish through contact. He's also a cloud-hopping acrobat with tremendous vision and patience who could probably commandeer pick-and-rolls with his eyes closed if it were necessary. He finished college with the highest PER in his conference, and shot 41.3 percent from beyond the arc and 50.2 percent inside it.

"Perennial All-Star" might as well be tattooed across Fultz's forehead, which makes some of Boston's other looming personnel decisions just a bit easier to swallow than they'd otherwise be. If the Celtics want to sign Gordon Hayward or Blake Griffin this summer—and they do—that max contract plus the first overall pick's cap hold means that a few players on this year's 53-win team will need to become sacrificial lambs.

Photo by Gary A. Vasquez - USA Today Sports

Nearly all of Boston's free agents—Amir Johnson, Jonas Jerebko, Tyler Zeller, Gerald Green—are as good as gone, but even that won't shed enough salary from the payroll. If the Celtics take Fultz, the most obvious places to cut would be at his position, which means looking at Isaiah Thomas, Marcus Smart, and Avery Bradley.

Smart isn't going anywhere. He's 23 years old and already an elite perimeter defender who oscillates between an ox and a cheetah—he's immovable in the post and can slide step for step with any primary ball-handler in the league. His shot remains a question mark, but there's reason to believe that will improve from below average to acceptable by the time Boston is smack dab within its window to seriously contend for a title.

Smart may never finish at the rim or draw fouls like the league's great scorers do, but his playmaking skills and two-way versatility make him a critical cog in Boston's present and future. Nobody plays harder.

Thomas, the best and oldest of the three, also stays. A free agent in 2018, he's more than deserving of a max contract; at the same time, he will be 30 years old in the first season of his next deal. A lot can change between now and July 2018, but given his reliance on speed in space and athletic bursts at the rim, paying Thomas $179 million over five years is a risky commitment. If the Celtics can negotiate a slight hometown discount over the contract's life, or even a four-year max with a player option in the final season, the situation becomes a bit more tenable.

That leaves Bradley, and, well, trading him won't be easy, but doing so could potentially allow Boston to retain Kelly Olynyk and Terry Rozier (assuming Guerschon Yabusele either stays overseas or is traded), and bring in a star like Hayward or Griffin. Bradley's tenacious on-ball defense has real value around the league, and with the Celtics backcourt as crowded as it will be, dealing him for future assets is the logical option.

Drafting Fultz doesn't automatically mean Bradley is gone. If Hayward stays with the Utah Jazz and Griffin re-signs with the Los Angeles Clippers, the Celtics can roll this current roster back and use their cap space on a lesser-but-still-helpful player like Andre Iguodala, Patrick Patterson, C.J. Miles, or Taj Gibson.

If Hayward wants in, however, Bradley is out the door. That call won't be fun for Boston's front office, but it will be necessary if the Celtics want to dethrone 33-year-old LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers. Boston will be even better the following season, with Jaylen Brown, Rozier, Smart, Ante Zizic, and Fultz all evolving as Thomas and big man Al Horford begin to decline.

Fultz and Thomas should be able to co-exist. The rookie would probably start off as a backup ball-handler who gets to run the second unit, learn the NBA game inside young, ultra-athletic lineups, and also spend plenty of time alongside the starters. Even if Hayward doesn't come aboard, Fultz's development as a reliable playmaker will reduce Thomas's usage rate and lessen his burden as the years go by. As he journeys toward the other side of 30, there's a good chance Thomas will be even more efficient against defenses that aren't able to load up with double or triple teams.

Photo by Bob DeChiara - USA TODAY Sports

And with Olynyk and Horford still around (potentially), IT will have complementary bigs who space the floor and make his life so much easier in ways that don't directly show up on a stat sheet. But before we get too deep into the weeds, it's worth considering another route the Celtics will surely consider: trade the pick.

This is a popular move that doubles as borderline irresponsible. In Boston, the first overall pick will have no immediate pressure to become the face of the franchise. He can comfortably work on his game within a defined role that expands as he develops and as the organization needs it to.

In other words, the first pick is always valuable, but for the Celtics in particular, it's mega-ridiculously important, the key to unlocking another decade of top-tier basketball even as they already sit a few feet away from the NBA summit. It's tempting to swap a mysterious 19-year-old for an established star like Jimmy Butler or Paul George, but doing so would narrow the window Boston has to contend while the Golden State Warriors and Cleveland Cavaliers are still favorites to win it all.

The Celtics also wouldn't be able to afford Hayward or Griffin in free agency and, depending on who or what else is involved in the transaction, they may lose some of the depth and continuity that makes them so formidable.

As if the first overall pick in the 2017 draft isn't enough to set themselves up for a fortunate future without making any trades, Boston also owns Brooklyn's first-round pick in 2018, protected picks from the Los Angeles Clippers and Memphis Grizzlies in 2019 (the latter of which becomes unprotected in 2021), and all their own selections.

Swinging for the fences sounds like a really fun idea, but there's no need to do it when the bases are loaded and the pitcher's high. The Celtics built their last title-winning team with a blockbuster trade, but that core only raised one banner and had a clock ticking overhead the entire time. Hold on to Fultz, and Boston may successfully compete at the highest level for a much longer time.

They're set up to contend now and in a future post-Thomas/Horford world, when Fultz, Brown, Smart, and whatever comes of the 2018 Nets pick are all in their prime or close to it. Boston has some hurdles to clear in the next 15 months, but almost every other team in the league would be overjoyed to be in their lane.

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Dear Boston Celtics, Don’t Even Think of Trading That Draft Pick published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[darkhymns-fic]

On Slumbering Hills

Colette sometimes dreams of her death.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: A lot of this was inspired by a piece of fanart that's sadly not up anymore; it was a monochrome drawing of Colette with her eyes closed and being held close by Lloyd, his face just hidden out of view. What I loved about it was how it focused on Colette and that in a world of darkness all around, only Lloyd was with her.

--

Colette sometimes dreams of her death.

It’s been fed to her since she was only ten, all in easy terms, all in the most unfrightening ways that the priests, her grandmother, and her father could ever do. It will be just like sleeping, they had told her. You will close your eyes and give yourself to the goddess, and it will be a wonderful dream for everyone.

Colette would always have trouble getting to sleep. Hours would pass, the air so quiet and thick around her, as the house floors would creak from nothing. It made her shake sometimes, feeling sleep try to take her, while always a part of her wanted to refuse.

So when she finally does, when she can’t fight the feeling anymore, she would dream of the dark, and usually nothing else. Sometimes, there would be long, arching shadows, and of night skies that spilled out only black, the stars long gone away. But most of the time, it was a nothingness that stretched out long before her.

She knew this is what her death will be like.

Every night, she would go to bed, shut her eyes, and wait for the cold hands to hold her close. It would be slow, all-encompassing, but inevitable. She would fall into the ocean of black and slowly drown, for the good of the world. These were not nightmares. These were just visions of what it would be like for her. For a Chosen, there was nothing more important than her sacrifice.

She would wake up, feeling more tired than she ever had.

Her sleep was never comfortable, never inviting, but cold and deep. It was for the good of the world.

--

As she grew older, she heard about the other children having sleep-overs with their friends, and it had sounded so nice to her. She had asked, and asked, and asked. But her grandmother had refused, even though she had looked so sad doing so. The Chosen needed to be safe in her room, sequestered at night within the village. Until her journey. Only then could she see the world, dream her final dream for everyone to share.

She couldn’t risk losing that dream, could she?

So once, when she and Lloyd had decided to nap on the grassy hillside, she felt it was something she couldn’t tell her grandmother, even though the guilt was something she could not understand.

“This is my favorite spot here!” he had announced so proudly, gesturing to a part of the slope where the stalks bent slightly, where the flowers gathered nearby, the golden petals reflecting the sunlight. Already at 12, he was proud of his wooden swords, sharpened to a blunt point. But they hung off his waist loosely from belts that were still a few sizes too big. “The sun feels warm but it doesn’t get in your eyes as much.”

Colette had only stumbled a few times when she came with him, the evidence of grass stains on her white dress. She watched as Lloyd fell against the grass, arms outstretched and smile so wide that she wondered if it hurt his cheeks to do so. But he only looked up at her, still smiling, and waving one arm near him.

“I’m not allowed to sleep outside,” she said in a whisper. I’m not allowed to sleep anywhere except at home. That and going to sleep was always a struggle, because she’d fall asleep and wonder if she would ever leave the hole of darkness she fell into.

“You don’t have to sleep! Laying down isn’t sleeping.” Though she could already see Lloyd’s eyes growing heavy, the sunlight, even at its angle through the branches of a large oak that stood atop of the hill, falling across his face.

“Oh! I guess you’re right.” So, with more ease, then she meant to, Colette went to Lloyd’s side, stumbling one last time before the soft earth caught her. Her hands pressed against warm soil and crisp grass, watching again how the light bounced across Lloyd’s hair.

“Like this?” she asked, mimicking his pose on the ground, arms stretched out, head raised to the clear sky overhead. It was just before noon, the sun only touching her face gently, across her cheek, at the edge of her mouth.

“Yeah! Told you this was a good spot.” His confidence was unbreakable, and once again Colette turned to see him, his eyelids half-lowered, but his smile still there.

She didn’t know when she fell asleep.

The grass beneath them was soft, the sun moving up so high that she had to shut her eyes tight so the light wouldn’t bleed through. The light did get in the eyes, but only now, only when they stayed past their time. Perhaps they had even just missed their class.

Yet she felt his warmth. His closeness. His touch. She felt his breath on her neck as she dreamed.

Once, she roused herself awake, and found Lloyd curled up on his side, hands close to her back, his mouth half-open in a snore. And she only saw him this way because she was close too, her own hands curled just near his own. It felt so much better to be close, so much safer to be close, and she drifted off to sleep again without the worries of nightfall.

Colette was not supposed to be a greedy person, not at all. The Chosen was selfless, thinking of others over her own well-being. But she was greedy to spend their afternoon together, asleep beneath the warm sun, over the earth of the world that she would one day save.

--

Colette would still try to sleep, feeling cold but remembering the warmth of the sun of that day. Her grandmother had clicked her tongue at her dirty dress, chastising her for playing in such a rough state, and Colette only nodded, obedient in not saying a thing. She didn’t want to reveal her secret.

Maybe to sleep doesn’t mean to die.

Ever since, she had tried to recapture that moment. She would sleep out in the backyard, eyes shut tight against the sun, hands clutching the grass. She would smell the potted flowers on the windowsills, the clean laundry that hung on the clothesline nearby. Yet still, she would wake up cold.

But Lloyd’s smile, whenever she went to school, whenever she would greet him at the town’s entrance as he rode on Noishe, would always leave her warm instead.

Maybe, she just couldn’t sleep alone.

--

It was at fourteen years old that she dared to sneak away and travel to Lloyd’s house, late at night, when the air was coldest and the sounds so deep within her ears. Even through winding trails, even through a thicket of trees that leaned so close to the ground to block her path, she had gone, never so awake before.

Lloyd had been surprised then to find her at his door. “Colette? What are you doing here?”

His dad, the gentle dwarf with the heavy beard and a smile so much like Lloyd’s own, had long gone to bed. But Lloyd had been awake, and how she had known he would be, even Colette wasn’t sure. He wore only a light shirt and pants, his hair disheveled, inviting hands to fix any stray locks that were out of place. She kept herself back, instead giving him a smile. “Um. I wanted to see you!” A pause. “And I.. I, um..”

Although, Lloyd hadn’t looked that awake himself, yawning a little and scratching at his shoulder. “Am I just.. dreaming?” A shiver, a brief gust of wind from outside. It tugged at her hair, made the trees rustle like soft murmuring. “Nah, it’s too cold.” He blinked. “Is everything okay?”

She looked down at the floor. The words left her before she could think. “Do you…ever have trouble sleeping?” And if he was here, having heard her knocks despite how faint they were….

“Huh? Kinda, yeah…” Lloyd yawned again, rubbing at his eyes. “I was going to try to eat something… but.. why travel all this way?” Then he seemed to wake up more. “Wait. You traveled through the forest? From Iselia? It’s dangerous to go around at night!”

Colette looked away even more. “But I’m okay! I’ve.. I’ve trained a lot, too.” A pause, a locking in her heart. “Just… it’s hard to sleep.”

It is always so hard to sleep.

There was worry on his face, but then he shook his head, and quickly brought her through the door. “Sorry, not thinking too good… you’ll get too cold out there.”

The house was quiet, but it was different from the quiet in her room. Not as deep, and the warmth from the metalsmithing forge in the corner still made the air so heated, now that the door was closed behind her. “You’re not sending me back?”

“No way! It’s the middle of the night…” Lloyd was slowly waking up, his worry rising more and more to the surface. It scared her sometimes, that worry of his, like she was doing something wrong. Usually she was, but his hand reached out for hers, holding on firmly. So easy he did that with her, like so much else. And that was what brought her here – that easy way of his that broke through shields.

“Did you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Colette kept her smile, knowing how useless it was. Here she was, on his doorstep late at night, and she acted like she had just found him at entrance to Iselia again. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

His hand on hers squeezed just a little tighter. “But…why come all the way out here because of that?”

How could she explain it? That soft darkness that always reached for her? That ever since the pastors told her of what would happen, that it had been harder to sleep? Harder to eat? That she thought she could hear every whisper from all in Iselia, their praises for the Chosen and the grave she would leave behind?

How had this feeling not faded, even years later?

“I don’t feel comfortable… I- I guess.” She could only say it quietly, as if worried the angels would hear, would judge her unworthy, and punish her by leaving their world to ruin. “And, I didn’t know where else to go.”

She expected Lloyd to keep pushing through. Sometimes he did that, with so many things he didn’t fully understand. The guilt was already rising in her again before she felt another squeeze on her hand.

“Colette, it’s okay.” And there it was, that smile that felt so warm, that lit up the shadows of her dreams. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect you here this late… but, you’re always welcome here!” Lloyd turned his head upwards, and she followed his gaze to the stairs that led to the second floor. “I think I have some extra pillows somewhere…”

She was speechless at first. “So, I can sleep here?”

Lloyd looked back at her, so bewildered. He laughed slightly. “Well, yeah! You can stay in my room. Kinda like a sleepover!” He yawned once more, the sound so loud it made her laugh a little in return. “Hey..” he said afterwards, though his smile stayed on. “But, as long as that’s okay with you. You can take the bed if you want.”

“Oh! But what about you?” she asked as he quickly led her up the stairs. The wood creaked underneath both their weight, the vines that streaked across the walls so clear to her even in the shadows that cloaked the house’s interior. She shyly reached out to brush her fingers along patterns of leaves, careful not to upturn or bend them in any way. The walls of her own home were bare, so intent on keeping the world firmly out.

“I can just sleep on the floor,” Lloyd said, and his voice was like something from a dream, especially within the dark. Except. The dark wasn’t cold or frightening. Because Lloyd was here and holding her hand, his voice calling out to her to keep her steady. She focused on that as they made their way to his room, on his form that guided her through the dark patches in her vision.

The floor creaked here too. The sound was like the boughs near her house, weighed down with the leaves, and the wind that blew relentlessly throughout the night. She saw the bed, the covers askew from his sleep, and wondered at her own intrusion.

His grip on her hand tightened once more, catching her attention. “Colette?” he asked. That worry again, hidden beneath the sleepiness in his voice. She wondered if that will ever leave him, once she is gone. She realized she hadn’t said anything for a while.

“Is it really okay?” she asked, and maybe a slip of something desperate snuck into her voice. She hadn’t meant to. But she was worried about what she will dream.

“Of course! I don’t mind you taking it. I can sleep anywhere, remember?” He grinned down at her, and sure enough, she couldn’t forget his occasional snores in the classroom, head on his desk, or simply even standing. It made her giggle, and he heard his chuckle skip along with hers.

She couldn’t forget him sleeping on the hillside next to her, his breath near her neck as they both laid in the sun.

“It must be really nice, to sleep like that.” She looked down, her eyes on the soft etchings on the floor, from Lloyd’s shoes, from Noishe’s claw marks as he must have scuttled into the room during stormy nights. “How come tonight you couldn’t?”

Maybe a note in confusion in his voice, still half-asleep. He had not let go of her hand yet. “I think I just had a weird dream.”

Is it the same as my own? she wanted to ask, but she was not sure he would understand.

The room was warm, yet the trees outside continued to shiver in the wind. Colette closed her eyes, while Lloyd stood beside her, waiting for her to take his offer. The bed is there, smaller than her own, and she found herself wanting to climb inside it and to be drifted away into his scent.

“Did you…want to sleep?” he finally asked, again the confusion. There was still an answer he was waiting for. But did she have an answer to give?

“Not by myself,” she said suddenly. She kept their hands locked, hoping he wouldn’t break the grip. “If that’s okay.”

By herself, she fell too easily into nothing. A wonderful dream for everyone, but what of herself?

It took a long time for Lloyd to say anything.

Colette replayed her own words in her head, ashamed at their childish nature. But then Lloyd brought her forward, interlocking their fingers. He sat on the bed with her, the sound of the rustling trees just outside his balcony.

He could see through her, even in his half-sleepy state. But she couldn’t explain this to him. This was the one barrier she could not let him move through. There are days when she is on the verge of tears, but she smiles as much as she can. Those are the days that Lloyd would pull her aside, and let her sob softly against his arm, even when he didn’t fully understand.

Colette had already given him too many hints as to what she would eventually become. Still, would he understand? She was afraid of that, more than she realized. She laid her head against his arm, hearing the even pace of his breathing. His heartbeat would have the same rhythm, if she was allowed to listen.

“I can’t sleep by myself,” she said again. She did not know if that was true. She had always slept by herself, but every night brought her shadows curling around her, made her see shapes in the walls and wonder if she will always be this scared when her time finally comes.

Lloyd didn’t speak anymore. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, hesitant at first, but brought her to him closer. His warmth was already enough to make her eyes heavy, to make her breathe slower. “Okay,” he said, voice low. Maybe he still thought he was in a dream of his own. “I’ll stay with you.” The bed creaked, the shadows closed in, but it was only the darkness of his shirt as she curled against his chest.

When you give yourself, it will be just like sleeping, they had said. So Colette closed her eyes, and went to sleep, and hoped that when she finally went to her fate, it would be just like this.

And maybe, wrapped in his arms, all safe and warm, she’d be lucky enough to not wake up.

[darkhymns-fic]

Separate

As Lloyd starts on his journey to look for the Cores, he finds it much harder than he anticipated. He's not used to traveling alone, without her voice by his side.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: G Mirror Links: AO3 Notes: It's Colloyd Day!! To celebrate, I wrote a collaborative fic with the wonderful writer, Lil-Samuu, with both of us writing different sides of the same story, hers from Colette's perspective and mine from Lloyd's. This was a fun idea for such a special day! 

For Lil-Samuu's Colette-focused story, please read it here. This is connected to Lloyd's story and works well when read together! @frayed-symphony also drew amazing art for both stories, be sure to check!

---

Lloyd had never been a very good writer.

That simple fact was told to him by Professor Sage whenever she had the chance to. Much of that was complimented by a frown, trying to read over an essay he turned in that very morning while he looked several different shades of guilty. Clearly littered with incomplete sentences, some of them including just the wrong words by nature, it was hard to parse whatever he was trying to say.

Not like he didn’t try, but his characters would get a little sloppy, or merge into one another and make little sense of the sentence he attempted. It wasn’t the same as drawing or making figurines. Those things interested him, feeling like he could create something out of nothing, or just try to mold an idea that he had been holding inside his head. Then it was easier, then it was interesting.

This, writing, just wasn’t interesting to him.

“Gah, why does this stupid stuff matter anyway?” Lloyd had argued, his temper getting the best of him. At 12, he couldn’t control the rawness of his frustration. Though he wouldn’t have much better luck a few years later. “If I want to talk about something, I should just be able to say it! Writing it down takes way longer.”

“There will be times when you can’t just say what’s on your mind at that moment,” his teacher had patiently explained. “It’s good to gather your thoughts and put them down for someone to read later. What if they can’t hear what you to say at that moment? What if it’s easier to say what you want on paper?”

“No way! If I have something to say, I’ll just say it!” Lloyd was proud of his stance on this, hands on his hips, head raised high. Not even his low marks for the day could drag his spirits down.

Until one night, when he had to write a letter for Colette.

Suddenly, he had a chaos of thoughts to say, but no way to say them out loud. And no more bravery to do so.

As he stayed up on the night he would leave her, Lloyd tried to write her a letter, until the picture was clear in his head.

---

Despite the strange warmth in the air, Lloyd had somehow still caught a cold.

“Ah-choo!” Lloyd sneezed a bit loudly. With a sigh, he wrapped his cloak around himself, trudging through the snows before finally seeing the city gates of Flanoir. The spires of its cathedral pierced through the dark night sky, which glittered with so many stars and the brightness of two moons.

“I’d count as many as I could before, when Kratos helped me. But now I can only count a few before my eyes get heavy. But it feels so nice to do so all the same.”

And she would say that with the brightest smile on her face – to be able to sleep again.

Lloyd had barely gotten a full night’s rest since he left Colette.

“Agh, don’t… think on that now. It’s not helping any.” He clamped down on his muttering, trying to keep his lips from getting chapped from the wind. Also, it was kinda weird talking to himself like this? He never used to do it this much, but it had always felt natural before to say whatever was on his mind, knowing someone was with him to hear it. Sometimes he’d listen to how Colette would do the same, pattering off the names of dogs she found, or talking about the shapes she saw up in the cloudy skies, and he’d drink in the sound of her voice.

Each night was quiet and empty without her.

Lloyd finally made it past Flanoir’s entrance, dimly annoyed at himself for landing his Rheiard a bit far off from the city. But it’d be dumb to just get the vehicle out from his wing pack, fly it for like a minute, and then get off again! Even though his walk had been an extra 15 minutes because of it, but Lloyd was stubborn like that.

He kept making dumb little mistakes like this lately. A wrong flight turn at Sybak, then leaving half of his Gald at one town accidentally… and now here at Flanoir…

Lloyd’s satchel that he carried over his shoulder was light; he’d gone through most of his food, sometimes snacking in the middle of the night when he could barely sleep. He kinda wished the blessing of Martel gave him better self-control… or the power to summon infinite food… or something else that was cool.

“The power to summon doggies! All kinds from around the world!”

“Heh, yeah. That would be pretty cool, wouldn’t it? Kinda like my Sorcerer’s Ring that one time!”

Lloyd blinked, stopping in the middle of the street when he realized. Oh, now he was making up conversations between them…

Martel had said her power would protect him from the mental effects of his mission, but he was clearly already losing it! Needing something to do with his hands, he looked through his satchel, trying to remember what he needed. More food definitely, maybe some mittens (he still had a few Penguinist’s Quills), a couple of Gels, but did he even have enough money…? He kept searching, assessing, his hand brushing against something familiar, making him stop.

He held out what he found, the sky feeling heavy, yet the weight in his palm so light. Red-dyed gloves imprinted against the white, the contrast so strong in his eyes still.

He was losing it, or… he just really, intensely missed Colette. He thought knowing that she was safe now would be enough but…

It had been only a week or so since Lloyd had left Colette – not bravely, not with an explanation of any sort even. The air had been familiar in that part of Sylvarant, just near Iselia. Maybe that was why he had chosen to go on that very night. Colette wouldn’t be far from the town; she’d go back to her home, to people that would be there for her, when he couldn’t be. She’d be able to have a normal life to herself again, one that was denied from her; from the world, and even from himself.

He had already involved her in one dangerous mission with him. He couldn’t put her in another. That was what he told himself – what he kept trying to tell himself.

Lloyd did wish he hadn’t left her completely alone though. He had tried sneaking away by himself, but Noishe, who had tagged along with them for most of the journey, soon caught wind of his movements. The only way to stop the dog’s whining was to take him along, at least far enough to Dirk’s home. Maybe Colette would stop by there…

Someone bumped against his shoulder, nearly making him trip. Oh. Yeah, he was still standing in the middle of the street like an idiot. Clearing his throat, he put back the weight he held into his satchel and moved away, the antiquated buildings – yet taller and sturdier than most buildings back in Sylvarant – giving him a nostalgic sense. The snow fell more gently here than outside the city walls, probably because those same walls buffered the wind, leaving more pleasant but still chilly weather.

…Actually, it was a bit warmer here too, even more than he expected. That’s weird… The cloak now felt a bit too suffocating this way. He had to loosen it from his neck, giving himself room to breathe.

Things in the world weren’t right, not completely. From changes in temperature to a certain taste in the air. That was why one night, Lloyd had heard Martel’s voice in his head, telling him what he needed to do. He was supposed to search for the Cores. But, in all honesty, Lloyd had no idea where to begin. He had just… somehow ended up here. In Flanoir.

That had been another mistake. Why did he travel to this place?

---

In the cozy warmth of his room, the metal fireplace insulating him well against the cold from outside, Lloyd had nearly fallen asleep on his feet until he heard a soft knocking on his door.

Usually, Lloyd would conk out like a log once entering an inn room. Just the sight of a bed invited him to just lay down and close his eyes right away. The pleasant heat of the entire inn already had him yawning and stretching, the snows from beyond the building muffling most sounds.

But this time he stayed up. He expected something. There had been so much in his head, the snow gently falling.

She didn’t even have to say anything until she opened the door, her hair so bright –

---

Lloyd found himself at the inn before he knew it.

“Oh,” he said aloud, looking around like a gaping fish. He had just completely blanked out on his walk to here. How’d that happen? He rubbed his scalp, thinking on it a bit too hard.

“Oh! You’re Lloyd Irving, aren’t you?”

Well, that got his attention. Lloyd turned to the front, finding a man around his age, waving to him.

“Yeah! I remember you! You and your friends would stay here all the time like a year back.”

“Uh! Y-yeah, hey!” Lloyd waved at him, walking to the front past some dining tables, his boots making the floorboards creak. He felt so bad not remembering this person’s name… He did recognize the face though. The guy had short cropped black hair, a ready smile on his face. He seemed pretty happy to see Lloyd?

“Are your friends going to come by too?”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just me this time around.” Saying that out loud suddenly felt weird, as if the reality of everything had just now sunk in. No, no, he had known that all along. He had just been trying to push it away in the back of his skull, that was all. “For a, uh… a quick visit!”

The man behind the counter continued to smile at him. So, was he the receptionist? The innkeeper? Maybe the cook that just happened to be out here while the real receptionist was on break? Colette would probably remember… At the least, she might have remembered his name. Having gone with Lloyd around the world to name every dog she met, she learned and memorized most people’s names they came across too.

And maybe she would remember this person, especially after her and Lloyd had been rejected by so many inns at so many places.

But she wasn’t here with him.

“I could tell it was you. No one else wears so much red around here!” The guy kept laughing and talking, but it was hard to pay attention. Things didn’t seem right, like Martel had told him. Things just weren’t right.

And it was up to him to fix it.

---

“Those with the blessing of Martel can weather the mental drain of the Cores. So only you can take this mission.”

Yuan had always been blunt and straight to the point. At least at this moment, Lloyd appreciated it. After some rough first impressions, both had started to trust one another. Especially with the presence of Martel binding them.

Still, he had to ask. “Why doesn’t that include Colette though?”

Yuan raised an eyebrow. It was strange not seeing him wear the dark cloak anymore, his clothes more casual, his eyes less hard and bitter. The tree behind him was still a small thing, a sapling with the first hint of greenery, leaves beginning to sprout forth. He couldn’t see Martel, but he could sense her – despite not knowing what exactly she thought of his question.

With Yuan, he could tell right away. “You’re thinking what I just asked was stupid, aren’t you?”

“Never said that.” Yuan frowned. “But why Colette specifically?”

“Because… she was with me when we both went to the tree. When we gave it a name!”

“When you gave it a name,” Yuan reiterated. “Remember?”

Lloyd sighed. “Okay… but we both promised we’d do anything to protect the tree from withering.”

“It was still you that made that promise. And Martel accepted that promise, along with the name you’ve chosen, as proof of the pact.” Yuan sighed. “Or should I go over the way such pact-formations work again?”

“I got it, I got it.” Lloyd held back another sigh. He had left Colette at a Church of Martel, her business with the priests allowing him time to visit this place with the World Tree.  Even though she had been here before, even though she had heard the name he gave… She had asked of him to give it a name…

“Are you just looking for an excuse to not do this?”

“No!” Lloyd said back. “I never said I wouldn’t do it. I’ll find the Cores and keep Ratatosk from awakening them. If only I can.”

“That’s right,” Yuan said, now appearing to be satisfied. “Only you.”

He felt Martel’s own satisfaction as well, but in there, a small tinge of understanding.

Lloyd still wished for a different outcome.

---

“Do you want a room? Hello?”

Again, he had been thinking too hard on things, losing track of everything. If Colette was here, she’d have nudged him for spacing out. Or talked with the innkeeper/receptionist/chef? Lloyd still wasn’t sure…

“S-sorry. Uh, what were you asking?”

“Just wanted to know if you needed a room. We can probably give you a discount after all your stays with us! Like… like 10 percent max though.”

Lloyd thought on it longer, much longer than he meant to. The inn’s rooms were warm, but the place was already so warm, warmer than it needed to be. Any other time, it would make him fall fast asleep, but like before, his mind kept turning over and over.

When Colette opened the door to his room, he had felt those thoughts settle. But, she wouldn’t do that now. Because he left her.

“Um, no. That’s okay. I’ll be leaving already.”

“Oh? Then… why did you come here?”

Lloyd paused just as he was turning away, the words completely lost to him. There was a weight in his chest that was hard to get rid of.

“I’m not sure,” he said out loud, then left through the inn door. He still didn’t learn that guy’s name.

---

When Lloyd had left with Noishe to his dad’s home, part of him had been calm. Something about seeing the two-story house there, the vines climbing up the walls, the sun’s rays slanting over the creek that ran around his house, had been relieving. The dog happy-whined at the sight, already wanting to run towards the home, his large ears flicking with excitement.

Lloyd honestly felt the same. But he stopped himself from just running forward. Moving further out of the forest, he saw Dirk watering the garden, probably having been up since dawn doing all the other chores in the house – including taking care of what had been Lloyd’s own chores.

He could barely hold back anymore, so with a shout, he called out to him. “Hey! Dad!”

The dwarf perked his head up, his beard somehow even bushier than before. Noishe had rushed past Lloyd, ambling up to Dirk to get promptly petted on his furry head. “Lloyd! Haven’t seen ya in a while. Still holding up?”

“Yeah!” Lloyd answered a bit quickly, waiting for his dad to make the connection. The space around him was too prominent, the lack of a voice too clear.

“I don’t see Colette with you today. Is she back in Iselia?”

Lying is the first step down the path of thievery. And even though Lloyd had definitely lied before, that vow felt so much more vital at this moment. She probably was in Iselia at this moment, maybe even looking for him…

“Someone needs my help,” Lloyd said, a little rushed, but still convinced he had to go through with it. “I can’t have Colette involved in it. So… we need to be separate from now on.”

He inwardly winced, seeing the gears in his father’s head work, assessing the truth of his words. That was one other reason why he didn’t lie often. His dad could always tell when he did anyway.

“How long will you be gone then?” Dirk finally asked, stopping his petting of Noishe to cross his thick arms over his chest.

“I’m not sure. It might be a while. I… really don’t have any idea.”

“Have you told Colette any of this?”

A pause. “I did.” This one wasn’t a lie still, but he held back. He had a feeling Dirk wouldn’t approve of the way he told Colette.

But sometimes things couldn’t be said right away at that moment. Sometimes one needed to wait and gather one’s thoughts, suddenly all so mixed up. And sometimes, it was easier.

Dirk continued to visibly ponder over Lloyd’s words, the sun still shining brightly, despite a small chill in the air. The weather had been strange lately, like the hint of snow back in Triet. Lloyd didn’t have much time to pause and wander around anymore. But still, he had to come here, he had to have some closure in something.

His father looked him straight in the eyes. It didn’t matter that he was a few feet shorter – Lloyd always felt smaller in his presence no matter what.

“You’re doing what you believe is right and true, are you?”

“Yeah!” This he knew for sure, even though the pain of leaving Colette was still fresh. “Of course!”

“And you won’t go making trouble for people out there?”

“No way! I swear!”

Then, that bushy beard revealed a white, shining grin. “Then what are ya waiting for? Get to completing your tasks so you and Colette can travel together again.”

Lloyd blinked, feeling out of sorts almost. “You’re not mad?”

“Lloyd, you’ve done nothing to make me angry. I trust you. Just as I know that Colette trusts you too. Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“Right! I will!” Back then, his burdens felt lifted, at least for a moment. Still, he had one thing to ask. “Hey, Dad? If, um, Colette comes by…”

He paused, wondering if he had a right to say this. He had given her a letter, but was that enough?

“Go on, Lloyd,” Dirk said, his voice gentler.

“Can you tell her…?”

---

Maybe camping out in the snows was his way of punishing himself.

But still, the outside was not nearly as cold as it should have been. Either way, Lloyd wore his cloak, and if he buried his hands underneath the snows, they’d go numb with the chill regardless. He made the campfire by rote, soon finding the flames eat up the kindling, already melting the snow underneath it. Snowflakes still drizzled down, if not as fiercely as they once did a year ago.

“Could we still make snowmen like this? Or do you think it would melt too fast?”

“We could try! Just gotta speed through it! Whoever makes the fastest snowman wins!”

“Oh! What do I win then?”

“Hey, why are you assuming you’d win already?”

Lloyd sat against a big snowdrift, half burying himself in it. Here he was, making up conversations again. What would his dad think of him now though? He no longer felt as confident as he should have been.

In his satchel, there was little food and money. He had forgotten to stock up, already leaving Flanoir before even staying there for more than an hour. It hadn’t felt right, being there without her. Traveling all this time with her, and then suddenly an emptiness around him.

His hand had brushed against the snowbunny she had given him earlier in the city, its shape fitting into his palm. It was the one thing he made sure to never forget to leave behind.

“And I get to stay by your side, right?”

Lloyd shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the memory, the guilt, the need to have her seated beside him. And then he was overwhelmed by the reality that she would not be with him for so long.

“I’m sorry,” he said out loud to the fire, seeing the way it flickered in the darkness. The fire seemed to cast long shadows, longer than they should.

Lloyd raised his head. The clouds finally cleared, giving him a clear view of the stars.

There were so many new ones ever since the worlds reunited. People of both worlds now shared the same sky, the same stars, and the same moons. Sometimes he wondered, back when Tethe’alla was separate, how different the sky must have looked compared to Sylvarant’s. Or maybe it was still so similar. But with them meshed together like this, that distinction no longer mattered. Everything was now under one sky.

Colette was under this sky too. She seemed to like counting the stars with him.

There was one particularly bright star. It flickered like a candle in the pitch-black expanse above him. Looking up at that star made his head feel a little clearer. The tension in his neck seemed to dissipate.

Under this same sky, maybe Colette was watching this star too? Thinking that, at least a little bit.

The air was warmer than it should have been, but still Lloyd wrapped his cloak around himself, the empty space around him much too wide, much too cold. He’d do better tomorrow, figure out what he needed to do, where he needed to go, to finish his mission and get back to Colette.

It was just hard to get used to.

“I’ll come back, okay?” he said out loud, watching that same bright star. No one would hear him, not for a long while. But someday, she would.

It was nice though, looking up at the sky, at that star…

---

Dear Colette,

By the time you read this, I’ll have already left on my own journey. Sounds familiar, right?

I think I understand why you wrote me that letter back then. It’s not easy to do this. You look really happy when you’re sleeping, and I don’t want to ruin that with this. Or maybe I’m too worried to do that anyway.

This will be familiar too… I care about you too deeply to get you involved. Sorry, I’m just stealing your words at this point. I’m not good at this!

Even though… I wish you could be involved? But I can’t ask that of you. I can’t ask that of anyone.

But I can promise you though that I’ll come back! I want to protect this world, this world with Colette in it. And I want to keep staying by your side, too.

But for now, I can’t.

I’m sorry.

I was happy traveling with you all this time. Just with you. And I wanted to keep that going.

I’m sorry for leaving, and for telling it you this way. I hope you can forgive me.

But I’ll always  I really feel like I I’ll miss you, Colette.

I’ll come back.

-Lloyd