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puttingfingerstokeys · 4 years

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heart and fire

I had to fuck with italics on this thing ‘cause holy shit are they important.

Thermodynamic equilibrium (subscorp), uh, post-aftermath on the fucked up timeline. I want nice things so I’m going to give Kuai Liang nice things....... sort of! Gay ninja ahead (and prolly behind, too, lbr they’re ninja)

For @sxvethelastdance, my Heart

Bonus “chapter” here.

Broken Timeline

It has been two months, my Fire, since I returned to Netherrealm to recover your body. We sought to reclaim the fallen from both our clans, with limited success. Your younger counterpart showed me the place where D’vorah stole you from me. I swear vengeance upon her, should she ever have the misfortune of crossing my path.

Frost was among those we were able to locate and she is recovering at Arctika, though she will not speak to anyone. She threatened to throw herself into the Sea of Blood upon discovery, but that fate was not worthy of a Lin Kuei—even a traitor. I should have written sooner, but my duties have taken me from the pen and solitude.

You will be pleased to know that Takeda Takahashi has resigned his post with Special Forces to assume interim leadership of the Shirai-Ryu. The boy is well-trained and wise; he does not fill your boots, but he is humble and willing to learn. No member of the Shirai-Ryu can best him. You have taught him well.

He has married Jacqueline Briggs—it was a quiet ceremony soon after we returned from the assault on Kronika’s keep—and they are now expecting a child. . Takeda came to me recently and asked if I thought it appropriate to call the boy Hanzo, assuming it is a boy. I think it is only right that someone carries your name. I will always carry it in my heart, but it will be good to hear aloud.

I miss you.

“Takeda, thank you for meeting me.” The two ninja stood outside the Fire Gardens, just beyond the gate, Kuai Liang looking in, but making no move to enter.

“It’s always a pleasure, Grandmaster Sub-Zero,” said the younger man, putting a flat, open hand over his fist and bowing. “What brings you here?” He glanced up and down at the Lin Kuei Grandmaster and, noting the envelope in one hand, he gestured toward it, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“This—you’ve seen through me—is for… if you might place it at Grandmaster Hasashi’s resting place, I would be—”

“I will not,” came the quick reply. It wasn’t sharp, but it was firm. “You will.”

“But I am—”

“Welcome in the Fire Gardens, Grandmaster, as are your students; it is a step Grandmaster Hasashi would have taken and I… I am only interim instructor, but I will honor his legacy, no matter what.” He saluted the Lin Kuei once more, this time bowing deeply and gesturing toward the entrance. “I’ll show you where he’s… where we’ve got a marker.”

There was, of course, no body to bury, but that would have been the way of the Shirai-Ryu anyway. It was to Sub-Zero’s shame that he had brought them no corpse, and his own eternal agony that he did not at least have one last chance to… I never told him, not really, not properly. Leaves fell all around them, red and gold, perpetually in motion, making the place resemble its name. It is cold without you.

“It’s in a quiet corner,” Takeda said, trying to fill the pregnant silence between them. His fellow Shirai-Ryu were all around, if unseen. None of them raised a hand or weapon to Grandmaster Kuai Liang, however. They, for the most part, were in favor of uniting once more with their ancestral brethren. Those who were not, kept it to themselves and would rather not have begun a spat with Sub-Zero. “Near a koi pond… I think you’ll like it.”

Sub-Zero made no move to answer as the path twisted once more to the left and opened to a beautiful grotto. There was, indeed, a pond, but Takeda had neglected to mention the green foliage, bright red and orange flowers, and the waterfall, babbling over several layers of stones before emptying into the pond. The fish swam this way and that, utterly unaware of the world around them. Kuai Liang envied them.

To one side was a pillar, an obelisk that looked like it was made of volcanic glass. Atop it was a small brazier and in that, a flame danced this way and that, an ethereal quality to its rhythm. There was an inscription upon the pillar itself, but Sub-Zero’s gaze was lost in the flame almost immediately, arresting every bit of his attention.

“Yeah, I get that too when I come here… Liu Kang—err… Lord Liu Kang lit that sucker and… well, it’s god fire, so it’s not goin’ out.” Takeda was receding from the grotto. “I’ll just… leave you two, yeah?” He did not wait for an answer before melting into the fire-colored foliage of the Gardens.

Kuai Liang clutched the envelope, hard, wrinkling it in his effort to bite back tears and swallow down the choking lump that was rising in his throat. His heart twisted and ached as he dropped to one knee before the pillar. The inscription was simple: Grandmaster Hanzo Hasashi, eternal flame of the Shirai-Ryu; you will never be forgotten. There was so much more about him that Kuai Liang wanted to add, but there was not enough obsidian in the world for that.

He settled himself presently, then, closing his eyes and focusing inward, clearing his mind, breathing softly, deeply. Reaching out, he laid one hand upon the small obelisk, feeling where each word was carved, imagining he could also feel heat coming from it. That was silly, of course, but it comforted him. He stayed that way for a while, before opening his eyes once more and standing, still holding the envelope.

The grandmaster’s sharp gaze fell upon that fire and slowly, reverently, he lifted the envelope and letter to it. The fire licked up and around it, consuming the paper with little effort until there was nothing but ash. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the sentiment behind them which counted for the ears of the dead.

He left silently and with dignity, letting not a single, chilly tear fall until he returned to Arctika and his private quarters.

My fire. It has been one year since my last letter. Forgive my waiting so long. It was difficult to find time and then, to begin. The snow here seems deeper than it ever has and harder to move through; it no longer feels a part of me and I am cold. But you need not suffer the chill with me.

Hanzo Briggs-Takahashi is a robust boy even at one year old. There seems to be some debate over his education, but for now, he lives happily with his mother and father among the Shirai-Ryu. They have determined this to be the best course of action until everything has settled to an acceptable level of disorder.

I neglected to mention in my last letter that Liu Kang has, with the aid of Lord Raiden, ascended to divinity. He is a worthy young man and I feel confident in his abilities to guide the shifting of the sands of time. I wish you had been there to see him lead the armies of Outworld and Earthrealm against Kronika. But maybe those memories are with you now that your past self has been sent back to his proper time.

I will never stop missing you, but writing eases the pain a little.

The letters continued, as frequently as he could manage, for years. It felt like centuries. His favorite time to write was when despair was upon him, because writing to his lost love reminded him that he was not simply living for himself, but for Hanzo’s dream and memory. He did not remember all the words he had written, and no one else would ever read them, but they were not for anyone else, so it did not matter.

You will be pleased, my Fire, to know that the Takahashi family has expanded once more, by one. Their daughter, Sonya, was born yesterday morning, healthy and squalling like a storm. I think her name is appropriate. Johnny and Cassie Cage will be arriving at the Fire Gardens later this week, I am told, to greet the child and spend some time with Jacqueline and Takeda. I will deliver this letter then.

I cannot believe it has been four years since I last laid eyes and lips upon you. I miss your taste, your warmth. My heart aches daily for you, but the ache eases when I write and remember you as you were, vibrant and powerful, the light of my life, and the warmth. Worry not. The warmth has not utterly deserted me. I see in Takeda’s boy much of your spirit, and I visit the Fire Gardens often, with Takeda’s gracious permission.

We are moving forward, slowly, with the integration training. Twice per year, we stay at the other’s residence, with all our students, working together. Frost is still a tough case, but I think her loss to Takeda recently might have tempered her cold fire. Defeat does not settle well upon the shoulders of any Lin Kuei, but taking it with grace is a learned art. She has not learned this; I must educate her.

I love you with all my heart and soul.

This one, he did indeed deliver when he visited the Fire Gardens to see the new baby. Sonya was even prettier than her brother had been and he was delighted to hold her in his great, chilly arms. Dark eyes stared up at him with a depth of understanding he could not have predicted from an infant. Gripping his finger with one tiny hand, she squealed with delight and flailed her limbs as he looked on with aching fondness.

“Isn’t she perfect?” Takeda asked Sub-Zero as he handed the little creature back to her mother. Jacqui was glowing and Kuai Liang was not clear if he meant the child or the mother. Instead, he nodded. He did not stay long, but it was refreshing to his soul to see the people of this ruined timeline picking themselves back up and making the best of their situation.

My Fire, you will scarcely believe the strangeness which has happened here at Arctika. Our hot springs have begun to run far too hot to bathe in, or even to touch! The minerals are beginning to build up on the walls in the grotto and I must send students out, daily, to address this. They are hard at work, “building character”, Frost included. She seems to set about the task with the most vigor, as if the buildup offends her. Perhaps it does. Arctika, this place she fought so hard to be in, has recently been invaded by your Shirai-Ryu and they too have set about the task—of cleaning the grotto, not offending Frost; she does that well enough on her own.

I would like, more than anything, to once more share tea and to bathe with you. That intimacy is long gone from my flesh and I often crave it—not as you did, of course. I find myself almost blushing at the thought. Almost. I miss your eyes, so dark and intense, it was always as if you were looking into me, boring in deep and searching… for what, I cannot guess, but I wish you would do it again.

Yours forever, Grandmaster Hasashi, forever and a day and then forever again.

Even a skilled kryomancer stood no chance against the heat of the springs, and so it, too, became a training ground for the combined forces of the Lin Kuei and Shirai-Ryu. Takeda and Grandmaster Kuai Liang often went out to the springs to breathe in the healing steam and to speak. They talked of much—of history and the future—and deepened their understanding of each other.

“He would have wanted you to take his place,” Sub-Zero said, “once you’d proven yourself, of course.”

Takeda’s eyes flew wide. “Never in a million years, Grandmaster; are you kidding me?” His cheeks were flushed with exhilaration at the weight of the compliment he’d just been paid by the Lin Kuei’s leader. “I don’t… I’m not ready for that.”

“And that is why you are. A good Grandmaster knows his limitations.” Kuai Liang did not look at Takeda, an envelope clutched in his hand.

“Will you be joining us on the journey back to the Fire Gardens tomorrow, Grandmaster?”

“I will, with your permission, Takeda,” replied Sub-Zero, contemplating the boiling water. Of course, Takeda would not refuse, so the question was more of a formality than anything else. There were certain parts of tradition to which Takeda had noticed the Lin Kuei Grandmaster held strictly, and others he had thrown utterly out the window. The first one was, of course, his adoration of Grandmaster Hasashi, which Takeda had long ago suspected was more than academic friendship or alliance. It was a suspicion he would, naturally, never pursue.

The two men stood, side by side, arms folded, considering everything they had done in the past five years, all the progress they had made. The Shirai-Ryu were really and truly restored, standing upon the shoulders of Scorpion’s hard work. The Lin Kuei were even recovering and their number had increased, though they were still a shell of what they had been. Only a few of the cyber assassins had been recoverable at the Sea of Blood and of those, even fewer had retained their sanity after they had been reset—such was their grief at the injustice they had wrought on Frost’s behalf.

Kuai Liang was not sure she would ever show appropriate remorse, but he decided she was not a lost cause. He would keep working on her, like a glacier carves a lake. The movement was slow but inexorable. Eventually, she would see and she would learn. Even one so stubborn as she could be taught, he was certain. His resolve would not be broken by one such as Frost.

“…does it seem hotter, Grandmaster?” Takeda’s voice was muffled, suddenly, by the amount of steam suddenly filling the air of the grotto. Sub-Zero’s eyes narrowed as he peered through the haze, as if doing so could discern the source of the disturbance.

“It is,” he confirmed, “but… why?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Takeda growled, reaching out toward Sub-Zero. “Go,” he grunted, “grab some of your students—the cyber Lin Kuei should be able to see through this fog!”

Sub-Zero could not deny the logic of this, but he disliked leaving Takeda. There was an ill-omened heaviness in the air all of a sudden he was not entirely sure was the steam or the mineral smells which came with it. There was a loud, violent hiss and a jet of water, then, from the center of the springs and both men would have been pelted with stinging droplets had it not been for Kuai Liang’s hastily built ice wall and the quick thinking to tug Takeda behind it.

Neither kombatant was expecting something wickedly sharp and hot to pierce the center of the wall directly between their heads. The heat of it caused the rest of the structure to begin cracking and both men dived to either side to avoid its collapse. The familiar, discordant song of a retracting chain rang out in the steamy half-gloom, the light of torches now obscured and throwing strange shadows, diffused through the steam.

Quan-Chi.

Both minds settled upon this conclusion simultaneously, though without having spoken it. Takeda jumped to his feat and readied himself. Whatever Neatherrealm incursion this was, it would be met with extreme prejudice. Neither knew precisely where Quan-Chi might have fallen in the scheme of things. He had met his end by Scorpion’s hand, but that did not mean some shift in the mythical sands of time had not restored him—utterly by accident, of course, but it was a mistake which would require swift correction.

Of course, as far as they knew, only Hanzo Hasashi had ever mastered the chain and spear to that extent, so Quan-Chi himself could not possibly have been on the other end of it. Kuai Liang’s mind was racing. Was that why he had not found his lover’s body? Could Quan-Chi have been accidentally restored and had begun his machinations, once more, to hold the throne of Netherrealm for his infernal (decapitated) master?

The very idea of a wraith bearing his Fire’s face settled deep in the pit of Kuai Liang’s guts, twisting into a dragon of rage, ripping at his insides and gripping his heart violently. He was as close to burning with rage as a Lin Kuei could be.

“Takeda,” he snarled, “go. I will deal with this abomination.”

For once, Takeda Takahashi did not argue. He did not resolve to stay gone, however. He raced toward the grotto’s exit, intent on making his way swiftly down the side of the mountain to the Arctika complex and alerting every ninja in its walls that they were under attack. Takeda had almost reached the divide between grotto and open mountain face when the horrific echo of clear words rang out seemingly from everywhere.

“GET OVER HERE!” The chain sang through the air and Takeda whirled, moving to block or to face his demise. Only Sub-Zero’s swift motion stopped it hitting home as the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei caught the barb in an icy grip and crushed it, shaking the remains free from his hand as if it were a mere inconvenience.

“Go,” he repeated and stalked toward the springs. All around him, steam turned to ice and fell to the ground like heavy sleet. As his rage built, the temperature dropped and soon there was an aura of cold surrounding him, combatting the steam. Diamond tears fell from eyes which had hardened to flinty slits as he stepped past the edge of the springs, into—no, onto—the water, which was freezing solid under each step.

“Why don’t you get over here for a change,” snarled Sub-Zero, “and show me that face you’re wearing—the face you have not earned, Revenant!”

“Revenant?” The voice was a raspy bark. Following the word was laughter. Sub-Zero concentrated on solidifying the water particles around him to create a solid barrier that would be just a little more difficult for his assailant to pierce. He had not forgotten that, in later years, Scorpion had begun to carry—and proficiently use—two spear chains. The latter would come soon enough.

“You are a puppet of Quan-Chi, unworthy of the body you inhabit. Come, face me, and see the truth of your fallibility!” Kuai Liang drew himself up and stood tall, continuing. “Yours is the fire of hell, not of his heart, a thing so great you could not begin to comprehend it, much less mimic—but again, I invite you to come and allow me to demonstrate. It will be a pleasure.”

Sub-Zero had anticipated the spear.

He had not counted on Hellport, which Scorpion used with impunity.

Suddenly, the heat behind him was unbearable and there was a piercing agony ripping into his senses, starting at his shoulder, between the joint and the scapula. He could feel it digging deep, feel the lukewarm sensation of his own blood flowing down his back. He had to act.

Kuai Liang whirled on the revenant, ice axe at the ready. He would cleave the beast’s head from its shoulders, no matter how twisted the visage was. Red eyes would meet his a moment, before falling from broad, strong shoulders Sub-Zero knew all to well.

Except that they were not.

They eyes were white. With the turn, Scorpion’s hand and arm had been yanked—refusing to let go, oh, that old tenacity was strong—around Kuai Liang’s back and had, in that motion, drawn his body closer until they were flush, touching, pressed together. Sub-Zero’s arm was falling, axe in hand and, though he would have stopped it, Scorpion’s grip upon his wrist halted the descent entirely.

The fingers upon Sub-Zero’s wrist were burning, as with a fever, and they eyes he met were ablaze with madness and fury. The brow knitted together at the bridge of the man’s nose was familiar, however, the grimace on his blood-soaked, lacerated face not unknown to Kuai Liang, either. Inches apart, this could have been a lover’s embrace, but for the spearhead embedded in his shoulder and the fiery grip locked upon his arm.

Vaporizing with a hiss, Kuai Liang’s faithful ice axe bowed out of the fight and he was left with no weapon—no external weapon, anyway. He leveraged his height advantage against Scorpion and drove him back twisting his arm to reverse the grip and grab him instead, forcing him yet closer. The ice under their feet was slick and filling the frozen dome with steam. Sub-Zero began to feel lightheaded.

He would have to end this quickly, or Scorpion would gut him and the water of the hot springs would run red with the Grandmaster’s blood. That he was not facing a revenant was secondary in his mind to survival. He knew all of Scorpion’s movements, every trick and feint. Unfortunately, Scorpion also knew his, intimately. If they broke apart, the brawl might draw itself out and in this heat, Sub-Zero was already feeling sluggish.

Wrapping both arms tightly around Scorpion’s body, then, forcing the arm he had trapped up behind the shorter mans’ back, he began to squeeze, dropping his temperature with as much rapidity as he could muster. His mind was racing, thoughts flowing as if down the choppy, white waters of a sub-arctic stream just after thaw and just as insubstantial, uncatchable. He had to stop the man’s movement.

Scorpion fought hard against the grip, snapping at Sub-Zero with his teeth. He would have landed a successful headbutt were it not for their difference in height and Kuai Liang tucking his head into the crook of Scorpion’s neck. Scorpion tensed, ceasing his thrashing for the briefest of interludes as Sub-Zero’s chilly, gentle lips pressed downward on scorched flesh. Rather than the bite the enraged wraith had been expecting, he only felt the sensual, gentle touch of the man’s mouth.

“I know what you are,” whispered Kuai Liang against his lover’s flesh, gripping him tight and slowing the descent of the temperature. Scorpion’s thrashing had all but ceased as he was literally cooled down from his agitated state. Beneath them, the water which had been upon the ice solidified as Scorpion finally went limp, succumbing to the cold.

“A wraith once more.” The whisper was barely audible. Only Sub-Zero could hear these words, spoken so softly. He was bent over Scorpion, who had gone nearly boneless in his embrace, barely clinging to consciousness, but doing so with such tenacity it might have, under other circumstances, been frightening.

“No,” said Sub-Zero, standing, straightening, and lifting Scorpion bodily into his arms. The naked wraith leaned against his chest, closing those unsettling, white eyes as the temperature began to stabilize and Kuai Liang stepped gracefully off the ice and onto solid ground. Steam rose once more from the Lin Kuei hot springs, but they did not boil. “You are my Fire, and you have come back to me.”

“Amusing,” grunted Hanzo Hasashi weakly, reaching up to swat the side of Kuai Liang’s bearded face, “that you thought death would free you of me, my Heart.”

Upon the warm water, an envelope floated, forgotten, soaking, ink running.

#cc #cw #mortal kombat #subscorp #thermodynamic equilibrium #Sub-Zero #scorpion #hanzo hasashi #kuai liang

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 5 years

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Father’s Worst Nightmare

Summary: Set during RttE. Stoick has imagined it before. After losing Valka, after watching the other Chiefs burn in the inferno that Drago caused, Stoick imagined losing Hiccup to that very same fiery fate. Despite the years spent protecting him, Stoick discover he still wasn't ready for the real deal. NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 1 912

Prompt: Burn(s)

Author’s Notes: Written for the prompt "Burns" over on the Httyd whump Discord that I'm in. This was a lot of fun to write.

Constructive criticism is highly appreciated!

Enjoy!

AO3

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Stoick has imagined it before.

When he lost Valka and watched her be taken into the dark night sky by a Stormcutter while he and their son were left in the burning house that was once their home. When Drago came down with his dragon army and turned the Great Hall in which all the Chiefs of the Archipelago had gathered into a blazing inferno. During every single dragon attack on Berk, he imagined it.

He imagined losing Hiccup to fire, to the flames of dragons.

In his darkest moments, he heard him scream. At night, in his nightmares, he watched him burn. Every morning he woke up, he prepared himself for the possibility that this day could be his last with his son.

For so long, that was all Stoick could think about. Since the boy's birth, he has thanked the Gods for each and every day Hiccup had not yet been taken from him.

But his wild imagination, the years of detachment and fighting, not even watching his son nearly be engulfed by the fires of the dying Red Death has ever managed to prepare Stoick for the day he watched a Singetail burn Hiccup alive.

It happened on the island that was supposed to become the Jorgenson's Storehouse Island.

As Stoick, Spitelout and Snotlout along with their dragons cornered the Singetail that had come to claim the land as theirs, Hiccup and Toothless flew up from underneath to blast the belly of the beast and chase it away. What was supposed to be any dragon's weakness was a surprise ambush in waiting from a Singetail instead.

As the fires from its belly came down upon them, Toothless tried to back up in time. Stoick had seen him try with a cry of panic, but the flames from the Singetail were too quick to avoid.

Many times Stoick had the displeasure of imagining what his only child's screaming would sound like. One time he had the misfortune of hearing them as an urgent amputation was performed on Hiccup to save his life from a rotting leg. The sounds he heard Hiccup make the day a Singetail burned him, Stoick had the bad luck to discover that they didn't even sound human anymore.

They managed to get him back home. It had been a torture to do so, but Hiccup lied in bed now. He was knocked out cold after all the sedative drugs Gothi managed to stuff his system full with. Painkillers and mind-altering herbs that Hiccup would need if they wanted his recovery to be as painless as they could make it. And if they wanted him to retain as little memory of this ordeal as was possible. It's how they got him through the loss of his leg as well.

Stoick sat by his bedside, Hiccup's bed having been moved to the groundfloor. He was just as lost now as he was last time.

Neck, torso, all of his right arm and his left forearm were bandaged up. His face and hair, though the latter was signed in some places, had been spared in the blast as Hiccup's arms had taken the brunt instead.

There was a mix of burns. Some would take weeks to heal, most would take months. Along the way, they would have to watch out for infections. They would have to fight the pain too. It would be Hiccup's reality his every waking moment, all they could do was help him lighten it and help him sleep through it.

For now, though, he was still. He slept.

Toothless did too, but his slumber was a light one. Stoick could see the Night Fury's ears twitching at the smallest of sounds. Minutes ago, Sharpshot scampered across the wooden floor in search of fish and Toothless was already wide awake to see what the source of those tiny claws were.

Stoick was thankful for that. For both Toothless' watchful eye and that his son slept. At least for now.

It was night, he should be sleeping too, but found that it was nigh impossible. He already needed to abandon his son during the day to perform his duties as Chief, when Gobber helped Toothless watch over him instead, Stoick couldn't bear to be apart from Hiccup at night as well.

He blamed Spitelout. For being too stubborn, for not listening, for not knowing about all of the Singetail's abilities. It went so far that the Chief hadn't even allowed Snotlout to come see his cousin yet.

"Dad-dad, I... I didn't know about the- about the- about the underbelly either. I should've- I should've known!" That is what Hiccup told him days ago, when Gothi tried to clean his burns for the first time and Stoick had mentioned thinking that the Jorgensons were responsible for this.

In between his sobs and his cries, even in agony, his son would defend others.

How had it taken him fifteen whole years to see these sides to him?

Pulled out of his thoughts, Stoick took his gaze off Hiccup's hand, held in both of his own, to look at his face. Hiccup let out small strangled noises of pain and wore a grimace, sure signs that his painkillers had worn off. The hurt was waking him up.

Gently laying the young man's hand down, the Chief stood up to go prepare the medicine Hiccup would need in the kitchen.

Waking up meant the chance to visit the outhouse, have something to drink and eat, a change of bandages, but he wouldn't want to stay awake for long. He would want peace and relief soon. Gothi left plenty of herbs. All Stoick had to do was mix them and add water.

By the time he was finished and returned with both it as well as water and a light meal, he could hear Hiccup groaning in the other room. Toothless was already up and purring by his side.

"Bud... Bud." Stoick noticed his son's eyes were open and focussed on Toothless as the Night Fury cooed comforting sounds to his Rider. He wanted to pet him on the nose.

"You're awake." Stoick's voice was soft as he settled back in his seat. His gaze was as gentle as he sounded as he looked down at his son. Teary eyes were wide as they stared back up to him. Hiccup was already trembling all over.

"Are you in any pain?" The Chief wasn't a fool, he knew Hiccup's every nerve must be on fire now, but at least this way he could provide Hiccup an opportunity to voice what he felt. Perhaps, it was a reminder to Hiccup that he didn't need to hide his hurt from his father.

"Yeah. Hurts." Some of Hiccup's tears slipped. Awake for less than five minutes and already the young man wished he'd never woken up.

Setting the medicine down on a small table next to the bed, Stoick knew Hiccup would need to face half an hour to an hour more of this agony before he could have the sweet, sweet release of sleep to put an end to his suffering.

It made Stoick feel even more guilty than he already did.

For failing to protect his son, for not being able to take away the pain, for not knowing what involving Hiccup in his quest to find Spitelout would lead to.

Stoick wished he could reverse time. Even when the burns would eventually heal, many of them would leave behind ugly scars that would remain sensitive. Berk's cold certainly wouldn't be kind to them. This could very well be an injury, received in just the blink of an eye, that would trouble Hiccup for years to come.

He had yet to forgive himself for the loss of Hiccup's leg too.

"Dad?" Pulled out of his wandering thoughts once more, Stoick noticed Hiccup reaching for the mug of water.

"Water. Please?" He looked almost desperate for it and his father was reminded of the fact that one of Gothi's fears was that Hiccup's burns were internal as well.

They weren't, another something Stoick thanked the Gods for, but the mere possibility had certainly kept him up at night.

"Here, son." Hiccup's throat was only dry, fortunately. He sat up as he accepted the mug his father offered to him. The act of sitting up was not an easy feat and Stoick needed to help him stay up, but resisting the urge to down the entire drink in one gulp was evidently more difficult for Hiccup.

Hiccup shrunk in on himself as he handed the wooden mug back and whimpered, the first sign of desperation already showing through. He wanted to fall asleep again, but he also knew his bandages and his body's needs needed tending to first.

He didn't look forward to the next hour or two. He didn't look forward to tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or the ones following afterwards.

"What do you think, son? Something to eat? Or do you want your bandages changed first?" It took Stoick every little bit of his willpower to keep his composure.

Hiccup was suffering. He could see it in the way his son shivered, in how he was using every ounce of his own strength to not break out into a crying fit right in front of his Chief because of the hurt tearing his nerves apart, in the way his one somewhat uninjured hand grabbed a fistful of the covers. Stoick knew very little to measure up to what Hiccup was feeling, but it pained the man to see him this way.

He tried to stay strong and yet he was about to break.

When Hiccup's face inevitably contorted into a pained grimace, he lied down and small noises of pain left his vocals. Hiccup's strength failed him as he lost his battle and he began to cry.

Hiccup almost curled up on his side, but that move just brought him even more pain. Everything he did brought nothing more than pain. And there wouldn't be any relief, not for another hour or so.

Stoick could lay a hand on Hiccup's one mostly unscathed shoulder and let him know he was here, but there was little else he could do to help him. There wasn't anything else Toothless could do besides giving him reassuring rumbles and his nearest thigh a nudge either. The Night Fury was too scared to even settle on the bed like he usually would, afraid that his dry scales would accidentally brush up against his Rider's burnt skin.

All Stoick could really do was sigh deeply and cast his gaze downward in sorrow. Hiccup's mug was still in his hand as he sat there and listened to his son cry, knowing those tears and his pitiful sobbing wouldn't stop until Gothi's mixture would knock him out again.

They all needed to get through these coming months. Hiccup would need to heal, would need to take care of himself and live with the kind of pain able to tear one's sanity apart. Stoick would need to live with his guilt, with the knowledge that he couldn't save his son's mother, his leg and now most of his upper body.

These would be trying times and all the while Hiccup still worried about the Dragon Hunters, but they would need to get through them.

Someway, somehow, they would need to live to see the day they could be okay again.

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pettyelves · 5 years

Text

keener

[ The Letter’s Source ]

keen·er/ˈkēnər/ noun 1.a person who wails or sings in grief for a dead person.

"I will remind this Council that Kurel An'Diel's removal is not yet up for debate as he has yet to fully violate the terms of his admiralty promotion. This is also not a character hearing--nor is it a platform for I-told-you-sos. I reject, at this time, Speaker Duskbringer's motion." She was on her fifth cigarette and surprisingly keeping her calm, "Kurel An'Diel's role as a husband and father is ,frankly, no one in this room's business but my own-- ...I will also remind this council that Kurel, aside from myself, is the oldest Councilor-- and did, help build this place."

The afternoon breeze shifted through the Starset Reach’s courtroom, a place they had called the Free Man’s Court. It felt hostile today, and Eilithe had readily blamed Reveria’s emotion-ruled judgement for such-- though she never said it aloud. Kur’elnth An’Diel’s name was a wired bomb as much as it was a ghost in the corner of the room. It made people angry-- it made her defensive. It was logical for people who loved her, people like Reveria, Feril, Hillier, and Clarcius to ask her why she was so vehement in her defense of a man that not two months after their marriage had wandered off somewhere into the world without a word to her. That is to say, Eilithe Duskbringer-An’Diel was well aware of how hopeless and pathetically in-love she was with her husband.

There was no justification beyond that. She loved him more completely than any man before him. Perhaps it was his unique brand of love that kept her hanging on. She was as attracted to his arrogance as she was his ambition. Kurel loved quietly, viscerally, and most importantly without expectation.

“Arbiter, Admiral An’Diel’s vulture has just flown in. I thought you’d want to know.”

When she left Stormwind, she had been excited or at the very least anxious. Croaks’ arrival meant news from Kurel and even if it was news that he wouldn’t be home for another month, she had opened the letter under the presence of the one and only promise he had ever made her: “I will always come home” Every letter she ever wrote, Eilithe read three times. But not his.

Eilithe,

The greatest and the worst secrets of my life have only ever been shared with three people in this world. Severin, Mavas and you. Lately, my list of regrets and mistakes expands by the creeping of every hour that moves beyond me. Of them all, only one do I have control over in some capacity to lighten.

When I told you about The Gate, about Archerous, and about what happened during those months. I did not tell you everything.

When Archerous demanded for its location and I refused, penance had to be paid for another hundred years. He did not choose to take Tailon, I gave Tailon to him and my sister was returned, dead.

In Severin’s devastation at the loss of his brother and his feeling that I had betrayed him, he left. For longer than I can remember, he and those of his lineage preceding him have served and sworn themselves to my family and its successors. There is more than expectation and tradition that holds him to this, so when he left me he returned to Tanaris. To serve Ammon.

By now I suspect you better realize that I did not simply vanish without cause or meaning and reading this far, you are outraged. That I would say nothing. That I would take no one.

“You can take the man out of the desert, but you can not take the desert out of the man.” A truth spoken by both my brother and lovers alike. Reveria understood that afternoon out on the pier while Eronal pleaded her case to me. Ammon’s tyranny was and never will be Deadsun’s problem. It is my problem and only mine. No argument or devotion will ever change that.

There is no good I do this world and there is no good I perhaps ever intend to do. Xavier may be the only thing of any -good- having come from me and you may have been the only thing good to have ever happened to me.

But I warned you. All those years ago. With me, there would only ever be misery and suffering. And that in the end, I would only ever disappoint you. No one survives me and writing to you, I am uncertain if I can survive myself. You could be right, that the problem and this record of repeated misfortune is me and not the threads that puppet us. If that is true, I am too old to be changed.

I love you. I will until this body finally gives out or something takes it out. And perhaps there is some solace that I can feel the piece of you that you bound to me and know you are alive. I do not know if or even when I might return. In the event of never, raise our children with ferocity and fire.

Whatever happens. Whatever you feel. Do not come for me. Do not wait for me.

Stay Alive.

Kur’elnth An’Diel

She was not angry-- she was devastated. It must have been fate looking out for her that her children were not home when the first wail came from the deepest part of her stomach. Her body hit the floor their bedroom and she gave herself to crying that buckled her chest. The only thanks she might have mustered for that moment was that she could feel in those moments of anguish vast and numbing loneliness, sobbing on the floor was the most present she had been in months.

Hours passed before she could breathe again, before she could uncoil and relax her muscles. Staring out the open balcony, she could swear she felt her soul twisting in his chest. And would it be that way, until one day he died and all at once the piece of her he took came rushing back to her?

Eilithe inhaled and sat up.

“What now?” She asked the room which accosted her with silence. Eilithe’s instinct, always, first and foremost was to run. But she had already run--she’d already kissed Death’s cheek and been pulled away. No safe house-- nor tree deep in the jungle was going to be her shelter. Her shelter was walking the sands alone to face all that he had done wrong in the world.

Would she be like her mother?

Dear Reveria, Before I ever met Kurel--before he and I ever gave in to lust or love, before a lot of things actually I used to write letters. Some of them I thought I people would read after I was dead and it’d give them closure or comfort or maybe a final fuck you.

I stopped, eventually. It got too painful writing for forgiveness from people that were long dead and didn’t need to forgive me anyway. Anyway, it used to give me peace writing them every night-- usually to Lucia, sometimes to my children though at the time it was just Eilonwy and I.

Right now, there is a hole in my chest and pieces keep falling out of it. It’s not just Kurel, who.. I’m sure you’ll figure out is gone before you ever read this letter. That is to say-- I hope you never read this, not until we’re old and my hair goes stark white like Endessa’s and we’re both raising grandchildren like our grandmothers.

But if you do, it means that I was out of options. It means that the ache-- not just from Kurel, but from thousands of years of disappointment, of loss of hope has finally gotten me.

I think I finally understand why my mother left after my father died, I started to understand it when I went to the jungle to die months ago but now with this finality-- I get it because as lonely as I was before, now I feel it in a sort of cosmic sense. I cannot help thinking that he was my ‘person’ -- you know, how Dianesh and Velerodra talk.

What if he was my person and that was it?

As stupid as it must sound to you, I wouldn’t take it back. I hope that I am strong enough to stay, Reveria. I hope that you and I can be as close as we used to be. I hope that I do not run. But if I do, know that above everything. I love you.

Eilithe

Kur’elnth An’Diel,

I bet you thought I’d be angry-- that I’d shred your letter and I would rip up all your clothes, throw the vanity off the balcony. Maybe even march an army to face Ammon and drag you back here to your home.

I want to be angry at you. I want to spit your name the way I always do-- act like you forced me into loving you for some sick and manipulative reason. But I can’t because you tried at every turn to stop this.

One day, when we’re both dead-- I imagine yours is the soul I will gravitate to. As warped, twisted, and rotten as you were-- there is a piece of you that I know I will feel entangled with me beyond Bwonsamdi’s gate.

I will not not rush there. Though while I write this I can think of little more than ending this pain, I know that our children need me. That Reveria and Velerodra need me. That Dead Sun needs me. You reminded me of that the last time, Kurel.

For all the shit. The pain and rage. I want you to know, in true me-fashion, you were wrong. You promised me misery and nothing else, but that’s not what I got at all. No, I got two more beautiful children. I got confidence and strength. I got so many laughs and stories.

You know I fell in love with you because of your stories, right?

And so this is ours. When our children ask of you-- I will not tell them you are the bastard son of Vishak An’Diel, True King of the Black Mirage. I will not tell them you were a coward who left us. I will not tell them about the fights or the leaving.

I will tell them that we had fun. I will tell them that you were stubborn, and that you were grouchy. But that you smirked when I said something funny. And sometimes you even laughed-- deep from your belly.

I will tell them that we loved each other as hard and for as long as we could. I will tell them you are a good man.

Until the gate,

Ei’lithene An’Diel

The letters found a home in a box buried in the back of their closest, sealed up, never to be seen. An inhale brought a final breath of his scent that lingered on his clothes throughout the space and Eilithe stood in it for only a moment longer before she pulled on a coat and headed out the door.

@kurel-andiel @revthepunchbear @velerodra-valesinger [this was painful to write, but Kurel is one of my best friends oocly and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, @deadsunharbor would not exist without her support over these last four years. Thank you for all the stories.]

#end of a chapter #keener

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