Chapter Text
The roar of the Thaumazein was loud as Willow finally set her feet back on the star of Etheirys. Throngs of people gathered, watching, waiting, hopeful, as the heroes they had sent on an impossible mission returned victorious. She felt as though she was walking through a dream, exhaustion and an abundance of white magic running through her. But still she smiled, still she felt the overwhelming happiness at their success.
The scions gathered around her and it seemed they were the centerpiece for all of the cheering and applause that filled the air. From the crowd she saw Fourchenault push through, rushing to Alphinaud and Alisaie and pulling them into a hug. The relief he must have felt upon their safe return she could never know.
Willow looked around hazily. Ruha hung heavily onto Urianger, his injuries were much more than could be healed with a single session of white magic, but there was still a wide smile on his face. Ridley was a bit to his right with her arm slung around Thancred in celebration, a happier expression she had never seen on the girl. There was one person missing, however, and when she turned behind her she saw Hades leaned against the doorframe to the ship. It seemed he did not want to include himself in the celebration but she still saw the barest hint of a smile on his face.
He wore the robes of the convocation and it gave him a look as if a man pulled straight out of time. Snow white hair nearly to his shoulders, yellow eyes alert and bright, face much younger and less burdened than before. A man in the prime of his life. Where he was when the end of days had snatched his entire life, his entire being, from him.
She was, truthfully, not sure any of this was real. After his initial, and very vehement, refusal to come back and make any semblance of life with her she had thought that the end. That their paths diverged in a way that could never be reconciled. She could see the fondness in his eyes even then, but if rest was what he desired it was what he deserved.
She had not expected him to come back. To follow her soul back into the world of the living as she drifted helplessly between a conscious state and death. He ferried her to life again and using the last of Azem’s magic took a form of his own.
And now he stood in the doorway of their great space faring vessel, looking more out of place than she had ever seen him.
Between the voices and the pure exhaustion Willow was finding it hard to focus, among the hum she heard a mention of going to The Last Stand. Of celebrating the most worthy feat the scions had ever performed. She wanted nothing but to indulge herself in a moment like that. A moment of celebration and ease among her friends. Where nothing was wrong and everyone was alive again.
“No I think we need to get Ruha to the infirmary first,” Alisaie said.
She turned to her friend. Ruha shrugged but he did look worse off than her, hanging onto Urianger as if he couldn’t stand straight, eyes barely open. She remembered how terribly Zenos had beat him and she imagined he was going to need more than a few days of recovery.
“How about you?” Ridley asked Willow, “I could use a stiff drink.”
That was unsurprising, Ridley could get beat within an inch of her life and she could always use a stiff drink. Willow nodded because it did sound nice. To finally relax, to not have to worry about doom upon all the world. She turned back to Emet-Selch who was very clearly not paying attention to them. Back among the living now it seemed he had returned to his modus operandi of watching and waiting. Of observing mankind and all its mistakes.
“Want to come Hades?” she asked, as he had sauntered his way down between them.
At his true name he looked leisurely to her, accepting that he was nothing but a man pulled by fate’s whims yet again, “It seems I don’t have much of a choice do I?”
“I suppose you could run off and build another empire if you liked, but why don’t you try and be normal for once? See if you like it?”
It was how they ended up in the Last Stand, pushing all the tables together so they could fit as many people as possible. Willow was laughing, tired, pleased with her company. Thancred was in the midst of telling a rousing story about his younger days, something about being a dashing rogue while Ridley tried her best to crush the handsome version of himself he had created. And to think just this morning she had feared this would all be gone. That she would lose her friends, her family, everything she loved about her life. Not only had that been avoided, but she’d been returned someone she thought she would never see again.
The man in question, however, did not sit so easily among them. He had leaned himself on a post, staring out over the ocean, looking for all the world as if he was pretending to be somewhere else.
“Hades,” she said.
And his head turned to her with an heir of regality. He was not softer for having returned. His face still held that hardened look, a practiced porcelain mask and eyes that watched for weakness. He was expecting her to speak but for a moment she could not find her tongue. Briefly, she wondered, what were they doing? She had condemned him to a life of true mortality, upon a world he could not stand. She had forced him into a life he was averse to and now she had nothing to say. He looked frustrated by the fact.
“I am sorry” was not sufficient. “I am sorry” was not appropriate. None of this was her fault, none of what happened to him was her fault, none of what he had done to her was her fault.
So she only said, “Won’t you come have a drink with me?”
In answer, he turned to look at the raucous the scions were making. They were overjoyed and relieved; loud, laughing, drinking more than they should. But they fit right in with the rest of the patrons, all celebrating an impossible task seen to the finish.
“You would have me join your merry crew as what? A prisoner? An adviser? Or dare I speak the thought, a member?”
Her brow furrowed but still she smiled at his question, “Whatever you want to be.”
“I do not believe mine is the only opinion that matters here, though I appreciate your attempt at affording me control of my own life,” he was still looking at her friends, an almost wistful expression on his face.
She pulled the chair out beside her, an invitation without saying anything. And though it was not without a frustrated sigh he did eventually sit down.
She had barely touched the food in front of her, and the wine glass had been empty since she had taken her seat. Tentatively she filled it and offered it to him but he brushed her off. Sitting with his arm rested on the table, chin in his hand, looking still as if he was observing.
“You too, huh?” she asked. Though her friends were celebrating she did not feel much for eating or drinking herself. Too much had happened and she was exhausted, aching, but she could not bid herself to go to sleep. She wanted to enjoy this moment, she wanted to remember her friends and her love for her star.
She kept her hand light around the stem of the wine glass. He was much quieter than usual, clearly having no desire to make conversation and no desire to hide the fact that he was watching all of them.
“Why did you come back?” she said and he turned to her again, “What changed your mind?”
He sighed, “Is it not obvious? You cannot be trusted.”
Her eyes widened, “Me?”
“Before I left I gave you one explicit task did I not? To keep yourself safe? And not even a day’s time passes before you fail that task miserably. Were it not for me this little celebration would be nothing more than a funeral for their beloved Warrior of light,” his mouth was turned upwards to a snarl when he looked at her. “That is what changed my mind. Your stupidity.”
“Ah. Well,” she began, almost laughing at his blatant disregard for his personal stake in the matter, “I should be grateful I am so very stupid, then, because it brought you back to me.”
He scoffed, “The punishment fits the crime I suppose.”
She laughed, “For you or for me?”
“Both of us I wager.”
Her tired smile widened, “A punishment I duly asked for,” and she reached for his other hand gently sitting on his lap.
He looked at her as she held it, making no move to return the favor. She thought for a brief moment he might pull away, but then he squeezed her hand back, turning his head to look back out to the sea. As if he did not want to make eye contact when allowing himself to return the affection. He did not let go, however.
“Willow,” shouted Ridley down the table, “What was that thing Ruha said to Zenos before he kicked his ass?”
Willow laughed as she relived the moment, “To the seventh hell with you villain! And this time you stay dead!” said with as much energy as she could manage.
The line was truly the most words they’d ever heard Ruha speak. It wasn’t easy for him but she imagined they were words he’d wanted to say to Zenos for a while, to actually get the man to understand how much he truly hated him.
Ridley barked a wild laugh and then held her mug in the air, “To killing villains!”
Willow raised her own glass in the air and drank with them, feeling the alcohol settle in with a lazy feeling mixed with her exhaustion from so much white magic.
“And to another dead Galvus,” shouted Thancred.
Beside Willow Hades let out a single mirthless laugh but when she turned to him he simply looked displeased. He very clearly didn’t want to touch her anymore so she pulled her hand from his lap and took another drink of her wine.
Hades was impossible to read, incredibly closed off and apparent he was considering something. Maybe it was the same thought that hounded Willow’s mind. The first day of the rest of a new life, spent in favor of this new star. The thought must be daunting for him, to have so much change so quickly. It was unsurprising his attitude was so stoic sitting here beside her. He would never let her see what he was truly feeling.
The quiet continued and it was clear he didn’t desire to speak with her so she instead focused her attention back to her friends. Feeling their warm laughter and friendly nature it was easy to forget herself and lose track of time. She didn’t realize when her eyes started to close, her head leaning forward into her hands.
A sharp scoff, “Look at you, barely even able to keep your head up. What a worthless hero to the people you are.”
She tried to force her eyes open but they were terribly heavy. In retrospect she probably shouldn’t have drank that wine given how much healing magic she had endured earlier. Slowly, she felt arms wrap around her, and lift her easily out of her seat. That, at least, was enough to shock her awake.
“Hades,” she muttered, surprised, when her head turned to meet a man with a mess of white hair, “You’re carrying me to bed? What an uncharacteristically sweet thing to do.”
He made a quiet hissing sound, “Perhaps I am carrying to the end of the docks where I may dump you and be finished with the whole thing. In your current state I imagine you would hardly put up a fight.”
Willow gave him a tired smile, “You cannot be rid of me so easily.”
And then he sighed, “Oh how I have tried.”
He had his arms firm around her, one hand on her back. And she had her arms wrapped around his neck, head laying into his shoulder. It felt nice to let someone else take care of her for a change, to trust someone else to be in control. Hades was nothing but strong and confident in everything he did, and she was glad to be by his side, glad to know that he would step up wherever she faltered. It was strange to say she trusted him after everything, but the ancient part of her that knew him in a time gone by, made it easy to say.
With her eyes already closing again, she watched him take the path to the Baldesian Annex and push through the doors with ease. There was no Ojika at the desk to greet them, no doubt out celebrating with everyone else, but Hades seemed to know the way to her room regardless. She did not ask how.
The inside was still as she had left it, a bit messy from leaving in a hurry the morning earlier. Her extra staff sat leaned in the corner and a pile of clothes she had opted not to wear piled beneath them. Bathroom door slightly ajar and bed unmade. Hades set her down amidst the sheets and she regretfully pulled herself away from him.
She stretched her shoulders back, trying futally to shrug out of the long ruffled coat Tataru had made for her. It was apparently not quick enough for Hades and she felt him pull the rest off of her. He went to work on her boots then, unlacing them with a kind of domestic gentleness before pulling them off. Willow watched him sleepily and then put a hand gently on his head from where he was leaning down, pulling his hair back from his face. It stopped him and he looked up at her.
“I missed you,” she said, and then, “Did you miss me?”
“Did I miss you?” he repeated, and she could hear the anger simmering beneath his tone. “You truly feel the need to ask such a question?”
She only raised her brow at him, too tired to play this game, too tired to get into any conversation where they would never say what they meant. Where they would dance around each other without speaking the truth.
He leaned forward then and pressed his lips to hers, kiss gentle but no less hungry. She put her hand on his face and pressed for more and she could feel him hold himself back, feel the wildness leashed only for her benefit. He knew she was fragile, knew she was tired, he kept himself from crowding her, clawing at her, fighting for more. The tremor beneath his skin, the way his teeth pulled back before they could do anything to her, it was enough to tell her it was a struggle for him.
“Does that suffice as an answer to your question,” he asked and his voice was a quiet whisper, rough with all his desire held with no place to go.
She still held her hand gently to his face and hummed, “I suppose.”
He laughed, short but genuine, and she smiled as she leaned herself back into the bed. He did not follow, standing there stoic and immovable.
“Are you not tired?” she asked.
“Why?” he droned, “You should like me to stay with you?”
“Yes. If that is agreeable to you?” and this tension between them. It didn’t feel right. It felt strange to be here again with him, to try and convince him of her feelings. She had thought, perhaps naively, that with his agreement to stay with her whatever misgivings he held about their relationship would disappear. That he would suddenly become comfortable with her affection and accepting of their relationship. But it was never that easy.
He looked at her with that same disinterested stare and then gave up the illusion, sighing and rolling his eyes, “As you wish.”
“Well. If it is such a burden,” she huffed, feeling the heaviness between them ease if only slightly.
“No, no, I am sure this is the first in a very long list of favors the warrior asks of me. Let us just get this over with,” he drew apart the string on the robes of the convocation, slipping it off to reveal only a collared undershirt and the sophist’s podea. He ran his hand back through his hair, fixing any strays that had pulled forward and sat beside her. Finally he leaned back beside her. His head turned to stare at her.
“Well,” he said expectantly.
“Well, what, shall you like praise now?”
He looked at her with a face half frustrated half incredulous, “Come here,” he said as if it was obvious and his arms were open to her.
She gave a quiet, “Oh," and leaned herself into him.
He wrapped his hands around her back and she laid her head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. A sign that he was here and whole and alive.
“Do not say I never do anything for you,” he groused.
“Never,” she muttered, feeling tired from his warmth.
And it was the last thing she remembered.
The sun beat warm on her shoulders, bright and full of life. All around hummed the sounds of bugs and wildlife, a chorus that could only mean the height of summer. The long wildgrass scratched at her legs, the scent of flowers and fresh plantlife. In the distance she could see someone, only the silhouette of their back, standing long and elegant.
She made her way through the meadow, pushing through weeds nearly the height of her. The grass whispered as a breeze blew through and the figure in front of her stopped if only for a moment. Upon turning she saw it was a woman, her long hair blowing in the wind and when her eyes met hers they creased at the edge into an upturned smile. Warm and welcoming.
There was a basket hanging in the crook of her elbow, all manner of freshly cut flowers set lovingly inside. With her other arm the woman beckoned. Willow stood still as a rabb it in the weeds. The woman beckoned again.
Around her the wildlife seemed to quiet, the sun’s rays grew harsher and she felt a bead of sweat roll down her neck. The woman’s hand was outstretched and she looked at her longingly, sadly. Her long black hair draped around her as beautiful as silk. Willow wanted to reach back but something kept her from it. Something she could not remember but she knew in her heart it was important.
The woman took a step forward and without knowing why, Willow took a step back.
A step forward again, again a step back.
It continued like this until soon she had turned and broke out into a run. The sky darkened, and the grass was sharp. Willow dared not look behind her for fear of what she would see. Of who. She could only hear her own footsteps and yet the presence was so heavy around her. She felt the weight in her chest.
And then she woke up.
The bed which had once been warm with the body of someone else was starkly empty, and a part of her wondered if she had not just imagined the night before. As if the whole thing had been a hallucination brought about by an overabundance of exhaustion and stress.
That was until she heard the door to the room creak open, and a man walked in with his arms full of something.
“Did you go…shopping?” she asked before anything else.
“Well,” he said in a false exclamatory tone, “What potent observational skills, and so early in the morning too.”
“No need for your sarcasm,” she said back, playfully, and then stretched back, “I just did not expect that to be first on your list of things to do when coming back from the dead.”
He dropped the pile on the bed and she rifled through it even as he attempted to slap her hand away.
“Oh this is nice,” she said, raising the shirt, “Did you pick yourself out a little adventuring outfit.”
As unimpressed as he was upon entering, he was doubly so now, and she thought it was probable he was regretting the decision to commit himself to her for the rest of his mortal lifespan.
“Yes, as much as I enjoy the bygone era of universality and conformity in respect to one’s visage I will admit to growing rather fond of a mortal style of dress,” he said, a somewhat cheeky smile on his face.
“Is that so,” she said, copying his false exclamatory tone from earlier, “Well go on, let me see it on you,” she tossed the shirt back and he caught it, and she was pleased to see he had at least somewhat more life to him than he had the night before. Perhaps he had just needed time to adjust.
He hummed, “I think there is quite a hidden motive to that request. Is there not, hero?”
“To see you naked you mean.”
He made a sound of disappointment, “Must you be so blunt. What vulgar things mortals are,” but despite his complaining he did acquiesce to her request.
First he untied the robe, slipping it off with ease, and then his undershirt. She smiled mischievously as if she were watching without permission, but when she finally saw the bare of his chest her smile paled.
“What is that,” she asked.
“A shirt I believe.”
It was her turn to sound frustrated, “No you stubborn man, that,” she made a sound of effort as she pulled herself off the bed, coming to place her hand on his chest and he looked down.
Under her hand sat a gnarled scar, almost as if the thing had been freshly healed. By the way he looked at it with almost the same expression she held, it was safe to say he had absolutely no knowledge of it himself.
“Curious,” he said slowly.
She stared hard at the mark. Knowing exactly what it was. An entry wound, which inevitably meant the presence of another mark through which the offending weapon, or magic as the case may be, had left. She pulled off her hand and he let her, still studying the mark himself. Then she turned behind him to look at his back.
It was a hideously cruel looking thing. Much worse than she imagined. A starburst scar that sliced straight up his spine, exploding in all directions between his shoulders all the way down to his hips. The small and gnarled lines that broke off of the larger scar almost made it seem as though a shock had been sent through his aetherial system. The white auracite, exiting through the edge of his aetherial lines after tearing his soul to pieces.
“I-” she began. “I am sorry.”
“What for,” he said back flatly without looking, as if he could not even conceive of a reason.
“What horrible pain this must have caused you, I-”
“Stop,” he said in the same tone again, “Save your pity and your apologies for someone who deserves them,” he pushed open the door to the wide bathroom mirror before ending, “Or at least someone who cares.”
Willow sighed at his brushing off of the entire thing and watched as observed the scar himself.
“Fascinating,” he muttered, “That it should leave a physical manifestation even on this mortal form.”
And it struck her then that he genuinely found the entire thing interesting. She should not be surprised, she realized, given he specialized in the study of aether and the aetherial sea. Even through all the years that interest had not waned, and he seemed truly excited by the fact that there was something he did not understand. Another mystery in his field even after all this time.
Willow breathed slowly out her nose, tried to let go of the guilt she felt. It shouldn’t bother her, she simply did what she had to do. He had forced her hand after all, and he understood this. So if he was unbothered so too should she be.
She stood tentatively behind him as his eyes darted up and down the length of the mirror.
“A clearer picture of the aetherial system I have never seen,” he murmured.
“Perhaps chirurgeons could use you as an anatomical diagram,” she said with a smile. Trying to pretend she found the entire thing as innocently fascinating as he did.
He barked a laugh, which she was not expecting, “Perhaps!”
She traced the line with her finger, “So your core aether sits near your soul and breaks off into smaller veins almost like the circulatory system.”
“They are called aetherial lines but yes, in much the same way,” he turned to her as if to better address the observation, “When you give another your aether to where does it pull?”
She thought for a moment, “To the chest I suppose, I hadn’t really noticed before.”
“Yes, that is where all aether will collect before being more widely distributed to the body. Which is why the surest and most effective way to give aether is a direct line through the shoulder blades, direct skin contact to ensure that no aether is lost. Aetherology, especially in regards to the living aetherial system, is a school of study that I have found less and less over the years. ‘Tis truly a shame. For the base of all living things, of all studies, can be broken down into the basics of aether.”
She laughed and he looked curiously at her, “You sound as though you could be teaching in the Studium yourself, perhaps you should apply for a tenorship?”
He returned her joke with a snarl, stepping back into the bedroom to pull on his shirt, “I have no desire to teach the ignorant, I hardly have the desire to teach you.”
“You wound me,” she said, lightly stepping in behind him and flopping back onto the bed, “I’m sure there is something I can teach the great Emet-Selch.”
“I do doubt it, but feel free to dream,” he began while slipping out of the podea and she tried not to look at his hips for too long, “I am the one who taught you creation magic after all, and what a poor student you were at even that.”
She sat up suddenly at his jab, and remembered something that had been sitting heavily in her possession for nearly half a year.
“I doubt you have even been practicing, why when I helped you summon that field of flowers out in the midst of Ultima Thule they were variably off shape. The color was slightly off as well,” he muttered while buttoning up his pants and pulling down his shirt.
She leapt to her bag, rifling through in search of something and she heard Hades call, “What is the matter with you,” behind her.
“Hold on I have something,” she muttered a bit more to herself as she tossed out a handful of berries, some old books, and a fish? She really needed to clean this thing out more often. Finally finding what she was looking for, she pulled it out carefully and held it up to Hades. A necklace she had spent countless hours on ever since the day he had died. Pouring her heart and energy into mastering creation magic so as to continue the Ancient’s legacy.
“I made this for you,” she said, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious, “With creation magic I mean, the way you taught me. And look! It hasn’t faded.”
He was looking at the pendant she held up with a very strange, unsettling expression and it suddenly dawned on her that he probably found it exceedingly ugly. The creation magic mortals were capable of probably paled wildly in comparison to his people.
His brow furrowed and she felt a string of apologies come tumbling out of her mouth, “You don’t have to wear it or anything, if it isn’t to your liking or-”
He took it carefully from her before she could say anything else, holding it up to the light and watching the rays catch through the crystal entwined in a thin and intricate silver.
“Oh my dear girl, I always knew you were capable of something beautiful,” he said.
“So you like it,” she said flatly, “You like it?”
He put the thing around his neck in answer and then pulled her into him with one arm. She huffed a breath in surprise and then felt him kiss her light on the head, “I am undeserving of such a gift. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said back into his chest.
He eventually pulled away of his own accord and she found she was disappointed it had not lasted longer. His kiss the night before had been only a taste of what she truly wanted, but he seemed in no hurry. She watched him pull on his coat, the last piece of his newly designed outfit. There was fur trimmed up the collar and detailing down the sides with an ornate trim.
“How dashing,” she said with a smirk.
“So glad to see you approve, I dress only for the benefit of the dear Warrior’s affection,” a slight bow.
“Well you certainly have it,” then she hopped to her feet, pulling a shirt from her own makeshift dresser in order to get ready for the day, “So, what is on the agenda this morning?”
He made a kind of disgusted sound, taking her place on the bed, “Nothing, I should think. And for that you should be grateful. You just saved the entirety of the star and I think you deserve a very long and gracious break from any more of mankind and their innumerable troubles.”
She hummed, “You would like that wouldn’t you? Come back just in time for the Warrior of Light’s vacation so that you may have precious little work to do.”
“Have I not also been diligent in my own work? We are both deserving of rest and I do not think it is indolence to say so.”
“Well then, might I mark one thing on your list amidst the various other tasks that involve sleeping and doing nothing?”
He sighed heavily, “If you must.”
“Breakfast, I am starving.”