As Old Men Are Wont To Do
by Jargonelle

Summary: 'It was perhaps the stupidest expression he had ever come out with, yet it served them well enough: filled with nostalgia for a war-torn world two thousand years gone and love for a woman two thousand years dead.'

A/N: This is set two thousand years before the game, so ironically, contains spoilers up until nearly the very end.

Disclaimer: I don't own Tales Of Symphonia.

…..

Waking up from a deep sleep was something of a novelty once one had been an angel for a couple of thousand years, but it still didn't take Yuan long to realise that things weren't quite right. The ache in his head suggested he wasn't waking up, so much as he was regaining consciousness, his arms posed in uncomfortable positions and he couldn't move them much. He regretted ever cursing his normally unshakeable insomnia.

He was in Kratos' room; the sight of his so-called friend flicking through a heavy book was secondary evidence compared to the horrible décor.

"Kratos!" Yuan said, trying to sound confident, as if he were the one in control of the situation, rather than the one shackled to the bedposts, "What is going on?"

"I am merely following orders."

"Mithos ordered you to chain me to your bed?" That seemed a little farfetched, even for Mithos.

Kratos, the bastard, kept his eyes firmly fixed on his book. "No, he asked me to chain you to something, didn't specify what, and this seemed the most convenient. It meant I could carry on with my research whilst waiting for you to wake up."

"Well I am awake now, obviously, so you can stop 'carrying on' and release me."

As if realising that he couldn't avoid conversation any longer, Kratos marked his place, slowly, before moving to stand by the bedside. "Not until you give me your word."

"Please stop stalling and tell me what it is you want me to say. Do you have any idea what this is doing to my wrists?"

"You must promise me that you will not deliberately provoke Lord Yggdrasill. It is not good for either of you."

The words 'You, especially,' were tactfully left unsaid.

Yuan rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll be nicer." He tugged a little at his bonds, drawing Kratos' attention to them.

"You had better mean that." Nevertheless, Kratos leant down to unlock the handcuff from around Yuan's right wrist.

"Thanks." He immediately dropped his arm and started to massage his shoulder. Despite his earlier comment, it was the ache in his muscles that was causing the most pain.

Kratos moved to the left side of the bed but hesitated before removing the other cuff, his hand encircling Yuan's wrist.

"I understand, Kratos. Mithos has changed."

"More than you realise."

This was getting irritating. "Then please, explain."

Kratos' grip suddenly tightened, as if trying to press his point. "Mithos needs you alive, Yuan, but only for Martel's sake. He wants, but doesn't necessarily need you happy, doesn't necessarily need you free. He has more than enough angels to do his bidding and if he thinks you are a threat to him, then he will most likely incarcerate you. He hasn't mentioned it yet, but I can see where his thoughts are heading."

"And you would just let him."

"I would oppose such a measure, I assure you."

"But if I do something stupid, I'm on my own. Great."

In a wordless attempt at apologising, Kratos efficiently released him. Yuan ignored the pain in his arms long enough to sit up and shift away from Kratos, regaining some of his dignity along with his personal space.

"What were you working on?" he asked, trying to return things to normal.

"I was acquainting myself with the recent reports made by the Sylvarant Summoning Laboratory."

Yuan smirked, he knew Kratos had little patience for the frequent fighting between the Sylvarant leaders: it meant that when Sylvarant was the flourishing world, committee meetings were the most likely order of the day. "Any luck this time?"

"Unfortunately not. Though the excuse made by the Triet contingent as to why those of Asgard descent were not allowed access to their resources was remarkably creative."

"Though I hate to say it, life's much easier when Tethe'alla's flourishing," Yuan commented, for even though the Tethe'allan monarchy was somewhat repressive, at least things tended to happen there.

"Indeed, I'm glad that you agree," Kratos said and raised his eyebrows.

Yuan took the hint. "All right, I get it. Mithos has managed to keep things together much better than either of us could have done. It's just… we didn't start this expecting to have to compromise."

"We have grown up since then."

"Mithos has." Yuan gestured down at his body, "But we, my friend, have not."

"And here I was, looking forward to losing my hair."

"A fate worse than death, I fear," Yuan replied with exaggerated solemnity. It wasn't amusing, really, but Kratos smiled anyway.

"Come on," he said and then turned towards the door.

Yuan was confused. "Where are we going?"

"Mithos may have changed, but he is still our friend, and we are not going to break our arrangement."

"So we are going to sit, talk and reminisce under the stars?"

"As old men are wont to do."

"As old men are wont to do," Yuan echoed.

It was perhaps the stupidest expression Kratos had ever come out with, yet it served them well enough: filled with nostalgia for a war-torn world two thousand years gone and love for a woman two thousand years dead.

Yuan apologised to Mithos, who accepted it as an emperor would, and then surprised Yuan and Kratos both by dragging them, bursting with excitement, to view a speck in the cosmos that none of them had ever noticed before.

Proof that not everything in the universe was under Mithos' control, that there were some things still out there, undiscovered, untamed.

There was life left in the three of them yet.

But Yuan couldn't see that lasting forever.

…..

THE END