AN: Recommended listening: "Do You Remem8er Me"
oOoOoOo
Trellis doesn't see Emily fall to the earth, doesn't see the flames petering out around her body as she drops. No, for an intense, pain-soaked moment he is unaware of aught else, save for the agony spiking through him in a great, cresting wave as his battered body hits the ground. A horrible, bubbling groan drifts out of his mouth; he definitely bit into his tongue when he landed, but the pain from it is meagre when compared to the torturous sensation attacking the rest of him. Blearily Trellis raises his head – it feels like it's a cracked eggshell held together only with wet paper and good will – and scans the area. Well, he tries, his vision blurring in and out, most definitely not helped by the steadily-bleeding gash above his eyebrow.
But in a single moment, gash, pain, and all else are forgotten, as his eyes come to rest on a crumpled heap crowned with red hair. Red hair that was never quite that crimson in colour, that never looked quite that slick or shiny, or wet-
A dull throb of horror tries to lance its way through Trellis' chest, bypassing skin, superficial fascia, and sternum to strike straight at the heart, but it is too late, responding to a memo that the brain gave out minutes before. An age has passed since then, an age encompassing bitter calculations of him vs. her vs. remaining energy vs. survival rate, all weighed on a leaden scale, the result coming up the same each time. He knew what the outcome would be, he knew better than anyone what the cost was, and he faced it head-on, paying the gatekeeper's toll in full. Both of them had had their chance at a final, desperate strike, both of them had taken it: boy and bird, rising to meet one another, one cloaked eldritch magic, the other in arcane fire.
Despite that, as Trellis claps eyes upon Emily's form, there is only one thought in his head. A single word that echoes through the caverns of his mind, amplifying it.
Alone.
She was alone as the firebird, and now she is alone once more.
No.
The second thought is iron, and it drops into Trellis' mind like a leaden weight. Oh, it would be easy to be still, to lie there as the world grows dimmer, as the pain rules him and pins him to the ground, as the cold, empty feeling in his chest expands until it encompasses him. But Trellis has never chosen the easy way, has never been given the option of taking such a path, and he is not about to change the habit of a lifetime now.
Emily was alone before, but she will not be alone now, at this final juncture.
Gritting his teeth and setting his spine, Trellis grimaces and begins to claw his way forward. His body screams at him, and for a moment his vision swims in a fashion that is both disorienting and alarming. Pain rips through him, his innards feeling like they're both out of place and on fire, but Trellis doesn't stop. Hand by hand, inch by inch he drags himself across the charred ground, like a snake given the gift of arms. His legs feel curiously empty and light - invisible, even – so he couldn't stand even if he wanted to, but bloody determination is writ into his expression, tattooed across every inch of his broken frame. Oh, his spine is ablaze, and his stomach feels like it's slowly being dragged across a cheesegrater as it passes over the rough ground; his fingertips are numb with effort, the nails cracked and broken as his hands gain a steady coating of soot and dirt in his struggle onwards. Minutes, hours, a lifetime passes by with Emily never seeming to get any nearer.
And then-
He is there. Emily lies before Trellis, curled onto one side with her back to him. Many people would weep at the sight of her now, such a proud, independent girl, so well-loved, and so full of fire, reduced to a battered heap on the ground. But at least she no longer bears the taint of dark magic, at least she is no longer wrapped in an eternal inferno. Emily is herself once more. She was only a couple of meters away, but to Trellis' complaining body, the trip has felt like a thousand miles. With a gargantuan effort, shoulder muscles feeling like jellied pulp under his skin, Trellis props himself up. His body immediately protests; a hot, warm rush floods up from his stomach and he coughs, vomiting a mixture of bile and blood. It spatters onto Emily's prone form below, and a sharp surge of shame flows through Trellis. It's quickly followed by an equally pointed note of chastisement: they're both already covered in blood, heck, Emily is lying in a puddle of the stuff. There's no point in wasting time and energy feeling bad about such pointless things now. Trellis reels slightly; his head is spinning, and he shakes it in an attempt at banishing such a feeling, but the dizziness stubbornly persists.
There is a certain stillness to Emily, one that holds an air of finality about it. Panic tries to spike its way through Trellis, to little effect. He's so tired. With a hand that feels ponderously slow and heavy, Trellis clumsily shoves Emily's shoulder down and almost topples over himself with the effort. There's the soft swish of material, a dull, moist hiss as she flops over, her back coming to rest on the floor. A lifetime of battle has installed many habits in Trellis, some of them good, most of them bad, but all are ones that conceal themselves in the hidden corners of his frame; he automatically picks out the injuries scattered across her body - most of them inflicted by him - his brain attempting to catalogue them in varying levels of severity as it has always done, but failing miserably. Gashes and contusions, cuts and welts, the tell-tale under-skin lumps of broken bones, the unmistakable scorch-marks of his amulet's magic.
Trellis' gaze tracks up to Emily's face – one of her cheeks is concave, painted in angry shades of purple and blue – and had he not been looking directly at that area, then his scattered brain would have missed it.
A faint flicker of movement – her eyes, to be precise. Her gaze darts to him, pinning Trellis to the spot as they lock eyes. Emily's mouth moves soundlessly, nothing more than the faintest puff of air escaping her lips, but the corners of her eyes crinkle and lift in such a familiar way that it makes Trellis' heart break all over again.
Her smiles were a rare thing, but when one appeared, oh, Trellis would swear that it was like seeing sunlight after a storm.
What'd started out as a trembling in his shoulders suddenly makes its intent clear; it is at that point that Trellis' strength gives out and he drops to the ground like a stone. The air is knocked from him in a great rush, his body feeling so incredibly heavy, like it is made of unyielding stone instead of soft flesh.
He will not rise again. Trellis knows this with a definite finality. Neither of them will be walking away from this desolate spot on the ground, but a small warmth blooms in Trellis' chest because Emily will not be alone anymore.
With a rough heave he swings his useless legs forward. And again, so that he is now lying parallel to Emily, their equally broken bodies fitting together in a loose way. Somehow, through some miracle Trellis manages to burrow an arm underneath her. It's not the wisest move, the pressure from the weight of Emily's body sends a red-hot poker of pain screaming up his arm, drilling into his brain, but he ignores it. With the last of his strength he flops his other arm across her, curving it around so that she is in a dying-man's excuse for an embrace. There.
I'm here, Trellis thinks. I'm here with you.
A whisper of a touch ghosts across the back of Trellis' hand, the one draping down by Emily's torso. Normally he would jolt, but there isn't the strength left in him to do so. However, dimly he sees Emily's hand, her fingers like ice, brushing the back of his own. Her one visible eye flicks to him one final time –
And then Emily is staring at nothing, her gaze as empty as a hollow gourd.
Sadness and acceptance mingle together within Trellis in equal measures.
Good, he thinks. At the end, she wasn't alone. And neither was I.
At that, something within him gives way with a warm, pillowy feeling, and Trellis sinks into oblivion, following Emily's footsteps.
oOo
(Come on, come on! Dad's just up ahead!
Ugh, not mine, I hope.
Oh, don't be so maudlin, of course not. Now come on, or I'm gonna drag you.
You're dragging me already. Any harder and my hand is going to come off.
Shush, or I'll get Virgil to tell me all the embarrassing stories about you.
I bet your Dad has a whole wealth of stories from your youth, which I bet he'd be more than willing to share.
You wouldn't- You cheater! Oh, just come on, slowpoke!
All right, all right…)
oOo
The recovery team find them later, a pair of corpses carefully tangled together. There is wailing and sobbing and an outpouring of grief, but there is one who stands off to one side. Sorrow burns an old hole in his chest, one that has been ripped open twice before by familial loss. Still, despite that, a line of poetry he once read long ago springs into his mind:
'What will survive of us is love.'
oOoOoOo
AN: This... wasn't mean to be a fic, originally. It was going to be a short series of messages to someone, but then it grew into this, and because present circumstances have meant I've been finding it difficult to write, I'm basically glad for anything I'm able to create right now. It was basically based off the scenario of "What if Trellis & Firebird!Emily are battling and pull off a mutual kill & Trellis crawls over so they're together as the die before succumbing to his wounds" except worded with a lot more caps lock and screaming.
The single line of poetry at the end is from 'An Arundel Tomb' by Philip Larkin, whilst the title is taken from the song 'No Death In Love'/a from the iEnslaved: Odyssey To The West OST (mainly because the song seemed apropos ohohohoho).