If you want maximum feels, read it slowly!
-[o]-
He remembered, and that terrified her.
He'd come seeking his soul, the first time he'd demanded anything of the being who had destroyed him, and she'd bound him to damp stone far beneath her palace, cradled in a nest of cold steel and rot. She demanded answers he wouldn't give, sent fire and iron searing his flesh, but could not fathom why he didn't break.
His refusal, her ignorance burned within her, ached and spat and fought, acid eating away at her soul, and that knowledge gave him a peace that allowed him to suffer through the agony lifetime after lifetime.
-[o]-
His first body had been sleek and feathered in the color of freshly-spilt blood, and that proved to be what his soul remembered best about him. Joined beneath the statue of her, halves made whole for the first time, that lifetime had been the only he'd spent at the Hero's side.
Hylia couldn't understand what she'd done in placing the Hero's soul among Skyloft and its people. She'd ensured he would appear in a place where each being had another half, another sentient creature that completed it, and when she kept the Hero's soul in Hyrule and bound him to return lifetime after lifetime, she'd also bound him.
So, having closed his eyes to life, he found himself opening his eyes in the same moment, in a body far too small and featherless to be his.
The Three had proved themselves worthy of their mantle of divinity, and allowed him what tools they could to aide him in finding the Hero before the agony of being broken tore his mind asunder.
But again, Hylia, in her ignorance, destroyed that.
She bound his soul to the Master Sword, to other things, objects, temporary possessions that only aided in one lifetime. And when she saw him, saw the ancient memories flitting about in his eyes, she turned him into a tool.
-[o]-
"I'm sorry."
He didn't bother to move his head, but lifted his eyes to stare up through a curtain of ragged blonde locks at the speaker. It was one of her pet guards, the one who primarily wielded her tools during questioning.
"I do not…blame you." His words were barely audible, but the guard seemed to have heard them.
"How can you not?"
"You are bound to her…service. You Hylians and…your honor. Swore to obey her…and you are. I've done things…in the name of another." He tilted his head back, closing his eyes as his hair fell across his face. Blood dripped down his temple, and at the sight of it the guard flinched. He fled after a moment of silence, leaving him alone, and he let out a soft breath.
"But there's nothing I ever regretted…except for not ending her sooner. She's…killing him. I can feel him dying…and she's put me here instead…of helping me find him." He whispered the words, voice stronger, and they echoed in his cell for a moment before falling silent.
His fists clenched, rattling chain abruptly.
She'd pay.
-[o]-
He had been a thousand things, worn a thousand names. His first form, that of a fierce ruby bird. Once he'd had a mechanical limb, been a traitor to his other half in order to further the Hero's cause. Once he had been a twisted creature hidden beneath a ragged cloak, guiding his other half indirectly. And his favorite, even beyond his first form, was that of a Sheikah.
Red was his symbol, his banner for his Hero, and that time it had been his eyes that gave it away. He was his soul's guide, aiding him in any way he could as the Hero cleansed the land and freed the Sages.
A year he'd spent at his soul's side, until she had no further use of him and plunged a blade into his gut. His soul's grief had undone her, torn the threads of Time apart and thrust him back into life before he could be reborn.
It had not been without its consequences. His favorite form followed him to every life now, a ruby-eyed Sheikah walking where no live Sheikah had tread in millennia. Following his soul's shadows, growing closer with each life, each death.
But he was growing tired of Hylia's game.
-[o]-
"What are you?"
She'd taken to whips now, and that remorseful guard kept his eyes glued to the floor as he tried to make each lash as painless as possible without incurring her wrath.
"If he dies while I am here, I will kill you."
The guard no longer chained him to the wall each night, when she was done, and while his cell door was locked, he was a Sheikah. There were plenty of souls in her dungeon willing to aide him, if he promised them rest.
Tonight. He'd leave tonight.
He could feel his soul drawing closer, feel the bonds, frayed after millennia of disuse, cracking and splintering. That hurt more than anything she could do to him.
But his soul knew—at least, that there was another. That he needed that other. Because he was coming!
"Who? What are you?" She stood up straighter her fear sharp, tangible.
His lips twisted upwards, and he said nothing.
-[o]-
Sometimes he had dreams—beautiful, painful dreams—and he'd wake gasping and crying and reaching out for someone else, but they wouldn't be there and that would hurt far more than anything his dreams could send him.
He felt their presence, sometimes, and when he did it was always desperate—a flash of panic and fear and scrambling in that same direction until his hands and feet were bloodied and he couldn't feel his hunger and exhaustion claimed him.
-Mine…-
He'd tried to fight it. It scared him. But when the voices started up, fragmented words and song and sounds that hurt just as much as the dreams, he'd known he couldn't keep running.
-…I've been waiting for you…-
He was losing focus, though. Things blurred, grew indistinct. Half of the time he wasn't sure where he was, when clarity returned to him, and his moments of true lucidity were few and far between.
But he was coming.
He tried to tell the other that, when he laid down to sleep and his vision was filled with crimson.
-Oath.-
He was coming.
-[o]-
Blood splattered stone, spraying through the air in arcs as he staggered up the stairs. His wrists were lacerated so badly he doubted they would ever heal properly, but that didn't matter. His soul was close—closer than he'd ever been before—and he would die before he let his soul slip away again.
He hadn't realized just how severely she'd weakened his body until then, his limbs ready to collapse and the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other taking every ounce of strength he possessed.
But he would reach the top. He would find his soul.
There was a cry from above him, footsteps and the clattering of mail.
-[o]-
The first time he had died, the first moment he'd stopped breathing, he'd been weeping. Being separated was something unimaginable to either of them, and neither had been willing to leave the other.
So they'd gone together.
-[o]-
Desperation took hold of him and, by some miracle, he made it through the guards and into the castle.
He was so close—!
Turn right there. Left at the intersection. Through the small wooden door. Up the stairs to the left. Hide behind the tapestry until the servants passed.
He was going to make it.
-[o]-
The longer they spent apart, the closer insanity came—the closer they came to true death.
To being alone. Empty.
Forever.
-[o]-
The throne room was cold marble, impersonal. Everything shimmered, reflected his gaunt eyes back to him as he slowly made his way towards the throne.
She sat there, regal and blending in so flawlessly with her surroundings that he almost missed her.
"Can I help you?"
"Where…I…"
Where were they? That same sense of direction that had been leading him for as long as he could remember was gone—so why weren't they there?
"I'm looking for someone…" He finally whispered, looking up at her.
-[o]-
The body fell, tumbled down the stairs still twitching, and he sagged against the wall, limbs trembling with exhaustion and pain.
"Please…get out of my way." His voice was labored, his weakness clear. The only guard left was the same one who had apologized for her, and his sword shivered in his grip.
"I can't."
-[o]-
"Who?"
"I…Someone…dear to me…"
-[o]-
The guard had to hold him up, all but carry him to the throne room. He'd lost too much blood—he could barely stay focused on what was going on around him.
He wanted to scream in fury. This close—they were this close—and he would fail because of a single man's fear of retribution.
"Who?"
His head snapped up as the guard drew back a tapestry, revealing a hidden entrance into the throne room.
And standing in front of her—
The sound that escaped him was almost inaudible, and he collapsed, unable to breathe.
"I…Someone…dear to me…"
-[o]-
"And so you search for this person in the Royal Palace?" Her voice was amused, kind, but her eyes were suddenly very cold.
Warning prickled along his nerves, and he glanced around the room. But no one stepped out from behind a pillar, or the throne, or entered through another door.
They weren't there.
Loss crushed his lungs, and he clutched at his chest, doubling over.
"I don't…I don't understand…"
-[o]-
"Please." His voice trembled, and he strained against the guard's grip with a strength he hadn't known he'd possessed.
The man hesitated, but his arms fell, and he found himself tumbling forward, past the tapestry, struggling to keep his feet beneath him as he ran towards his soul.
"Understand what?" Her voice was sharp, hands clenched against the arms of her throne. She sensed it, the discord.
A wail escaped his soul, a cry of pain so deep it physically hurt to hear, and he felt wetness drip down his cheeks, splash against the ground.
He'd never truly gotten used to that aspect of his new forms. Crying.
His soul fell into him limply, as her cry of rage filled the air. He paid no attention to her.
He realized then just how broken they were. His soul was all but dead. Time had shredded both of them, worn them both to nothing but husks, but his soul was finally collapsing beneath the weight of the strain—
—even with him sitting right there.
Bitter grief welled within his throat.
He'd made it. Found his soul.
Just in time to die.
-[o]-
They wouldn't go in silence. He refused to allow that. They had the very first time, and he'd never regretted anything as much as he had that. Far too much left unsaid.
His soul wouldn't open his eyes. He was weeping, sobbing in his arms, but he refused to open them.
"I'm sorry…I wasn't fast enough." He murmured, smoothing his soul's hair back, battling his grief as best he could.
"…You hid yourself away so well…I always only just passed by you."
She left her throne, running to them, and magic flared around them, encapsulating the two of them in a barrier of dark, navy blue.
Sheikah magic at its finest.
He shifted his soul carefully, gently tilting his soul's head up.
He looked different than he had the first time. His hair was less brown now, a dark gold that hung long and choppy about his face. He was shorter, build more angular, and his ears were far less prominently pointed than usual—an indication that this body had foreign blood. His skin was pale, untouched by the sun and wind that his first body had been so accustom too. This body was worn with pain and grief and madness, so deeply that it was apparent from every contour, but…
But, even without every part of him screaming that it was, he'd have known this was his soul.
He rested his forehead against his soul's, sighing. Every fragmented part of them was splintering off, dissolving. There wasn't much left of either of them.
"I've missed you, Mine."
-[o]-
-Mine.-
He was being held by someone. He held them, terrified that they would go again—away, where he couldn't follow—where he wouldfollow—
-Mine.-
His eyes flew open—
Wavering ruby orbs met his, and his heart stopped.
A thousand faces flickered across his eyes, and every single one of them was his.
"Where are your wings?" His voice was small and timid and weak and hebroke down immediately, tears spilling free and a shuddering sob wracking hisframe.
This was joy, though. Pain, anguish. But joy.
They were together.
"Don't go. Ever again. Can—can you promise? I can't—" Another sob escaped him, but henodded, drawing him close and clutching him so tightly he thought he might fall apart if helet go.
-"I'm not going anywhere. Never again—I'm not leaving you."-
He relinquished his white-knuckled grip on his other's clothes, and slid his arms around him, holding histhin frame as tightly as he was being held.
"I love you." He murmured, and pressed his face against his other's shoulder. Exhaustion was swimming through his mind, clouding his thoughts, but that didn't matter.
They were together.
-"…I love you."-
-[o]-
They let go together.
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:D
This is a sequel of sorts to 'Oaths' [ PUT FF.N AND ADD THIS TO THE END OF THE LINK: /s/11000541/1/Oaths]. Not necessary to read that first, but it might make some things hit home a bit harder.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed this. Been in the works for a while (Before Oaths), and…I finally finished it. YAY!