Summary: Ages have passed but the work of the Underworld continues. What has happened to Zeldris and Gelda after all this time? An epilogue to Lickitysplit's 'The Dark Gift'.

A/N: Thanks for taking a look at this. After reading the final chapter of 'The Dark Gift', at two in the morning, I had a pretty restless night and came up with this epilogue for Lickitysplit's amazing story. Apparently my subconscious does not like to see Zeldris suffer.

Thanks Lickitysplit for letting me write this and for liking it. I would have been gutted if you hadn't.

This is not supposed to be a standalone story and as you might expect there are spoilers through to the end of 'The Dark Gift' so please do read that first if you haven't already. It is a wonderful story.

Epilogue

Gone
In the deep convulsion gripping your face, muscles
And sinews bunched, victorious, as the cosmic
Laugh does away with the unstitching, plaguey wounds
Of an eternal sufferer.
To you
Perseus, the palm, and may you poise
And repoise until time stop, the celestial balance
Which weighs our madness with our sanity.

— Sylvia Plath

Zeldris is walking down a path, kicking up dry dust with his boots as he makes his way towards his house, his home he tells himself as he picks up pace. The sun is setting on the horizon, burnished bronze and rosy fingers creeping over the verdant land as his heart soars in his chest. He cannot wait to see her, sitting in the room, their room, rising in welcome as he enters, the smell from her red clay jug of rose water and baking bread as familiar as the curve of her smile.

The path feels shorter than usual today; he is making good progress as he practically runs towards her, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms. And then he is there, the door wide open and he marvels at her rounded face, her slightly pointed chin and high cheekbones framed with silken hair the colour of golden honey. His longing gaze is drawn to those piercing blue eyes, the thin pale skin crinkling around their almond shape as her smile widens at his approach. His heart skips a beat, blood pounding in his ears as she comes closer. He loves her, with everything he has.

Hands trembling in anticipation, Zeldris reaches out for her, longing to pull the girl into a tight embrace. She stretches her arms out in return, and he runs towards her with abandon. But something is wrong: as he travels forward she slips away, her fingers pulling cruelly from his desperate grasp as she fades away to black and disappears.

With a start Zeldris wakens, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he runs fingers through his dark hair, tugging viciously at the roots. His eyes are hollow, his heart racing as if in fear, his breathing ragged. He should know better by now not to sleep unless the queen is close at hand. It never ends well.

Centuries, millennia have passed since Gelda drank the elixir and passed into Paradise, the door sealed to him so that he could not follow. The work of the Underworld has continued. The dead still journey to the king's throne room to receive their judgement, some following Gelda through to the queen's domain, the others sent to him or his brother to deal with.

The numbers at their doors have increased, but the work is the same, the changing fashions in attire the only way of tracking the passing of the ages. Flowing togas at first gave way to woollen clothes, plain at the outset, then increasingly ornate. Zeldris remembers gold brocade and collared ruffs, simple smocks and lace bonnets. More recently almost every arrival came dressed in battle fatigues, painted in mud and blood, the smell of gunpowder and mustard gas stinging the back of his throat. Then, without warning, the clothes of combat were replaced with tiny skirts and tight denim trousers, scuffed leather shoes and baseball caps. Humans were a decidedly peculiar race.

He had thought he would grow used to her absence over time, but no matter how many years he endures without her, the pain never ceases or even fades. While on duty, he pushes himself to excel at his work, forcing the image of Gelda to the back of his mind, reminding himself that it is a blessing she is not in Tartarus. But the task of punishing sinners, which used to bring him so much cold satisfaction, now leaves him feeling hollow, incomplete. The only comfort available to him is when the queen is on her throne, the cold licking the frostbitten ground up in Britannia as the land mourns the loss of the beloved goddess. Elizabeth takes pity on his suffering and brings him news of Gelda, telling him without fail that his love waits with patience for him still. Time and the bliss of Paradise have not eroded her loyalty or affection.

But now the queen is back, her arrival just a few days ago bringing joy to the Underworld, Estarossa aside. Zeldris paces up and down his room wondering if he dares to go and find her, to see if she has yet paid her visit to the fields of Paradise. The need for news of Gelda tears at his insides, and his hands curl to fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms in his perturbation. How much longer can he possibly wait to hear from her?

Then a knock sounds and the door to his room opens, a light shining through the dark of his chambers and Zeldris squints against the glare. As Elizabeth glides in, Zeldris forces himself not to rush towards her; over the years he has learned to long for the soft kindness of her eyes and her silvery, tinkling laughter as she describes how Gelda amuses herself in Paradise. He cannot now imagine ever wanting her gone, the very desire which had caused all his problems in the first place.

"How is she? Is she well?" Zeldris demands, the space between himself and Elizabeth mere inches despite his resolution. "Have you seen her?"

Remembering himself with an effort as the queen's lips quiver in amusement, he bites down on his tongue. It would do him no good to upset her now.

"I mean, welcome back, my queen. You have been missed. My brother will be more than pleased that you are home." Zeldris bows slightly, cursing himself for forgetting these pleasantries. It has just been so long. Even though he knows he has nothing to fear, that Gelda will of course keep her promise, the prospect of losing her squeezes at his heart. He is sure of her loyalty, and yet scared that she will leave him, his emotions fighting his reason for control.

"Zeldris!" The queen's voice is tremulous, her eyes conveying her great excitement and agitation and he is astonished when she clutches at his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh. "You need to come with me. I felt a snap."

"What are you saying?" Zeldris asks with urgency. "How… what…."

"I went to Paradise to see the new arrivals who have come since I last left the Underworld," Elizabeth explains, her light shining softly in the dimness of the room. "I stayed there for a time. Gelda is well. She still waits for your return."

At these words, Zeldris feels relief flow through him, every muscle and sinew relaxing in his form. The queen however remains on the edge of great excitement, biting her lip as she continues with her tale.

"On leaving, the door opened for me as usual, but as it swung away I felt a rush of air, as if a fierce wind was blowing, but it was not of my creation. I felt a magic force bloom and fade as my hand was on the door. I'm not completely certain, but I believe the seal has broken."

Zeldris' heart stops beating. The march of time halts as he gathers his thoughts, trying and failing to rationalise the queen's revelation. Could the agony of waiting really be at an end? Dare he let himself hope she is right?

"Come, let us see," Elizabeth says brightly, her voice coming breathless as she pulls Zeldris from the room. He follows, feet moving as if on clouds, as if in a dream as they cross through the halls to the throne room. With trepidation, Zeldris looks to see if the king is in his place, his eyes closing briefly in relief as he spies the throne, bare and cold. He does not want to speak to Meliodas in this moment. Elizabeth grins over her shoulder as she runs to the left and near the door to Paradise, a door Zeldris has forced himself to look away from all these past ages.

"You need not fear. The king is sleeping soundly and I have sent Estarossa away. He will not return for many hours. You are free to attempt the opening," Elizabeth whispers, stepping aside to allow the demon to approach the door. Hand outstretched, his whole arm shaking with fear and anticipation, Zeldris lets the tips of his fingers touch the rough stone, hoping to sense whether the magic which left him on this side of the opening is still in place. But he can sense no clue, nothing to show either way whether he can pass through into Paradise.

With an impatient huff, masking an almost paralysing agitation, Zeldris' fingers curl round the handle and he pulls sharply at it. His heart thrums painfully in his chest as, inch by inch, it opens in towards him and the light of Paradise blinds him with its fierce intensity. He takes one step, and then another, fighting the instinct to flee as he braces himself, ready for the force which would surely eject him. Only the force never comes; he stands in lush, tall grass, brushing the tops with trembling fingers as he steps further in, the warmth and light and peaceful energy completely overwhelming his senses. The last he was here, had he not sneered at the girl at his side, her eyes sinking to the floor in misery from his harsh rebuke. He regrets it now, more than he can say.

He turns, expecting to see the queen behind him, but unbelievably she is gone and the door itself is closed. Zeldris feels his gratitude to Elizabeth blossom in his breast; her trust now means so much to him.

Pushing out his powers, Zeldris searches for the girl whose face he longs to see, not relishing the prospect of the extended search through the vast expanse of Paradise to find her. Breathing fevered, ragged, he runs through the long stalks of grass with urgency, wondering if he should call her name. It is with intense surprise that he finds her, almost before he has begun to search; she has evidently waited for him beside the door all this time.

Her face, delicate, brave, alight with a fierce joy as their eyes lock together draws him up short. The love and desire he has carried for her through millennia boils through his blood, then bubbles up and bursts, immobilising him as he stares. He wants her, needs to feel her soft, plump lips on his, her breath feathering across his cheek as he sucks the pale column of her neck and hears her gasp his name. But he cannot move: his legs are frozen, trapped in his uncertainty and doubt.

"Zeldris!" she cries in ecstasy as she runs towards him, time slowing to a crawl as she comes inexorably closer. Before he can draw breath, her arms are around his shoulders, her body pressed flush against him as her lips seek his own. All at once, the taste of her, the hypnotising feel of her fingers at the nape of his neck overwhelms him with memory, regret, and desire.

He snaps, the spell broken and he moves, his lips sliding urgently against hers as he tugs at her lower lip, swallowing her soft moans as he presses forward eagerly. He grabs her thigh, curling it around him and she leans into him, fingers digging pleasingly into his shoulders to draw him closer to her. The memory of their first encounter sears into his soul, and he pulls the girl he loves gently down to the ground, their bodies surrounded by the long stalks of grass.

He would do it right this time.

Gently, he unbuttons the front of her white dress as she smiles softly in encouragement. He swallows thickly as the sensitive pads of his fingers run over her smooth skin, creamy and delicious as he tastes her body, the scent and flavour still the same as on the cliff top by the sea. With a loving caress, he gently massages her pert, soft breasts, running his thumb in circles over one as he pops the other into his mouth, Gelda's urgent gasps making hot shivers run up his spine.

He tastes her, again and again, sucking languidly on her smooth skin as her fingers run into his hair, the delectable feeling of her nails scraping over his scalp sending him into a frenzy. The years of wanting and waiting crash over him like waves as he moves down over her trembling stomach to her pelvis. She pulls her legs up and apart, guiding him towards her centre as he drinks from her with abandon, the wet silk sliding over his tongue as he continually laps against her. He can feel the girl he loves quivering for his touch and his heart soars as he complies, allowing her to pull him up towards the bundle of nerves he knows will send her to ecstasy.

Before he knows what is happening, Gelda pulls him up towards her, her hands tugging at his belt with urgency as she undoes the clasp. Her hand slips inside, fingers curling around his length as she runs a thumb in firm circles over the head before dragging down from tip to base. Sparks fly through him as the pace of her hand quickens, delicious heat surging within him as she twists her palm.

He can take no more. Pulling back, he yanks his pants down, the head of him pressed against her opening. She pulls him quickly, her eyes locked on his with a loving gaze, the sudden movement and palpable emotion causing him to gasp and, in one fluid movement, he is sheathed inside her. Her body fits with his so perfectly, her walls like velvet stroking him to new heights of pleasure as they move with abandon. He rocks into her, lying flush against her as their foreheads press together, lips melding in a familiar dance as they become as one. The raw emotion of their reunion builds to an all-consuming pressure, and then bursts in a fire of frenzy as they find their ends, the sounds of skin slapping on skin and murmured groans heightening their bliss. Zeldris stares in wonder at the girl, who so bravely gave her own life for another, to save him as she struggles for breath, soft, silken hair fanning like a halo around her beautiful head as she lies, eyes closed, rose lips parted in the lush grass. He will never let her go again.

Lying down beside her, pulling Gelda into his chest Zeldris wraps his arms around her, stroking her bare arm as her breathing slows to normal, his own breaths matching hers. Fingers slip through silken locks as he tries to let the peace of the moment and of Paradise sooth his jagged soul. He knows he has missed her and has longed for her with every fibre of his being, but finally holding her close is not the balm he has anticipated. He feels a tearing in his insides at the thought of losing her again, the possibility that this is some sick joke to heighten the sting of his just punishment never straying from his mind. The pain this brings is real and sharp and he bites his lip so as not to betray his feelings.

"I… I'm sorry," he stutters and the girl in his arms runs a comforting hand over his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw as she sits up beside him.

"It's alright. The punishment is ended," Gelda murmurs softly and Zeldris squeezes his eyes shut tight, not wanting to let her see him cry. "The queen has confirmed this to me. Now you can enter Paradise. We are not to be parted again."

He does not dare to hope, to trust the truth of these words despite the ring of certainty in Gelda's clear voice. Her confidence has grown, and he is glad to hear her speak with such authority, cursing the vampire king for his cruel and vicious lies. Izraf had come to the Underworld many centuries ago, and his brother had lost no time in sending him to Tartarus. Although she did not know it, Gelda had been well and truly avenged for the mental torture she had suffered.

"Zeldris, come with me, I have something to show you," the girl says, laughing as she stands and pulls him to his feet. Wisps of doubt still swirling through him, the demon of Piety complies, allowing Gelda to drag him through the tall grass as they travel. They reach a path, dry and clear and memories assault the demon as he walks, his free hand clenched to a fist and his teeth grit tight together to stop himself from shaking. Once, to journey along such a road would have brought him peace, but now it holds only the promise of nightmares.

"I asked Elizabeth to make us this, so that you have somewhere to come home to," Gelda purrs. Her thumb runs in circles comfortingly over the back of his hand and Zeldris knows she can sense his reluctance and yet is not deterred. He is almost unsurprised as they reach the cottage, homely and welcoming, set against a line of trees next to a shimmering brook. The beauty and simplicity of it take his breath away, and Gelda's tinkling laugh slides up his spine as she pulls him over the threshold.

The sight that meets him within the dwelling is at once familiar and new. The rugs are there, but with a different pattern, the thin coverlet on the bed plain rather than embroidered. The scent of rosewater and baking bread is gone, replaced with the sweet fragrance of frangipani, the blushing flowers standing in an earthen vase. The table at the centre of the room is loaded with fruits plucked from the surrounding gardens, a vessel of glossy, black olives lying amongst the splendour.

"Do you remember this," Gelda asks as she plucks an olive from the table, pressing it between the demon's lips. Zeldris' breathing stutters with the memory: the salty taste of Gelda's fingers as they slip into his mouth, the tart juice of the olive as it bursts over his tongue, the flesh rolling between his teeth. "You said to me, is this not real enough, just because this is not Britannia. This is real. We do not have to worry anymore."

With these words, Zeldris catches Gelda up in his arms, his whole form trembling as he clings to her, allowing the realisation that their torment is finally over to seep into his soul. For the first time, he understands the power of Elizabeth's creation, for here, in his home with Gelda at his side, he knows that this is truly Paradise.