Title: Three Grains of Sand
by Jargonelle

Written for yhibiki for the TOSmas livejournal community.

Summary: '"I've asked the innkeeper to wake us before the others," she said, and he took that as permission for him to stay.' Kratos x Raine, past Kratos x Anna.

Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of Symphonia and am making no money from this.

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The stars.

With Anna, he had watched them; with her, they had somehow managed to be a symbol of freedom, despite everything they had to fight against.

Kratos and Anna could not give Lloyd a normal childhood, his baby steps were neither stable nor secure, but they had at least given him their treasure, the night sky (hard to admit, even now, that it had not always been safe to venture out during the day – that it had not been…).

Raine though, was more interested in what the ground could tell her. The sand was hers, and the stones from which they crumbled: cemented grains of knowledge and truth. The light magic she used was a flash rather than a twinkle.

Even after four thousand years, he still enjoyed watching the stars. Even after fifteen years, he watched them and thought only of Anna, and of Lloyd. Why now, would he go and think of her instead?

She was not wearing her cloak, her bare arms folded tightly across her chest. Her steps were fast and her breath came short as she approached him. Maybe it was because he had heard her coming – yes, maybe that was it (but still he had to struggle not to draw his sword).

"I think it would be best if we let the others all share a room tonight," she said, apparently unaware of the beauty of the sky above her; there was a whole other world out there that she knew nothing about.

"Hmm…" There was no point in arguing – if anyone was acting as a parent on this journey, it was her, as it should be. Her brother, Lloyd and the Chosen were probably already in bed, though he doubted that any of them would sleep. "To whom did you give your cloak?" he asked, fearing the answer; the Chosen would no longer have no use for warm clothes.

"Colette," she said and paused, waiting for a sign that he was listening: was that a habit she had picked up since becoming a teacher? He had often wondered how much of a personality was shaped by its owner's occupation. "I wanted to thank you for accompanying us back here."

Seeing Luin so devastated, again, had hurt Kratos more than he was capable of admitting and the day detour to Asgard on the pretence of gathering supplies was not, in his opinion, time wasted. He was glad though that Raine did not seem to take his presence for granted. "We were running out of food," he said, and starting walking in the direction of the inn.

Raine quickly caught up with him, easily matching his stride. "I don't think we've seen the last of Sheena. We should be careful if we see her again: Colette and Lloyd already trust her."

"I think, if she joins us, she will prove to be most loyal than most."

When Kratos looked at Raine, at her pointed ears and slender frame, he saw a half-elf first and a woman second, and even though neither of those distinctions should have bothered him, they sometimes really did. Half-elves were something slightly different. He could be friends with them, fight for them, kneel before one; yet he had never expected to look beyond their different blood and find one he wanted to… touch. He supposed he was the ultimate proof that Mithos had been right all along. (She was nothing, nothing, nothing like Anna: Anna had been his wife and this was something else entirely.)

Anna had been dead for more than a decade, long enough in human years to have mourned her and found another partner. Having only had one wife in four thousand years though, Kratos felt an obligation towards her – perhaps he always would. Especially while their son still lived and fought beside him each day.

He opened the door for Raine and let her enter the room first.

She immediately headed for the nearest bed, her belongings already strewn around it. Kratos approved of her choice, closest to the exit, and sat down in order to take off his boots.

"I've asked the innkeeper to wake us before the others," she said, and he took that as permission for him to stay. She sat down beside him, ready to lie down, but not willing to expose herself too soon.

He thought he wanted her for her permanence. Half-elves had a quality about them which seemed to transcend time and that was appealing to someone as old as Kratos. (Mithos and Martel were the only ones remembered from an ancient war and what Yuan had told him of his childhood, once, many, many years ago, was burned into Kratos' memory even as his own family had faded and died. Would the same happen to Anna? To Lloyd? Would he remember only Raine when the time finally came for him to die?)

Kratos turned his back to her and started shedding his outer clothes. This night, of all nights, he would have to prove his humanity; it would not do for Raine to discover his true identity yet. Anna had expected him to be forceful, had been surprised when he took the time to care for her. He hoped Raine would not be the same, hoped that this world, whatever he had done to it, could still suffer its small moments of joy.

She did not plead with him, nor beg, nor tease. She guided his hands with her own, she moved with the tides; they both got what they wanted.

He called out her name, not Anna's.

"We leave early in the morning," she said when he was finished, and turned over, away from him, to go to sleep.

Kratos longed to reach out, to press her warm body against his own and protect her from the night, but Raine did not need that, not yet, and most likely when she would need it most, he would be firmly back in the hold of Cruxis and she would… (Lloyd would…)

It hurt to be betrayed, but it hurt to be the betrayer also. It was a relief that he was able to blame his restless nights on his being an angel, rather than being forced to listen to the cries of his conscience. (Maybe it was fortunate that Anna was not there to see what he had become. What he had reverted to being.)

He lay awake until the sun rose and the stars faded, watching but not touching.

Time had taught him that it was for the best.

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THE END

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Put three grains of sand inside a vast cathedral, and the cathedral will be more closely packed with sand than space is with stars.

- James Jeans