Back in December, I did a little thing for Christmas over on Tumblr. I posted three fics, one of Christmas Eve, two on Christmas Day. I'd indended to cross-post them here on Boxing Day, but that didn't happen, so I'm doing it now. This is one of them. Unfortunately, only two will be posted here, as the third was written in second person and thus goes against the rules here.
Enjoy!
"No, I will not remember," he says, and he means it. He will not remember that time, will not let himself. He has no desire to know what he did as Wargoth. He will learn regardless, but he will not remember. He will not see it through his own eyes.
The price, it seems, for not remembering that time...
...is remembering another.
It starts off as dreams and he thinks nothing of it, He has always had odd dreams and these are no different.
And then it starts happening when he is awake.
It is not the same as in his dreams, not scenes playing out before his eyes that he knows but does not know, not peopleplacesthings-that-I-should-know-why-don't-I, not knowledge he knows to his core slipping from his mind like a fleeting breeze as he awakes. No, it is not like that when he is awake at all.
It happens in stray thoughts, lapses of memory, absent actions with no apparent purpose, all without warning.
His magic flares and things break. Splinters and glass litter the floor and he finds himself thinking Helia will be mad at me if I get hurt on any of that before he remembers he doesn't know anyone by that name.
He zones out for the slightest moment while going over some books in the library and thinks This isn't my grading. I really must get back to that. Where did I put it again? before another part of him goes Grading for who?
Something-or-other roars as it flies over the tower somewhere in the distance and for just a fleeting second his brain registers the noise as something else and he thinks Sys-Zero really mustn't fly so low.
And so it goes. Moment after moment, fleeting thought after fleeting thought, dream after dream. Over time it simply fades into the background of his life.
He can still feel the jagged edges in his being from the merge, his magic still flares and destroys things, he is still a danger to anything and anyone that might come near him – he has no time to spare to chase this down and figure it out.
Shoving things away and bottling them up doesn't work though, it never does. It isn't healthy (Helia wouldn't like it) but he has no intention of changing anything about the situation until he's stable again.
The choice to do so, however, gets taken out of his hands rather suddenly and unexpectedly.
As should, really, have been expected with the one responsible for doing so.
"Warlic!"
The call echoes through the tower, loud and clear, the source standing at the edge of a barrier that holds no strength but that which they give it, one that neither of them can cross.
"Warlic! We need to talk!"
He could ignore it. A part of him thinks that he should ignore it. He's too dangerous to be around people still.
But another part of him, a part that recognises something that he can't name in the tone of the voice in the call, reminds him that if anyone, anyone, in all of Lore is strong enough to be safe around him right now, it's the one calling for him.
So he follows the call.
"Geez, you look terrible,"
"It's good to see you too, Cysero," Warlic says, only barely managing to not roll his eyes as he comes to a stop on his side of the yellow line.
The weaponsmith isn't wrong, however. He could have layered an illusion over himself to hide the tears in his robe, the unruly state of his hair, the deep bags under his eyes, but he didn't bother because Cysero probably would have seen through it anyways. Seeing another person again for the first time in... however long it's been, also makes him realise that he has lost quite a bit of weight.
Cysero shrugs, his hands resting on his hips in a way that suggests he'd have them in his pockets if he had any. He doesn't make any sort of move to talk. Warlic sighs.
"Why are you here?" he asks.
"We need to talk," Cysero repeats, arms lifting to cross themselves across his chest.
"So you've said. I came, so..." Warlic spreads his hands "...talk,"
Cysero sighs heavily, head dropping for a moment before he looks back up. Despite the fact that his hair completely covers the upper half of his face, Warlic has a feeling that he's making eye contact.
"You can't keep doing this," Cysero says, one hands making a vague sort of wave at Warlic's half of the tower while his arms remain crossed. "The isolation, the refusal to interact with anything, it's not healthy Warlic. You're recovering from the merge, I get it, but you shouldn't keep trying to do it alone,"
He pauses for a moment, head dipping just ever-so-slightly in a display of body language usually associated with closing one's eyes.
"Even if you won't let anyone else near," Cysero continues, looking back up "At least let me help you,"
And there's the crux of the issue. Warlic knows that it probably isn't the best to handle all of this on his own, and if anyone could be safe around him, it would be Cysero – he wouldn't have come to have to this talk if that wasn't the case – but it's still an if. And he can't risk that 'if'.
This is his burden, and his alone to bear.
"No," he says, tone firm and his own arms crossing to mirror Cysero's.
"But-" Cysero starts to protest, apparently not willing to take no for an answer.
"I said no," Warlic snaps, feeling his magic start to roil under his skin in response the all-too-quickly-flaring anger. "I don't... I'm fine, Sys-Zero. I don't need help. I can handle this,"
All at once, everything falls silent. Within the tower and without, it is as though time itself has stopped in the wake of his words, leaving only the two of them aware.
"...what...what did you just call me?" Cysero asks, his voice sounding smaller and quieter than Warlic has ever heard it, yet louder than ever before in the absence of all other sound in his awareness.
He thinks back over the sentence, memory of it already hazy from the anger he said it in, and can't find anything to provoke the response that it earned. There aren't any specific words to the memory of the sentence... only feelings, ideas. It is one of the reasons he doesn't like saying things in anger.
"Your name?" Warlic says, meaning it to be a statement but it ends up a question anyways.
Cysero nods, once, very slowly. He is almost shaking and his crossed arms have transitioned to a position reminiscent of hugging himself.
"Yeah," he says, voice still far too quiet "Yeah, that was my name,"
There is the slightest emphasis on 'was' and something twists in the Blue Mage's gut.
"Cysero?" he asks, concern starting to wash through him. He takes a step forwards, reaches out a hand, but stops.
"You called me Sys-Zero, Warlic," Cysero says, the expression on his face seeming almost hopeful and yet somehow scared or hurt. "You called me Sys-Zero,"
Oh. Oh.
"How long?" Cysero asks, before he can say anything. "How long have you remembered?"
"I don't," Warlic says, things beginning to feel like they're clicking into place but the answer still so ever out of reach. "I've... I've been getting flashes of... things, and places, and people, ever since I got back from the ice but... I don't know what they are, Cysero. I don't know,"
And those are three words that he would have once had ever so much trouble saying, ever so much trouble admitting, but standing here now, seeing the way Cysero's shoulders are trembling as though he is holding back either laughter or tears, he can't say anything but the truth.
"I do," Cysero says, his arms beginning to loosen. "I do know what's going on. You're... you're remembering and-" he cuts himself off and a hand flies up to cover his mouth as his body lurches slightly with something held firmly back "-and oh, oh gosh Warlic, I thought I was gonna be alone, I've been alone in this so long, but you're remembering and you..."
He trails off, the other arms drops to his side, and then...
...then the hand covering his mouth drops and he steps forwards over the line, grabbing one of Warlic's hand in both of his own.
"Come on," Cysero says, a brilliant beaming grin spread from one edge of his face to the other as he drags Warlic over it into his side of the tower. "We've got a lot to talk about,"