Summary: In the depths of the Aetherochemical Research Facility, Lahabrea understands.
Note: For request: Sweet/Fluffy Lahabrea, WoL, and Thordan scene, at the end of 3.0.
What an extremely challenging request; Lahabrea did not want to work with me and I didn't want to rehash. I hope everyone enjoys this short little fic.
Fate
With proper alacrity, there is but one inevitability.
It decomposes, bleeding, weak container that it is, remaining energy impossible to grasp. Irrelevant, he will create another. Lahabrea will bring about Her end; Hydaelyn must receive proper recompense.
"Even knowing, you still. . ." He allows his disgust to be known at the Warrior's illogical rejection; the false Goddess is the source of such obstinacy. She compels Her servants into service; under the guise of righteousness, they are coerced into a self-destructive struggle for a cause they do not understand.
The Warrior of Light makes duty of slaying false Gods, but in doing so fails to recognize Her influence is as thorough a slavery as tempering.
The Warrior's words are little above a whisper. "The Gods are cruel." The Blessing grants Her champion fanciful delusion; it is only Hydaelyn who keeps them in opposition. "As are the whims of their servants."
All hostility in Her chosen's demeanor has faded, the only perceived threat eliminated. Lahabrea rejects the arm offered in aid; he needs only his own strength. The Warrior worries for him, drawing fingers softly across his form in a foolish display of mortal intimacy. The touches are sedated, searching futilely for a source of damage.
Lahabrea lifts a hand to meet the Champion's, cloth preventing the union of flesh; this is no whim, but an absolute reality. Mortals decay, their creations fall. Hydaelyn will be eliminated. The Rejoining will occur. They belong together.
Even with Her taint, all remains as it should be.
"One but not the other. Inability and unwillingness to fulfill your responsibilities; even the fabled Warrior of Light is bound by mortal imperfections."
The mortal archbishop intrudes, their reunion disturbed. Her champion pulls away to face the trespasser, familiarity gone, replaced with caution. Lahabrea makes no effort to hide his irritation; his lover's attention stolen from him, Lahabrea's hands clench to fists. The Elezen is not to be here. This is not what was discussed; the Warrior is his.
The creature fancies himself charismatic and powerful – convenient fantasies perpetuated to further Lahabrea's goals. He bleats; the explanation of his presence and intentions insignificant. Lahabrea understands his purpose before he proclaims himself 'God-emperor.'
Pathetic. To claim godhood when before a servant of the one true God, believing himself to be above the chaos of mortality, requires unrestrained arrogance.
"You would raise a hand against us?" It is a waste of energy to speak; the harsh, disbelieving laughter Lahabrea bites out is cut short from weakness. There is no disappointment; faith based upon mortal action is fated for betrayal.
"I won't allow it." The Warrior's tone is uncommonly used, but not unfamiliar. Ferocity is not a trait Lahabrea often attributes to the Warrior of Light; the vehemence of the declaration, far from the dull, stoic command of strength his partner is prone to, is only drawn out in his defense.
It is as it should be. Her chosen stays by his side.
"Weakened, tainted by darkness as you are, Warrior, you will never be able to withstand the power of true light."
Lahabrea cannot but laugh again at the absurdity, forcing raspy breaths out between harsh wheezes; the creature that betrays him uses the same self-righteous justification as Hydaelyn's chosen are apt to, claiming they rid the world of chaos and darkness and evil, believing theirs is the path of order and light and goodness. They presume themselves just, even as they continue their path of destruction, never acknowledging the damage they cause.
It is deluded mortal nonsense; no falsified claims of godhood can alter his nature.
"You must leave." The Warrior demands wordlessly, so that only he hears; they remain bonded yet still, eternal and unyielding, capable of shared thoughts.
Lahabrea understands; he should leave them to destroy each other, to let Hydaelyn drain Her strength shielding Her chosen. The Light will implode upon itself.
He refuses to obey. He will not submit; he will not flee; he will not stop. He will not lose this chance to initiate the Rejoining.
They must remain together. As it is intended to be. As it will always be.
"You will atone. Face justice, Ascian." The traitor would not dare-
"Fool, stubborn creature!" The Warrior snaps. True fury overwhelms the both of them, shared, intensity amplified beyond what either could attain singularly. The Warrior's rare, raw emotional display belongs only to him.
Their unifying resonance, unbelievably strong, overwhelming, and determined forces through him.
Light. It is not Her loathsome light the Archbishop uses, but a sterile, pure energy that draws in more than it forces out.
Vivid, overpowering emotions, so many, so frequent and persistent that he defines none, their source impossible to determine. One thought dominates all others:
He will not be unmade.
Pain; enveloping, tearing, piercing, shearing what remains. Dimness so intense it burns. Fear.
Pulling; tugging; absorption; shrouding blue; encapsulating flow; all is one, time is esoteric.
Lahabea submits to the enervation, comfortable dark surrounding him as he rests within the dominant flow, intermingling.
Dimness turns to haze when the union finalizes; he draws in cool, silken aether that is not his own, obscurity cleared.
Relief and worry, forcing an erratic, turbulent flow through normally placid waves - emotions not intended to be disclosed to him. Shared within the core, all thoughts are as much his as his partner's.
Gentle - too gentle; Lahabrea commands the shared aether, refusing to be pitied - and devoted, not at all like Igeyorhm's appalling amalgamation.
Deeper, deeper, beyond the reach of any Light, they resonate together.
All is as it must be. All is as intended.
