EPILOGUE
N.D. 2
IV
As soon as the boat touched Cape Noah's hatch, Silia jumped out without even waiting for Gladio. When they had gone there to cross the sea to Cape Esther five months ago, there was no one, but now about thirty people had returned to occupy the little marine outpost; or so Martin, the man who had helped them to ferry, had said during the crossing.
"Guess this means that I do have to unload the bike and the luggage," Gladio shouted at her from the deck.
"You've enough muscle to pull the bike up with one finger," she yelled back from the dock. "Use 'em. I've to go say hello to someone."
"Hope it doesn't come to blows," he said again waving at her. "See you in a while."
Silia hurried but didn't run. She wouldn't give the shitty old man the satisfaction of seeing her come running to meet him, but she enjoyed stretching her legs because she and Gladio had spent the last few days on a motorbike and the last few hours on a boat. To be honest, Roth had put a small aircraft at their disposal, with which they could reach Insomnia in a few hours, but they had refused because they preferred to arrive taking their time.
It was a beautiful October afternoon, the weather was mild, and a pleasant breeze blew from the Magroy Sea. From the doors of the few occupied houses, shops and warehouses, people began to go out to see who had arrived. Some of them recognized her. She recognized some of them. They all waved to her, anyway, and she reciprocated.
In a few minutes she reached the building that had once been the Meldacio HQ in Cape Noah. There seemed to be nobody at the first floor. She went up the stairs to the second and knocked on the closed door of his office, just as she had done eleven years ago.
This time he wasn't expecting visitors and didn't come to open himself. "C'mon in," he said.
Silia smiled and opened the door. "Hello, old asshole," she said, leaning on the frame door. "So, your liver hasn't exploded yet from drinking?"
Erik Arnaut started visibly but recovered quickly. "Your ugly face is one of the last I'd have expected to see." He got up from his chair and came towards her. "What are you doing here, Hartwood? Didn't you go into hiding with your gorilla?"
Silia went to meet him and squeezed his shoulders in what, if it hadn't been Arnaut, would have been a hug, then slapped him on his gray bearded face. "And now I have reappeared. How are you doing, Arnaut?"
"Oh, I finally learned how to jerk off with my left hand," he said. A Ronin had amputated his right one in 764. "Not a great loss. Usually someone else takes care of my cock so I don't need to do it myself."
"Yeah, sure." She let him go. He had grown old, most of his hair and beard was now gray, but – stump aside – he looked fit. "Martin, the guy who helped us ferry, told me you were back here. Thought you had an important role in Meldacio."
"Yeah, but I'm back to admin, now. I don't know if you noticed, but I'm missing a hand."
"My Glaive friend Balth missed a whole arm."
"And he was twenty years younger. Anyway, I was fond of this fucking hole that is Cape Noah, so when I learned that a few people would gladly come back if there was someone to put it back on its feet, I said goodbye to Dave and I came here."
Despite herself, Silia smiled. The previous year, when they had met at the Meldacio HQ in Vesper, Ezma had told her she was pretty sure it would be their last meeting. And that, now that she had felt the warmth of the sun on her face again and that her son had finally become the pillar of the Association, she would leave without the slightest regret. "How's Dave? Did he marry René at last? I felt sorry for Ezma, but fuck, how old was she? Ninety-two?"
"Dave's fine. He married René a few months ago. Ezma wasn't ninety-two yet, but she was close. Who told you she died, Hartwood?"
"I found out 'bout it in Gralea, a few weeks after. You remember Safay Roth, the Imperial officer who stayed with me in Hammerhead? He's in the New Council of Niflheim. So, he's in touch with the New Councils here in Lucis. Sorry, he told me there's no more Lucis. What the fuck, you can't get distracted for a second," she laughed, rubbing her eyes. She felt elated at the thought of having set foot in the old Kingdom again. "Give me a drink, Arnaut, the sea was rough, and it was a shitty trip."
Arnaut grinned and shoved her towards the desk, pushing a chair aside for her to sit down. "'kay, but don't throw up on my floor or I'll break your face."
"Roth updated me on several things. Fortunately, because before arriving in Gralea we spent almost two months in the woods without seeing pretty much anyone."
Arnaut pulled an opaque bottle and a single glass from the cabinet behind him. He sat down in front of her. "Where's your husband, by the way? He dumped you saying he was going to buy cigarettes? Or did you kill him and make the body disappear?"
"I left him to unload the motorcycle and the luggage from the boat. We're not staying long, Arnaut. We're go straight to Insomnia."
Arnaut filled her glass without even telling her what it was, and Silia emptied it almost in one gulp without asking. It was gin. Gin always reminded her of Darius Magnus, which is why she only drank it when she was in a good mood. Now she was, although, she couldn't help thinking, if he had been alive, the year before she would have left Insomnia with a much lighter heart.
Arnaut took a long sip straight from the bottle. "Fuck, Hartwood," he said. "When last year you told me you were leaving, at the Meldacio HQ, I didn't think I would see you again."
"And instead…"
"You've aged."
"Look who's talking."
"No, Hartwood, I'm fifty-six, it's normal, and honestly, I look great. How old are you again, thirty-eight?"
"Thirty-nine."
"When we hunted Arbas together in the spring of 764, the last time we saw each other before the end of the Long Night, you still looked fucking young for your age. Even last year, you were a wreck after fighting that Omega, but..."
Silia made a vague wave of her hand. "But not such a wreck. You can say it."
Arnaut struggled to find words. It rarely happened. "I didn't mean that. You look fucking fit, and definitely a lot more relaxed than I remembered. It's not that. It's just that you look aged."
"Oh, Arnaut," she cut him short. "It pains me so much that you no longer find me sexually attractive. Believe me, I'll cry all the way from here to Insomnia. My husband and I will mourn together tonight while fucking. I'll go on pilgrimage to..."
Arnaut refilled her glass to silence her. "You'll never hear me repeat that, Hartwood, but I was just worried about you. I ask you only once: are you okay?"
Silia didn't tell him about the consequences of the Covenant and everything else. She didn't tell him that magic is neither created nor destroyed, but that it transforms, passing from hand to hand, from catalyst to catalyst, consuming mana. She didn't tell him that the energy she and the other Glaives had channeled was that of the Draconian, and that they had consumed so much mana that they were reduced to pitted tanks. She didn't tell him that she could barely handle the sparring sessions with Gladio now, and that within a few years she would be weaker than the wimpiest recruits she had trained. Arnaut could only see the outside - much whiter hair, thinner skin, more wrinkles, less firm muscles. She didn't tell him how she felt inside. She just raised her glass and held it towards him, then drank. "Now that we're back, I'm fine. We took a long vacation. I didn't think I would ever see so much of the Empire. But all vacations come to an end sooner or later."
The hunter looked at her again for a moment in silence, serious. It was clear that he still wanted to ask something, but he didn't. "Oh well. Welcome back to work, then, Hartwood. Out of curiosity, does the Immortal know that you're returning? I met him two months ago in Lestallum at the Leville restaurant. He was with Ackers and Elshett, coming to meet Cassandra Gavril. Since I didn't have any fresh news from you, and he didn't seem too busy for once, I thought I'd ask him if he knew what happened to you. In response, the Immortal skinned me with his eyes and told me that, as far as he knew, you might as well have been gathering algae on the bottom of the Magroy Sea, since he hadn't heard from you for months, when you had left Lucis headed for Niflheim. From how he said it, I don't think he'll be so happy to see you."
Silia made a face. She knew Cor hadn't forgiven her for leaving, he hadn't forgiven Gladio for his slump, but she had hoped he had understood them enough. While taking care of Gladio, take care of yourself. And don't take too long. I am not immortal, even if you insist on calling me that, those were the last words he had told her the last time they had talked alone. "I'm afraid I took too long," she said aloud with a sigh.
When they were still in Lucis, who was no longer called Lucis, it had been easy, getting in touch with Insomnia from one radio room or another. She and Gladio had talked to Iris, Prompto, Ignis, Talcott, a couple of times they had even managed to intercept Cor himself. But Niflheim was a whole different matter. Days, sometimes weeks, passed before they found an inhabited settlement. And the more time passed without her having the chance to contact her friends, as focused as she was on looking after Gladio – his long hours of silence, his mood swings, his nightmares, her anxiety when he'd disappear somewhere for hours of even days – the more she lacked the strength to do so. When they got to Gralea, which was connected indeed, they hadn't called anyone, even though she assumed Roth or someone else had warned Insomnia they were there. After two weeks, almost out of the blue, Gladio had decided to return. That would have been a good chance to call Insomnia, but again, she hadn't had the courage, and Gladio didn't protest.
"When's the last time you heard from anyone, Hartwood?"
"Five months."
Arnaut snorted a laugh, coughing. "Good luck. Why did you decide to return?"
Silia hesitated. He had not told Arnaut, the year before, that she was leaving because of Gladio, but he had guessed something. "As I told you, all vacations end sooner or later."
"I don't think I'll ever understand that crazy head of yours, Hartwood."
"I'll deal with it."
"How's your husband, by the way?"
Silia smiled. Just like she thought. "Well, it hasn't been a risk for four months or so to have my face smashed while sleeping, so, much better."
"Better enough to smash my face if I remember you once promised I could have your ass if you came back alive from Niflheim? By the way, you just got back alive from Niflheim or am I wrong?"
"I'm better enough to smash your face and your ass, Arnaut," Gladio's powerful voice resounded from the corridor.
"Fuck, he heard me," Arnaut grinned.
"You bet. You're practically screaming, Arnaut, are you already drunk?"
"If I say I'm drunk will he spare me?"
Gladio opened the door. He took two steps into the room and pointed a menacing finger at Arnaut. "No, and I don't give a fuck even if you're maimed."
Silia laughed. "Come here and have a drink, Gladio. And forget 'bout Arnaut, at his age he can only talk."
"I'm the same age as Cor Leonis, Hartwood, and indeed, with all due respect for the Immortal, since he doesn't seem to me someone who cares about fuck..."
"Arnaut," she interrupted him, less amused. "Shut up and pour my husband a glass, before I smash your face and ass."
"I knew you would end up fighting," Gladio sighed, and in the absence of another chair he sat on the edge of Arnaut's desk, next to her. "Nothing for me, Arnaut, thank you. I'm not used to it anymore, and given Silia's face, I think it'll be my turn to drive."
"We're not fighting, Amicitia," Arnaut retorted, filling her glass for the third time. "Those are the preambles of a long flirting that began when your wife was only eighteen. I just haven't figured out who's flirting with whom yet, and I have an idea that before we do anything, we'll both die of old age."
Silia drank, giving up. Arnaut really had a shitty mouth. Maybe it was alcohol, but she found herself considering how, despite everything, he was one of the people she remained most fond of. And one of the few who were allowed to talk to her like that without her breaking their faces. In fact, she had already done so, and more than once.
"Arnaut, instead of trying to get Silia to punch you, tell us the latest news."
Arnaut leaned back in his chair, tilting it on its two hind legs. "Let me think. Dave Auburnbrie got married, as I was telling your wife earlier. Ezma Auburnbrie died happy at a venerable age, but you know this. Meldacio has resumed doing what it used to do before the Long Night, that is, beating the less frequented areas and making sure they are safe for travelers, exploring everything that can be explored, dealing with beasts that are too agitated. Ah, Hartwood, that little blond girl of yours, Lydia Helias, who's no longer a girl, is doing great. She churned out a nice brat."
Silia smiled. She didn't even know Lydia was pregnant. "Good for her. The world needs lots of new brats, and there are plenty of resources to raise them well."
"Oh yes? I had no idea you saw it that way. If you hurry, you still have time too, Hartwood. Get to work, Amicitia."
Gladio frowned. Before he could say anything to Arnaut, Silia put a hand on his knee. "We're not here to talk about my ovaries, Arnaut. Go on."
"Hm. Fuck, only marriages and brats come to my mind."
"That's great. All my life I've been waiting for the moment when the only important news were marriages and brats."
Arnaut scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, huh?" he said, and turned to look at the window behind him, through which a warm afternoon light entered. "I would never have bet a gil on it. I was convinced we were doomed, Hartwood, and instead, look; not even two years later people went back to sunbathe down at the dock. It's almost disgusting how everyone looks friendly and happy."
"Let's enjoy it while it lasts," Gladio replied, the shadow of a gloomy smile on his lips. "Many people sacrificed themselves so that it could be possible."
Silia emptied her glass and stood up. "Arnaut, thanks for the gin. If you don't die of cirrhosis, I'll come back to see you as soon as I can. As long as the Immortal doesn't kick our ass out of Insomnia; in that case we'll be here again in a few days. I hope you need two people who…" She scratched her head. "Gladio, what exactly can we do, again?"
"Don't even think 'bout that," Arnaut replied, before Gladio could answer. "Or rather, Amicitia, you're welcome, no one will ever close the door in the face of a big man who knows how to use big weapons, but you, Hartwood, I don't want you inside my same perimeter even dead."
"And think, Arnaut, there are those who have had to take orders from her for ten years," said Gladio, getting off the desk.
"Amicitia, with all due respect, you chose her. Get the fuck off now. In fact, I'll take you down to the dock, I'll have a drop at the bar that's there. Now that I can think of…" Arnaut got up and walked around the desk, perfectly still on his legs, unlike her, she had to admit. He preceded them and opened the door. "You come too."
They followed him out. "Arnaut, thank you, but I've already had enough," she replied.
"You don't have to drink again if you're not used to it anymore, Hartwood. I'm not taking you there to drink, anyway. The guy who runs the place knows both of you, or so he told me, and has often asked me about you."
Silia was not surprised; there were so relatively few people left in the world that, for better or for worse, she had made a name for herself during the Long Night, and almost everyone knew her. Not to mention Gladio, the Chosen King's Sworn Shield. "Oh yes? What's his name?"
"You know I like surprises when they're not for me. Here we go."
They went down to the street, Arnaut keeping on babbling the whole time about this and that. In a few minutes Silia saw the dock. When she had arrived, she had headed quickly to Arnaut, and hadn't had time to look around, but now she saw the place Arnaut had to refer to. She stopped abruptly.
"There it is. That tavern with the green sign. It's the only bar in Cape Noah, needless to say I am at home there. The bottle of gin we drained comes from his reserve."
Gladio had also stopped beside her. He read the sign and turned to look at her, incredulous. She too was incredulous. "Is it a joke?"
"The guy was from Insomnia. He was displaced in Galahd after the fall, but with all the crowds that have been there for ten years, he told me, he doesn't even think about returning to the city where the bulk of the survivors will gather. Now he just wants some peace, so he came here to this fucking corner of Lucis."
They entered. The place was clean enough to pass an inspection of the hygiene office, if there were still hygiene offices, but just barely. Silia had always thought that you can only get decently drunk in such a place, with little light even during the day, the wooden furniture that has seen better times, and the opaque glasses with visible fingerprints. A place where the owner held an unloaded rifle behind the counter, ready to use it to calm the spirits. Certainly not a swanky expensive bar like Sotherby's, where Gladio had taken her a couple of times.
They entered. In Birra Veritas was empty except for them and the owner. Samuel was cleaning glasses behind the counter. He hadn't changed at all. When he saw them, he furrowed his gray eyebrows and said: "Well, look who's back. Hartwood, you never paid my bill for the month of May, you know that?"
V
When the doorbell rang for the second time, Iris snorted. She couldn't stop working right now, or she would lose track of the stitching.
"Claudio, where the hell are you?" she yelled, without lifting her head from the sewing machine.
"In the kitchen! My hands are full!" Claudio shouted back. There was a crash of cookware on the floor. Iris couldn't understand how her husband could be so clumsy; he, who was not only a swordsman, but also a doctor.
Puffing for the umpteenth time, she paused the machine and resigned herself to getting up. Her back ached more and more each passing day, and she suspected it was more the inactivity than the pregnancy itself that made her feel stiff, clumsy, sore. Huge. Damn she missed her daily workout. Sometimes she was so nervous she almost felt like hitting her belly like a punching bag.
"Ok, ok, I'll go!" she shouted to Claudio.
She walked down the hall, mentally taking note of all the things around that needed to be put in order. Keeping the big house clean and tidy was impossible; it was a mess. And nobody used three-quarters of the rooms. They kept two bathrooms closed, as well as her old room, Gladio's, Jared and Talcott's, the living room... If in Hammerhead they had had problems with tight spaces, now that the population of Insomnia decimated by the Long Night had returned, there were twenty or even thirty free houses for each citizen. Most of them had returned to live in their own, after making them accessible again, but the inhabitants of the suburbs had moved to the center to stay more compact. The suburbs, unlike the city center, had remained almost unscathed, but the reconstruction – of course – had started from the Citadel to expand towards the former ring road. She and Claudio had gone against the trend and had chosen to live in the old villa of the Amicitia, in the residential area. They had refurbished it by themselves. It still wasn't so easy, reaching the Citadel from there, but Iris loved the house and she had missed it terribly. She would have wanted Talcott to return there as well, but he had firmly refused; she had her life, he was a grown man who could well manage on his own - so he said, although he was hardly seventeen - and he had preferred to settle in a small apartment at the Citadel by himself.
The doorbell rang for the third time. Iris got irritated by the insistence. Lately she got easily irritated, Claudio had pointed out. She had told him to fuck off.
"Coming!" she shouted. What the hell, they might as well not be home. Then she thought of the lit windows. "Just a moment!"
She reached the entrance and opened the door. When she saw who it was, she screamed.
When Gladio saw her, he too screamed.
Iris punched him in the face.
~~~XV~~~
Three minutes later, Gladio was sitting in her kitchen with a bag of frozen peas on his cheekbone. He kept pointing to her baby bump, unable to speak. The last few times they had talked after their departure, Iris already knew she was pregnant, but she hadn't told him. Her brother had wanted to get out of her life, stay by himself for a while, he had not even shown at her wedding, so she had no duty to tell him.
Silia was sitting next to him, her hands folded in her lap. Though scruffy, they looked fit, Gladio the usual mountain of muscles, Silia toned as ever, though, to be honest, she looked older than she should.
Claudio had welcomed them warmly. When Silia had hugged him, Iris was sure, he hadn't started crying just for fear that his former boss and mentor would skin him alive for that show of weakness. When she had hugged her, Iris had stood stiff with her arms at her sides. She had been waiting for months for them to deign to show up, and now that they were physically there, without any warning, she couldn't help but feel pissed off.
"I can't believe it," his older brother of six and half feet and two hundred pounds stammered like an idiot. "I can't believe it. Iris, but how..."
"Oh, don't ask how, Gladio, you know that too." Silia ran a hand through her hair, smiling. It framed her face now and was streaked with white. "Wow, Iris, that's quite a surprise. Male or female?"
"Female," Claudio answered in her place. He kept looking down, partly because Silia's presence continued to intimidate him after eleven years, partly because, Iris guessed, he was afraid of taking a punch too. From Gladio. "You returned just in time. The due date is in thirteen days."
"Thirt... damn it, Iris, you're huge," Gladio told her again, dropping the peas and mimicking something very big with his arms.
"And you are a huge oaf." Iris took a deep breath, tried to calm down, then screamed. "And a fucking idiot! The both of you! What's in your minds, huh, showing up like this, as if nothing happened, after all this time, without a fucking call! Almost no news for months! While we were here moving rubble and removing human remains, yeah, human remains, do you know that we found dad's, Gladio? And where were you while we were burying him? Playing the romantic hero who licks his wounds by the sea, or in the woods, or where the fuck you were!" She looked over at Silia. She still couldn't believe that instead of convincing him to stay, she had gone with him. "And you, Ms. Chief of Hammerhead, Ms. Captain of the Kingsglaives? We found the remains of your comrades in a mass grave, others in the rubble of an airship. We recognized them from their tags. Where were you while we were burying them?"
She would never have dreamed of talking like that to her brother, whom she'd also punched, let alone to Silia Hartwood. Gladio had the good taste to lower his gaze with a distraught look. Silia supported hers without shame.
"Where were you," Iris went on, rubbing her eyes, "as we celebrated the first year of the New Dawn that we all fought so hard for? As we remembered Noctis, and King Regis, and Dad, and Rubeus Scientia, and Nyx Ulric, and Darius Magnus, and your friends Glaives, Silia, and all the others who have sacrificed themselves over the years? Where was the Sworn Shield, Noctis' best friend? Where were you both when Ignis' son was born? And when Prompto got married? And when Claudio and I got married?"
She broke into sobs, and could not continue, even though she still had a lot of things to blame them for. Claudio hugged her shoulders, stroking her head, but did not speak. When she looked up, through her tears, Iris saw that Gladio had covered his eyes. Silia kept her hand on her knee, composed.
"You're right, Iris," Silia said simply. "We have behaved selfishly, and we know that. I take full responsibility. But don't be so hard on your brother. Everything breaks down if it's hit too long and too hard." She gave a brusque affectionate slap on Gladio's thigh. "Go hug your sister, Beast. She'll forgive us. She has already forgiven us. She's too kind, Iris, unfortunately for her."
Iris had to bite her bottom lip to keep herself from tell Silia to fuck off. She was right; now that she had let off steam, she no longer felt angry, just sad, and moved, and she wanted to hug her brother. She threw herself on him, as she used to do when she was a child, and clung to his neck, sitting in his lap. Gladio returned the hug more delicately.
"Fuck, Iris, I repeat, you're huge," he whispered, his voice broken.
"Shut the hell up. In two months, I'll be back in shape. Do you think the Daemon Slayer will let go of herself just for turning out a brat?"
"By the way, how's Highwind?" Silia asked. "Nyx?"
"Aranea has recovered well. Nyx is a little savage. But he's so cute, he looks a lot like Iggy but…" she chuckled, "…a little savage Ignis."
"I can't wait to meet him. And to meet yours." She leaned over to put a hand on her belly. "Damn. Iris is pregnant. Ignis has a son. Prompto has married. We missed a lot of things, huh? Don't tell me the Immortal is dead."
"Not at all," said Claudio. "He's more alive than ever. But he's been uncatchable these days, Boss. The Council has just finalized the details for a treaty of mutual cooperation between the new States. It took months. There will be a small but formal party at the Citadel tonight to celebrate. We were invited too, but Iris was feeling tired."
"Then after dinner let's go to the Citadel, Gladio."
Gladio snorted a laugh, rubbing his cheekbone. "Good idea. In public, the chances of you getting punched as well are lessened, Silia."
"Oh, I'm not so sure." Silia made a nervous grimace. "It depends on how the Immortal has aged."
"If he hears you, it'll be more than a punch," Iris warned her. She and Claudio, as Sworn Swords, had frequented the Marshal a lot in the last year, worked side by side with him, and the few words he had spent for Silia and Gladio had not been flattering. But Iris knew from Miles that someone had brought to Cor Silia's personal belongings, found in her apartment and in the temporary HQ that the Glaives had occupied for a few days after their return to Insomnia, and that the Marshal was keeping them awaiting her return. "He's in great shape. Not by chance he is the Immortal, right? Claudio, call Iggy, Prom, Cindy and Talcott. Tell them to come, now. But don't tell them why."
"What the fuck, no!" Gladio retorted. "Do tell them, by the Six. Give 'em time to cool down. I don't want another punch!"
VI
Cor emptied his glass and decided he would call it a day. The last few days had been, if possible, more exhausting than usual. He still had the energy to face a Behemoth with his bare hands, even if he hadn't tried it for a long time, but he was starting to suspect he didn't have enough for the Council meetings. He rubbed between his eyes.
"Go and rest, Commander," Drake Leradine said, reaching him at the table and filling up what must have been his sixth or seventh glass of wine, unable to hide an ironic streak in his voice. "These have been busy days."
Cor was tempted to remain at the party only as a matter of principle. His whole life had been like this. A sign of giving in, of tiredness, of indecision, and here's someone behind your back ready to take note of it. Insomnia was full of Leradines ready to notice and to point out with satisfaction to others that the Immortal was getting old.
Nonetheless, he was really exhausted that night. He would not have stayed in that hall of the Citadel wasting useless hours listening to useless chatter while the members of the Council patted each other on the back complimenting on the good work they had done. The real work, as far as he was concerned, was over. Those were just void ceremonial that he had never missed.
"You know what, Leradine? I think I will. Tell the others, if anyone asks. Enjoy the rest of the party."
Without giving him a chance to reply with another joke, Cor left the room to retrieve his overcoat. He had regained possession of his apartment at the Citadel, and within minutes he would be in his bed. He was sorry not to warn Monica and Dustin he was leaving, but he preferred to go unnoticed. Ignis and Prompto, in the end, hadn't shown up at the party. He couldn't blame them. He wouldn't have shown himself if he could help it.
"My overcoat, please," he said to the young lady at the front desk. Fourteen months since the beginning of the New Dawn, and already the members of the Council were organizing parties with wardrobe mistresses at the reception and young people serving drinks at the catering table. It couldn't be said that they weren't readjusting quickly back to old practices.
"Right away, Commander."
The woman retrieved it from the rack. She also tried to put it on his back, but he firmly refused, because it made no sense to wear it, since he lived in the Citadel, and draped it over his arm.
"What, are you already leaving, Marshal?"
Cor felt every little muscle in his body tense. He took a long second to regain control of his expression before turning around.
"I don't so much like social occasions, Hartwood."
Hartwood took a few steps towards him. Cor had to struggle to contain the surprise; she was not wearing old shabby military clothes, the ones he had always seen on her since their first meeting, nor the Glaives' uniform, but a dark blue dress, elegant and low-cut. Her hair was styled in a small bun, and on her feet she wore women's heels. She looked somewhat pretty, though rather aged. Had Hartwood always been so pretty?
Hartwood stopped a stone's throw from him. She was tanned – actually, skinned here and there, like all the survivors, whose bodies had to quickly get used to producing enough melanin – and she looked as fit, toned and lean as ever, though tired. She pinned an amused, theatrically offended smile on him, then held out her right hand in his direction. "You might as well stay a little longer for an old friend."
"Should I shake your hand or kiss it?"
She lowered it and pulled him into a brusque hug, her face on his chest. Cor stood stiff for a moment, not knowing what to do, then he carefully held her in turn.
"Fuck, I didn't think it worked."
"What?" he asked, still stunned.
"Shocking you to prevent you from punching me in front of everyone."
The corners of his lips quivered with amusement or spite. Or maybe it was just the urge to smile. He let her go. "I can still do it," he warned her, reaching down to pick up his overcoat. "What about Gladio?"
"He's with Ignis and Prompto. They're coming. I preceded them to let them speak alone for a while. We went to Iris. She kidnapped me, dressed and made me up like she did for my wedding. She said I couldn't come to this formal reception like a wandering Amazon. Since she didn't slap me like I thought she would, when we showed up at her house, I surrendered. Besides, I couldn't use hard ways against a pregnant woman." She smiled. "By the way, Gladio almost died when he saw the baby bump."
Cor barely listened to her, still stunned by their embrace and by finding her in front of him without warning after such a long time. "Are you fine, Hartwood?"
"We're fine," she replied. Cor believed none of them would ever be fine again, but they were all trying to get closer to good. "Getting away for a while helped both of us. We're ready to start over now."
"Commander, I suppose you want to leave your overcoat again?"
Dazed, Cor noticed that the wardrobe mistress was watching them. Not just her. There were other people in the corridor, quite a lot; they looked at him, they looked at Hartwood, they were smiling and talking, but he realized that he didn't care. He only cared that someone didn't drag Hartwood away from him, not yet, so he brushed her elbow, gesturing towards the terrace. He didn't answer the woman.
"Let's go out and talk, Hartwood. It's hot in here."
"Yessir. Just a moment."
Hartwood had noticed the wine table and stopped as they passed. In this, he realized, she hadn't changed. "No wine, thanks," she anticipated the caterer who was about to lift a bottle. "Whiskey, please, if there's any."
The young man looked up at him, as if to tacitly ask his permission to open a bottle of whiskey or perhaps to serve it to the lady. He hadn't recognized her. He wasn't young enough not to have consciously lived through the Long Night, but that didn't surprise Cor – dressed like that, Hartwood would have been unrecognizable even to her own mother.
With a brusque wave of his hand, Cor said, "Kid, you heard Captain Hartwood. Give her a whiskey. In fact, give her the whole bottle, because in five minutes she'll be back here asking for another glass."
The young man tensed comically. "Right away, Sir, ma'am, I mean, Commander, Captain. I'm going to find you one of the best bottles. I'll bring it to you."
"Thanks, lad," she smiled. Hartwood's expression had changed from fourteen months ago. It was softer and sweeter, although it had retained something of its ancient martiality. "You'll find us on the terrace."
Cor could hear her name passing from mouth to mouth, but no one reached them as they went out onto the terrace. Whether he liked it or not, everyone had been aware of the relationship between them, and no one dared to interfere.
"I'm not Captain anymore, Marshal," Hartwood reminded him.
He held the glass doors open for her. She veered right, toward one of the out of sight benches. The caterer kid should have looked for them. "And I'm not Marshal anymore. I have the title of Commander now."
"Do you? Commander of what?"
He didn't answer her. It was an honorary title by now, and they both knew it.
If he had been amazed at Hartwood's new femininity, he stopped being so when he saw her settle on the marble bench with her legs crossed in a brazen position that rolled her dress up to her underwear. He opened his mouth to point it out, sitting – more composedly – next to her, but he saw the kid just before reaching them quickly holding a tray with a bottle and two glasses.
"Captain!" he whispered, pouring her one. "I beg your pardon for not recognizing you immediately. The Coeurl. I can't believe it."
Hartwood smiled. "Thanks, lad," she said, bringing the glass to her lips without waiting for his to be full.
"Captain Hartwood, I wanted..." the kid's voice seemed to get stuck somewhere in his long neck. "I didn't think I'd ever meet you. In 762, you rescued a hunter from a Behemoth near Vesper. He was my brother."
This time Hartwood looked up at him. "A Behemoth near Vesper. Let me think… was his name Sandor Maier?"
The kid seemed to light up all. "Yessir! Sandor Maier, madam! You can't imagine what my brother will look like when I tell him you remembered his name!"
"And what's your name, lad?"
He gave an awkward military salute with the wrong hand, because his right one still held the neck of the bottle. "Hans Maier, madam, Captain. At your service."
"Hans," she repeated. "Nice name. I knew a Hans, a Kingsglaive. He was my first lover. Have you already had a first lover, Hans?"
Cor clicked his tongue, embarrassed. Hartwood was always the same. But his embarrassment was nothing compared to the number of shades of red which colored the kid's face.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, almost imperceptibly. Cor was not surprised by this; he was sixteen or seventeen.
"Was she pleased?"
"I think so, ma'am."
In response, Hartwood gave him a comradely pat on his shoulder. "Good lad. Keep it up."
"Thank you, madam, Captain." The kid's face turned from red to blue. "Now, Captain, I must go back to my place. But first let me tell you your tattoo is gorgeous, Captain."
"Thank you. You can't know him, but one of Insomnia's most finicky and renowned tattoo artists did it for me. He was the tattoo artist of the Amicitia family. You should have seen it eleven years ago, now it's faded and ruined. Goodbye, Hans."
When the kid went away, Hartwood refilled his still nearly full glass and hers.
"What are you smiling at?" she asked, tilting her head.
Cor hadn't even noticed. He brought the glass to his lips. "When you arrived, I wondered where the Hartwood I knew had gone. She's underneath that beautiful woman's dress."
Hartwood didn't smile. She clinked her glass against his. "I missed the katana that has been prodding my ass for ten years, Cor," she whispered.
Gross as always. In that, too, she hadn't changed. "Then maybe you should have come back before."
"I could not. There's no point in talking about it. I know exactly how you think. You were very clear. We shirked our responsibilities, there was still to be done, no longer for the King, but for what was left of his kingdom. What the fuck, there's always something to be done. When you and Gladio argued in front of me, when you called him a coward and an irresponsible, for the first time in my life I thought: No, not this time, that's enough. My husband had just lost his best friend, worse, he had been raised all his life to spur the Prince to do his duty, and that duty was to sacrifice himself. That's enough, I thought. He'll go away with or without me, he's in pieces, he can't go alone."
She interrupted her long monologue to drink more whiskey. Her cheeks were flushed. Perhaps she no longer held her liquor as she once did, perhaps she was heated. She challenged him with her eyes to retort. The same sharp, dangerous gaze she used to analyze the battlefield and enemy forces. The Coeurl's gaze.
Cor did not reply. From Hartwood and Gladio had been expected – they themselves had expected – the impossible for thirty years. It had taken him months to come to terms with the fact that Gladio deserved a break to recover, a few more to forgive her for saving his life against his will by jeopardizing her own, just to walk away right after and leave him alone in the rubble of the reign of Lucis.
When Cor had left the hospital room where he, Gladio and Hartwood had discussed heatedly, he was beside himself. He had felt disappointed by Gladio's behavior, but it was useless to beat around the bush, he had felt betrayed by hers. When Hartwood had swooped into his room a few days later, alone, he had railed at her, accusing her of trying to clear her conscience. Then, again, of cowardice. In response, she had wrapped him in her arms in a gesture of mother, daughter, friend and lover. He had held her before – while bringing her out of Absconditus, in Insomnia when she had almost died, or when she would drop asleep in Lestallum while they were talking and he'd give himself up and take her to her room at Leville – but that had been their first actual embrace. They had been very careful not to step over the line between comrades, physically, at least. We'll come back, and in the meantime, you'll walk tall, Cor, as always, she had whispered in his ear. Again, Cor had opened his mouth to speak, but Hartwood had shaken her head and said, Words are not needed between us, you know that, and he had been silent, trying to appeal to all his nerve not to step over that line.
"What has changed now?" he asked at last, afraid to hear the answer. "Why did you come back?"
Hartwood blinked. Perhaps she was preparing an answer to his objection because her mouth was left ajar. Then she took another sip. "I told you it would happen, sooner or later. It took a while, but then Gladio understood what I knew from the start: it's useless to rebel against one's nature. We were there, in the world, we could do what we wanted, literally, but after a while it became a burden, not a freedom. Deep down, Gladio also knew that ours was a vacation, not a definitive escape. It took him some time to realize it, but one morning he woke up and said simply, 'I want to go back'. An hour later, we got back on the bike and pointed it towards Cape Esther."
"It doesn't have anything to do with the Covenant, then?"
Hartwood shook her head, and for Cor it was as if someone had moved a huge pile of bricks that had up until that moment oppressed his chest. "I'm not about to die, if that's what you're asking me. Well, not this year, nor next, maybe not even in five. Or ten, if I'm lucky. Or unlucky. It depends. But I know it won't last very long, Cor. I've used the King's magic for fifteen years, I lent my body to an Astral's mind and magic, and my physique has already begun to decline rapidly. I haven't met them yet, but I bet it's the same for the other Glaives."
That was true. Cor hadn't seen Elea Nerva and Libertus Ostium for some months – they had returned to their homeland – but Miles and Luka had remained in Insomnia and they were wasting away at sight.
"It's fine with me, Cor," she went on, reading his expression. "Fuck, who would've thought I'd reach almost forty years old? Gladio knows that too, and we don't talk about it. For all we know, he might stumble tomorrow and kill himself with his own sword," she smiled, baring her teeth. "None of us knows what the next day has in store, do we? Most fighters don't die fighting. I realized that this sentence of yours, which once seemed like a curse to me, will apply to all of us, if we're lucky."
He didn't answer. It wasn't necessary. They would have plenty of time to talk over the next few days, but he had the feeling that a moment like this between them would never happen again.
"You know, Cor," she added thoughtfully, "I wanted to tell you something, but then I didn't feel like doing it."
"What are you talking about?"
"The last time we talked alone before my departure."
"What would you have wanted to tell me?"
"Darius' last words. But in those days, there had already been several deaths. I didn't think I needed to resurrect others who had died long time ago."
There were moments, still eleven years after his death, that Darius' thought distressed Cor. He had lost Regis, Clarus, most of his Crownsguards fellows in the attack on Insomnia. Others – Devan, Irwin, Marvin – he had seen them die during the Long Night. But no void was deep like that of Darius Magnus, loaded as it was with denied possibilities and wasted opportunities. If only he came back from Niflheim, that void screamed. If only I wasn't stubborn in finding it inappropriate.
"Will you tell me now?"
Hartwood didn't smile. "I leave him in good hands. I wanted to tell them to reassure you, Cor, that I wasn't going away forever. I keep my promises. I hope that I'll be able to do it for a long time."
Before he could answer, ask for more, the shouting from beyond the windowed doors suddenly increased in volume. What until then had been a hum partially covered by discreet music grew, framed by some swearing and laughter over the top.
"By the Six, from the mess they started making in the room I can tell Gladio has come with the others." Hartwood turned, a smile she herself was probably not aware of came to her lips.
Cor straightened up, resigned, and placed his empty glass on the balustrade. "They will have already kidnapped him."
"I better go take a look." Hartwood rose from the bench. "We've only been in Insomnia for a few hours, and hm, there's too many people there, and too many ghosts. A little traumatic, as a return. Just let me tell you one last thing again, Marshal, sorry, Commander, and then we'll never talk about it again."
"Just tell me."
Again, Hartwood smiled. This time it was an extremely aware smile. "Gladio would have left with or without me, and I couldn't leave him alone, but deciding to leave was like tearing off my leg. Not just because of Insomnia. You know that. You can blame me for saving your life if you want, but don't blame me for that."
Cor laid his hands on his knees. He didn't smile. "Words are not needed between us," he said, using the same words she had addressed to him the year before. "Anyway, do you remember what I told you that day?"
Hartwood nodded. "That I couldn't double-dip. Without any dishonor in any case, I was in, or out."
"Exactly. Well, if you want," he replied, "you can be in again. I'll find you so many things to do that you'll regret coming back."
Hartwood shook her head imperceptibly, placed a hand on his knee and winked. "I'm all in, Commander, bury me with commitments. But take it easy on my husband for now. I put his pieces back together the best I could, but I don't know how long the glue I used holds."
Cor looked at her and looked at their hands close together on his knee. They were calloused, bruised, scarred hands, with raised veins. Fighter's hands. Some age spots began to show on his.
"You know, Hartwood, I was wrong," he said.
"Cor Leonis is admitting he's wrong? About what, exactly?"
"I was wrong when I told you that a part of me would never forgive you. Welcome back to Insomnia. Welcome back, the both of you."
The glassed windows opened again, taking with them the notes of the Valse of Fantastica. It was Gladio. Broken pieces or not, he looked great, apart from a bruise on his cheekbone. He had shortened his hair since the last time they had met, maybe just that day, but he continued to keep it as long as when he was twenty. Instead of making him look formal, the black double-breasted suit he wore gave him a wild, mature, almost pirate air. Cor stood up to greet him, touched, but Gladio stopped him with a wave of his hand, winking. He walked over to them and lifted Hartwood with one arm like she was a paper doll.
"Marshal, I'm delighted to see you, but I'll be back to greet you in four or five minutes, so don't run away. I've to take my wife away for a waltz. I specifically requested it. I'll give her back to you shortly, I promise."
"You keep her," Cor replied with a sarcastic smile.
"I knew it was no coincidence that when you came they start playing the Valse of Fantastica. Gladio, put me down, you know I can't dance."
"Why not? Seldom swordsmen are not good dancers as well."
"Gladio, put me down or I'll break your face."
"Just try."
Cor smiled, watching them go in. The next day he would lead them to officially introduce themselves to the other members of the Council and he would gradually fill them with responsibilities. There was still a lot to do, but the future of light and peace for which he had fought for ten years, no, all his life, was not a then anymore but a now. The Long Night had left him so exhausted and embittered that for the first time in his life he had wished to die. However, over the months, while he was working shoulder to shoulder with the last of the volunteers on the front line, the sunlight warming the back of his neck, alongside boys too young to remember what that light was, he had become aware of having been lucky enough to see one of the best possible futures, and of having fought with every fiber of his being to make it happen.
We just have to accept, I think, that it's not over yet. What the fuck, it's never over.
"Commander, here you are."
He was again that pain in the ass, Drake Leradine. Cor had to struggle not to roll his eyes as the man approached him with a sarcastic look.
"I thought you said you would go to sleep."
"I was held back," he just answered. Cor knew perfectly well that Leradine had seen him and Hartwood together. He probably had time to spread slander a bit around while they were talking. He didn't care. Nobody, not even the highest military ranks, escapes that kind of thing, not even the Immortal. Over the years in Insomnia they had attributed an incalculable number of more or less legitimate relationships, from King Mors to Regis, passing through Clarus and Monica, not to mention Darius.
"Yeah, after all, young people come to parties when the elders begin to leave, right?"
Cor always ignored Leradine's jokes, which, at least in his presence, remained within the limits of the appropriate, but that night he wanted to give him tit for tat. "I suppose you are right. While you are here, Leradine, please begin to warn the other members of the Council that tomorrow I need to meet them. I have just found the future Marshal of the future Guard, since I have too many duties in the Council to be able to hold that position as well, also in light of the fact that, as you yourself pointed out a little while ago, I am now one of the elders."
Leradine smiled uncertainly. "If I am permitted, Commander," he said, knowing full well that he was permitted indeed, since he was a member of the Council, "Hartwood has done great things in the course of the Long Night, and no one would dare question her worth. But I think Gladiolus Amicitia would be more fit for that role, now that he's come back."
"I was indeed talking about Gladiolus, Leradine," he retorted without getting impatient. He would certainly have involved Hartwood in the training of the recruits at the beginning, but he didn't have too many illusions. Five years, maybe ten, she had said, but none of them knew under what conditions.
"Oh," Leradine exclaimed, and gave a guilty smile. "I apologize, Commander, of course you were talking about him. An excellent idea, everyone will be excited about it. Gladiolus is the worthy son of his father."
Cor hesitated a moment longer before dropping the bomb. In the last few months, he had begun to lose some inhibitions. Perhaps he was getting old, after all, or perhaps, after seeing hell for ten years, he felt a little less inclined to diplomacy. Or maybe it was Hartwood's influence on him. He smiled. "But since you mentioned Hartwood, do you know what I thought, Leradine? That perhaps a young and unfiltered element like her could benefit the new Council. Now we no longer advise the King, but we act directly in the interest of the people of Insomnia. And every person in Lucis knows Hartwood, they know what she did during and at the end of the Long Night, and they trust her."
Leradine turned pale, as he expected, and the wry smile died on his lips. Cor was delighted. "Commander, with all due respect, Silia Hartwood in the Council?"
"We will put it to a vote. As long as she is fine with it, of course, and when the time comes, she will be fine with it, indeed. But not immediately. First, she must acclimate to the new Insomnia and the new dynamics." Cor rose from the marble bench. Hartwood owed it to him, she knew she owed it to him after leaving, and she would accept, even if in a bad mood and after a thousand protests, and the rest of the Council, even if in a bad mood and after a thousand arguments, would end up agreeing. He was Cor Leonis the Immortal, after all, and his will was worth something. He wanted Hartwood in the Council because she had been in war, and if there was anyone who would stand up with all her might to anything that could lead to another war, that was Silia Hartwood. The blinders he had once accused her of wearing had fallen off many years ago now.
"Commander, I beg you to reconsider..."
Cor ignored Drake Leradine and went back into the hall to join the guys, just as the last notes of the Valse of Fantastica faded.
