Author's Note: Nothing too deep, just some blah on how different people get over/keep grief. (Both in this story choose to keep.) I don't think Anna and Kratos managed to get a house; the brief bits we hear during the game don't suggest that. I don't care. Heck with canon if I can make a story out of it. (Here I don armor against pointy objects.) In the meantime, I'm not really happy with this; the plot seems flat and I didn't really like the outcome. Nevertheless, we always get good results from critique, and therefore I'm putting this up and asking for any thoughts you have on it. Sear it, please, I'll appreciate it. Advanced critiquing much appreciated as well. Thanks!

Going Home

Unto a broken heart

No other one may go

Without the high perogative

Itself hath suffered too.

- Emily Dickinson

When they died he went home.

The path to their little house wound through the trees and into the clearing in a smooth array of white; he followed it like one half asleep, seeing only a bright blur where his feet knew the path to be. He walked up to the door and pushed it open. The house was unlit. He wandered into the kitchen, pulling out one of the chairs by instinct to sit down and let his head fall to the table. For three weeks he lived alone.

It wasn't until the second week of his solitude that he could speak to them.

They were there from the beginning: his memories of them, bound together with words, with sounds and scents that stood like the people he had lost, a slender young woman with loving eyes and a child of two still learning how to talk. They were always there, hiding away in some room of his mind. That was what he thought it most like; as if he could walk through the corridors of his mind, and see the door that would lead to the room they had found and taken for their own. Some days he would pause before it and listen for the faint echo of laughter or a child's stammered words--"D-da-da?"--coming through the wood; some days he would hurry by, trying not to look. And some days he would stand there in the hallway and stare at it, wondering why he could not grip the knob and go in.

His body went about its own movements while his mind became his home. He would wake to find himself kneeling by the cold fireplace as if he'd gone to light it but fallen asleep instead; he never finished making the fire. For hours he would sit at the table, coming to himself to be surprised at how far the sunlight had moved along the wood.

He remembered teaching Lloyd to tell direction by the sun, and hearing Anna's tales at night as she spoke and sang Lloyd to sleep. 'North to the land of angels,' she would say. He paused at the door and listened to her voice drifting through. 'South to the land of men. North by north-west to reach the moon's shadow, but the southern trail straight to touch Old Hill Mother's gold.'

'Ol' Hill Mo'er?' asked Lloyd in his memory, only three. Anna nodded.

'Old Hill Mother is counting her gold,

Worn and weary and ragged and old

South of the moon and east of the sun--

One hundred, two hundred, twenty-and-one...'

He shook himself and opened his eyes to find that he was standing in the garden under the apple tree. He spent the next five hours looking at the blossoms. Anna had loved apple blossoms.

When he finally did go in to see them, the visit was brief. Lloyd was sitting by the fireplace, legs spread apart and several hand-carved blocks Kratos had made sitting before him. As he watched the boy took one and examined it carefully, looking at all of its sides before thoughtfully putting as much of it in his mouth as he could fit. Someone laughed and then she was bending over her son. 'No, Lloyd, not to eat. Such a hungry boy all the time!'

'Anna,' he said, his voice hoarse from so many days of being alone and silent.

She picked Lloyd up and turned to face him, eyes sparkling with brilliant love. 'Isn't he such a silly boy?'

He nodded mutely. She laughed again and then sighed in happiness when Lloyd, still sucking on his block, let his head rest against her neck. 'Lloyd...my dear son.' Her eyes found his. 'Kratos, who on this earth is more fortunate than I?'

'I'm...sorry...' he tried. She moved closer, still cuddling their young son who was looking at his father with wide eyes and as much of a smile as he could manage around the wood in his mouth.

'You don't have to apologize to me, Kratos,' she said, her voice as soft and sweet as a dawn-bred breeze passing over violets wet with dew. 'I will always understand.'

His voice caught roughly in his throat as if the pain he felt had taken form there. 'How can you...understand?' She bent her head to the side in the beautiful habit she had, seeming almost surprised at the question; but he knew she would never stay surprised at anything he said because she had already accepted it as soon as it left his mouth.

'Love understands all.' She said it calmly and gently, her hand moving up to cradle the back of Lloyd's head as he snuggled lower against her. 'And I will always love you, love.'

'Anna.' He felt the sting of tears that wanted to form. She smiled at him and then freed an arm from around her son to put it around him instead. For one moment he could not move; then he had swept them both up into a fierce embrace, holding his family to him and wishing he would never have to let go. 'Anna...'

He let the tears fall.

At the end of the third week Yuan came.

He had let self-care fall away without notice. His hair was stringed and dirty from hours of lying on the grass underneath the apple tree; his clothes were rumpled for the same reason, and for the many long nights spent sitting at table staring into the darkness of the unlit house. What little color he'd once had disappeared as he stopped eating and lived off mana alone. The visiting angel was cleanly dressed as always, hair neat and clothes falling carefully against his imperially slim frame. Against the prince-like being Kratos looked a ragged beggar.

Yuan stalked through the long grass, its dawn-wet tips leaving delicate grey brushes of dew against the white cloth at his ankles, coming to a stop in front of him. Kratos was sitting beneath the apple tree with his back pressed against its trunk and his eyes shut. He made no motion.

"Have you had enough time to start thinking straight again?" Yuan asked, giving no preamble and not bothering with pleasantries. "If you are, at least open your eyes."

Kratos did so slowly. He felt no curiosity towards the former half-elf; why Yuan was here, what he meant to do and what this visit could mean were things so unimportant they were not worth giving a thought to. Yuan apparently hadn't expected an answer for he continued talking as if Kratos' eyes were focused on him instead of gazing fixedly into nothing. "Yggdrasill sent me to invite you home for a while."

Kratos' lips parted, but his voice was a whisper. "I am home."

"Not sentimentally speaking," said Yuan. "Home is a place with more than one heart, and you, I believe, are currently residing with none. That is an undesireable lifestyle and we would like you to cease in it."

He looked upwards to where the sun's light could just barely be seen as it began to tint the sky with the first waves of dawn. "The southern trail straight," he murmured.

"Leads to Triet, here in Sylvarant." Yuan's voice was out of place in his remembering. He frowned, feeling irked at the sound of a voice that did not belong here.

"Leads to gold..."

"At sunset. Will you come back, Kratos?" asked Yuan. He sounded irritable.

Kratos closed his eyes and went back to what he had learned was best in his weeks of solitude. He asked Anna. 'Anna, love; what would you have me do?'

Her eyes sparkled in memory. 'Don't mourn alone, dear,' she replied. 'Do what will help others.'

'What is that?'

'Whatever you think best, of course.'

'I am not sure I know what is best,' he admitted. He took both of her hands in his and gently, slowly clasped them to his heart. 'I am divided. How can I go back to Mithos when he will destroy lives? How can I go back to humanity when it will not let others live them? I do not know which way is most wise--or least foolish.'

'Go with your heart,' whispered Anna, and, standing on her tip-toes, kissed him.

He let her step back and fade away. In her place came Yuan, slowly moving into focus, and the former half-elf was watching him with eyes that were strangely like hers. He breathed deeply. "I will be honest with you. I do not know what to do."

"That is strikingly obvious." Cruxis' influence had long ago stripped that voice of any sympathy. "The question is, are you going to come back, or not?"

The question was stated with coldness, but it had a strange undertone that almost suggested there was more to it than the obvious meaning. Kratos did not care. "I am asking that as well."

The moment of silence that followed gave him the time to look away, to let his eyes stray to the grass and then light upon a fallen apple blossom. He reached out to take it with gentle fingers and hold it to his eyes. In front of him Yuan shifted as if excruciatingly bored. He ignored the slim angel and turned the flower slowly, taking in the many contures and smooth surfaces that shaped the petals; an entire world in the palm of his hand, a universe of pink and white. He remembered Anna in play decking out her hair with countless apple blossoms, laughing brilliantly as they stubbornly fell loose and petals drifted down about her face...

"Kratos, the flower will not wilt just by your staring at it."

"It should," he murmured. "All things beautiful I touch turn to ash."

"That could be argued. Your work on the Angelus Project brought about--"

"Don't speak of it!" He leaped to his feet, grabbing a fist full of the silky shirt Yuan wore; he jerked the angel close, growling in his face, hair falling about his eyes in a tangled mess, teeth bared. Yuan shrugged as well he could in the former human's grip.

"Very well, I won't. What would you have me speak of? That unfortunate woman?"

Kratos let go of his shirt and punched him in the face.

Yuan stumbled back, a spray of blood flying from his lip; he remained standing, hands clenched into fists and his breath making his chest heave. He watched as the angel regained his balance and straightened, not looking in his direction, reaching up to absently wipe the crimson from his mouth. He rubbed the bloody fingers together and seemed to think.

"I hit you for Martel, once," he said, speaking to the ground. "Do you remember?"

The slight had been a mild one; the situation simple. The half-elf had reacted out of over-protection and soon apologized, the bloody nose healed and the incident was ignored. This was different. "Silence."

"Who are you to tell me what to do?"

Solitude can and will bring madness, he thought, and let his body draw the sword that had hung unused by his side for many days. Something in his head was chanting for blood. Perhaps he had gone mad. "A desperate man."

Yuan faced him fearlessly; he made no move to protect himself, leaving his heart open. His eyes sought Kratos' own with deep intensity. "Kratos. Are you truly willing to take more blood upon your hands? Wasn't she enough?"

A desperate cry broke from his throat as he lunged, swung the sword in a glowing arc that landed perfectly against Yuan's neck. Blood spurted out in a crimson spray, covering his eyes; his vision stained red.

From somewhere beyond his sight came Yuan's voice. "Kratos. You've had three weeks. Stop grieving her and begin living again."

He swung again, silently this time, and felt the sword connect against solid flesh and bone. The voice continued. "She cannot live through anyone else now--you were all she had. Or have you forgotten how lonely she was?"

"Silence!" he shouted, slamming his sword down; beneath the blade something collapsed. He hacked mindlessly at it with powerful blows. "Don't speak of her! She is sacred!"

"She is dead for now," returned the voice. He changed his grip on the hilt and plunged the weapon down, sending the blade through the body of his prey. "And she will continue to be dead until someone remembers her and lets her live through them."

The words worked through his blood-lust to strike his mind. Underneath them something inside him crumbled. Then he was standing still, panting, the sword hanging from exhausted hands. Yuan stood unharmed before him without a trace of blood tainting his skin; his blue eyes were filled with an emotion Kratos could not identify.

"Kratos," whispered Yuan. "What have you considered in your weeks alone?"

He stared down at his clean blade, gazing at how the tip had embedded itself in the soft earth beneath his feet, wondering if he had entered insanity. "Much."

"Have you thought of coming back?"

"If I had not come to her," he said to the ground, "she would have lived for many years. Others would have felt her influence. She would have touched generations."

"Yes."

He looked up to the sky. "If I had not left Cruxis," he told it, "she would be alive. And if I had continued to fight for Cruxis, she would have lived to see a world where no one suffered. I would have protected her with my life."

"It would have been a living death. Better for her to be dead."

Even the unreal sound of bitterness in Yuan's strange words had not the power to touch him now. "If I had stayed," he said, "she would be alive. Others would be dead, but they would be dead either way. I made a foolish mistake."

"Indeed."

He straightened, sliding his sword back into its sheath; folded his arms and faced Yuan. "I am coming back. I will not kill her again."

Something in the former half-elf's face seemed almost disappointed before it fled, leaving behind the eternal cold expression. "You are--sure? There are no other paths you would take?"

"There are none."

Quietly Yuan turned away, cloak rippling as it caught on the dry tips of long grass. He stopped in surprise when Kratos took a step after him. "You are done mourning?"

"I am."

"Then let me make sure."

He turned again and held up a hand. The palm glowed with mana; with a flash the gathering ball of light exploded outwards, searing into the side of the house. The wooden walls cracked, fire leaping up from the massive amount of heated energy. Kratos turned to look as the roof bent inwards and fire began to spread along the frame.

Yuan looked over at him, arm still outstretched and eyes questioning. He made no move to save any of the items inside, letting the fire consume all they had owned together: the books and curtains, sheets and candles they had gathered carefully; the simple dresses she had owned, the special gifts he had given her and the delicate embroidery she had made.

He supposed someday he would regret letting Yuan burn it all; would remember some trinket or item he would wish he'd kept. At the moment however it didn't matter and therefore he said nothing. Yuan watched the fire rage into a searing storm until it was certain nothing would survive, then turned to him and evaluated his expression. He supposed his face was blank, and apparently it was, at least enough to satisfy Yuan, for the angel gave a small 'hmph' and let his wings unfold. "I apologize for lowering your property value, but you must understand how much leftover bonds can get in the way of the present..."

He did not bother to reply. Yuan watched as he opened his wings, the brilliant blue glowing in the early morning like precious sapphire. In the faint gleam Yuan's eyes reflected deeper blue than he had ever seen them before; something in the depths seemed to be begging to get out, to free itself from the close watch he was holding. When he did speak the tone was flat, as if there were other words on the tip of his tongue that the loyal angel had to bite back.

"Are you coming home now?"

He looked up at the sun, squinting into its rays to judge the time by its position. North to the land of angels, south to the land of men. North by north-west to reach the moon's shadow, but the southern trail straight to touch Old Hill Mother's gold.

"Yes, Anna," he said.