Author's Note: I've written this in so many bits and pieces while at work. It's been busy with the holidays, but I hope everyone has a safe and prosperous 2017.
I have become incredibly obsessed with the Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss. If you get a chance, please read them and scream with me at what beautiful worldbuilding and rich storytelling it is. Also, I watched Rogue One. I am Not Okay. I won't put spoilers here though.
Tell me a story of war-
That how after love,
we are naked, shivering,
a mass of recklessness.
That we would dare to eat all the stars-
all of the light in heaven.
-Salma Deera (War on Love)
"Something wrong?" Mithos asked. After weeks of travelling towards Undine's Temple, they'd finally hit the coast. It was nice to rest their aching feet in the cool ocean water.
Kratos, sitting beside him in the shallow water, just shrugged. "Not really. Just thinking about Robyn."
"What did she say to you? Before we left?"
(He hadn't been expecting her and Nessa, of all people, to see them off. Nessa hugs his legs tightly before doing the same to Yuan. Robyn kisses Yuan's cheek, holding onto him tightly before moving to stand in front of Kratos. After a moment, she thrusts out her hand.
Kratos takes it, stunned.
Robyn tilts an awkward smile at him and tugs him a little closer by the hand. "…You're not all bad, I think."
He returns the smile. "Likewise."
"Just, take care of Yuan, alright? He's—he needs you."
Kratos' smile softened. "I will. I wish the best for you and Nessa."
An odd look passes Robyn's eyes, but she just nods and steps away)
"Just that I wasn't too bad," Kratos told Mithos. He wasn't sure why he didn't want to tell Mithos the whole truth. He hadn't even told Yuan what Robyn had said to him. Perhaps it was simply because Robyn had taken such care for no one else to be able to tell. Maybe it was a shared secret between him and Robyn, a woman who was essentially a total stranger. "For a human."
Mithos smiled. "Well. She's not wrong."
Undine's Temple stood on a rocky outcropping in the south. It took some convincing for Mithos to be allowed to study with the priests and priestesses to learn the rituals and customs so that he could make a pact.
"Water is the element of balance," they taught him. "It moves with the push and pull of Luna, a harmony. It heals and hurts."
The temple was a beautiful place, carved of white limestone, with elegant columns and domed ceilings. The steps were worn soft and smooth and there were many that led out in the shallow ocean waters. Large murals were painted on the walls and ceilings, depicting great battles between Undine and Volt, the love held with Luna, the story of Aska's jealousy. There was a hall of heroes—mostly heroines—beloved of Undine.
Kratos enjoyed exploring the Temple, understanding the stories and comparing them with the ones he'd learned from Yuan. Martel came with him fairly often, and she debated the differences with Kratos. The stories she'd learned from the elves weren't so different.
"Heimdall has a very similar climate," Martel explained. "It makes sense that they hold Undine in a similar high respect."
Yuan explored as well, but his favorite places in the Temple rapidly became the lighthouses, talking and learning from the priests up there. Martel would often find him cradled in the wide windowsills, napping in the sunshine.
"You like high places, don't you?" Martel said once, kissing his hairline.
He hummed in affirmation, wrapping an arm around her hips to tug her onto his lap. "I like to see the horizon. It reminds me of Asgard, and that I'm not stuck where I am." (He is happy that reminders of Asgard don't hurt anymore. Or rather, not in the same gut-wrenching way. Now, it is a familiar, soft hurt of old memories)
Yuan, as Martel had learned, had a wanderer's spirit. Never content to be in one place. The idea seemed strange to her, but then, she'd never had a choice in the matter. She'd been running from place to place since she and Mithos had been chased from Heimdall.
"Are you sure you don't want to come swimming with us?"
"I'll go down, but I'll stay on the stairs."
Martel remembered the first time she'd ever met Yuan; he and Kratos lying on a ship deck, drenched, Kratos frantic, hoping that Yuan would just breathe. In Heimdall, a village prone to floods during the summer, Martel had been taught at an early age how to bring someone's breath back, and her training had kicked in. Thrusting hard into his chest with the heel of her hands, pinching his nose and breathing into his mouth. Technically it was their first kiss, but neither of them counted it. (She had almost lost him before ever meeting him. The thought jabs somewhere under her solar plexus)
Mithos was already swimming when they got down to the meeting spot, far enough out that the water had started to deepen. Kratos was up to his thighs in the water, and Noishe was wading by the stairs, dipping his beak in and occasionally making a half-hearted attempt to catch the little fish in this area.
Martel tugged off her shirt and dropped her pants, entirely unself-conscious in front of them. They lived together; it wasn't as though they hadn't seen her in less. The water was cool and a balm from the heat of the day. She hadn't exaggerated when she told Kratos that this area reminded her of Heimdall; it had been a long time since she'd had to be in heat like this.
Mithos waved, calling her over and Martel began wading out. Kratos grinned at her when she froze as the cool water started hitting her thighs, her groin. "Cold?" he asked.
She shot him a look. "I don't see you getting in any deeper either."
His grin stuttered as he took her challenge, going in deeper until he was up to his bellybutton. She could hear Yuan snorting as he took in the situation, and she strode forward, matching Kratos' pace. They kept on that way until Martel was up to her neck and then she realized Kratos' advantage. He was a good half a head taller than her.
Reaching up, Martel grabbed him around the shoulders and yanked him down with her into the water. He jerked up immediately, yelping at the sudden cold, and she could hear Mithos trying to laugh and swim at the same time.
Being away from the warfront was both hard and easy at the same time. Hard because leaving their friends, their neighbors behind to fight without being there to fight with them? It weighed heavy on their shoulders, and there were plenty of nights where at least one of them couldn't sleep with the worry and guilt. But it was still less stressful, being out here. Having time to themselves, not having orders pushing them to go places. They were happier, ultimately, without taking orders. The circles beneath Kratos' eyes weren't as pronounced, and Yuan slept less fitfully. Martel had time to rest, now that she wasn't at the clinic almost 24/7.
(It's Mithos that she's happiest about. Out here, he is smiling, and playing, and exploring like children of his age should be doing. He's only twelve. He shouldn't be on the warfront like this, and she can't be guilty that he gets to be kid)
Yuan sat behind Martel, brushing out the tangles from her recently washed hair. He liked doing this, he'd confessed before; he didn't mind that it could, sometimes, take close to an hour because of how long her hair was, and how fiercely tangled it could get. It was calming.
"You've been kinda quiet today," Yuan murmured. "Everything okay?"
Martel rubbed Yuan's knee reassuringly. "Yeah. I was just—is it bad to think that it's been kind of, nice? Since we left?"
"Not being in the thick of things? No. It's…nice is a good word." He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, but he lingered, leaving his lips pressed to her warm skin. He'd felt so brittle, before they'd been discharged. Ready to snap or shatter. That feeling had been waning since they'd left, and he'd felt a stiffness leaving his shoulders and spine, a tension he hadn't realized was there because it had been building for so long. Even Sylph's Temple and returning to Asgard hadn't brought that kind of tension and stress back into him. This wasn't peace, not by a longshot. They still had to hide their identities in human lands—even Kratos, with his face plastered onto the wanted posters—and food was still scarce, but it was so much less stressful.
(There are no slowly dimming eyes of dying men out here, no explosions of grenades, no thick scent of blood and worse mixing with the embers of the day. It is easier out here, to forget all of it, surrounded by the people that Yuan loves most in all the world. A part of him, a large part, wants to hide. Wants to build or find a house large enough for the four of them, away from people, and they can stay there, in a place all their own, and be happy. It's a dream, he knows, an unrealistic one, but he wants it fiercely)
Martel leaned back against him, and he uncrossed his legs to let her scoot closer, his fingers trailing absentmindedly from her thigh over her hip, back and forth. "I keep expecting to wake up," she said. "To wake up and see that tent, and get ready to go to the clinic."
"I thought you liked being in the clinic."
"I—I enjoy being able to help people. But being in the clinic, day in and day out, it was…draining is a good word for it."
He kissed her shoulder in sympathy before resting his chin on it, his breath tickling her jaw. "…You ever think it could always be like this?"
"What, always traveling? Never answering to anyone?"
He puffed a laugh. "The latter is rather pleasing to think about, but no. I mean…do you think this is as close to peace as we'll ever get?"
Her fingernails scraped up and down his shins. It tickled a little, but not enough to make him move. "No. I can't believe that."
"Still wishing for a proper house? With goats?"
Martel laughed delightedly, remembering that lone summer day when they'd discussed it. Well, it hadn't been a serious discussion then. Just children, dreaming aloud. (They'd been legally adults then, but Martel feels so old right now that she thinks of those times as belonging to children) "I don't even know what I would do with a proper house, honestly. I haven't lived in one since I was a kid."
"Neither have I." Yuan hummed thoughtfully. "What would you want in that house?"
"A bathtub," Martel said decisively after a moment of thought. When she felt his chuckles vibrating against her back, she nudged him with her shoulder. "I'm serious. A big bathtub, with hot running water and soap that smells pretty."
"Mm. Like flowers. Violets."
"Or jasmine. Those too." She could feel him nodding in agreement. "What about you? Let's take turns."
"What do I want?" Yuan had never taken much time to think about specifics. It had always been a distant dream, one to nurse on lonely nights. "…Windows. I want lots of windows so that there are those nice sunny spots that're warm when you step on them. Thin curtains too, so that they let in light."
"I still want a garden, and flowerboxes that we've done a really terrible job of painting. I want a bench out there so we can sit and watch the stars."
"Books," Yuan said simply. "Books everywhere."
"You'd be so messy," Martel teased. "I imagine you'd want them everywhere. On nightstands, and in the kitchen, and in piles around the living room."
Yuan nodded, closing his eyes to picture it. Books, and no one to condemn them for reading them, for being able to read them.
"…Bookmarks or dog-ears?" Martel asked suddenly.
Yuan blinked at her. The question was out of the blue, and he'd never really had a choice. Since they lived on the road, dog-eared pages were quite common. "Bookmarks." It would be a shame to damage the books when he didn't have to.
"Good answer."
They were quiet for a long while, just feeling each other's breaths, letting the calm of the Temple soak into their skins. Finally, Yuan said, "…I want you there. With your shoes by the door, and making a mess whenever you change." Because she would, he knew it and so did she, by the way she stuck her tongue out at him. "I want you making the house smell with that flowery soap of yours, and dirt in the entryway from the garden. I can't picture a house without you in it."
She turned a little, and he was afraid to let her, afraid that she was going to get up, and leave and never come back. But his mouth kept going, and he could feel the ring in his pocket pressing against his hip.
"Hell, I can't actually picture a future without you in it, and I don't think I want to." Yuan had to squirm a bit to fish the rings out. He'd been planning something, had wanted to make it romantic and grand, something big because Martel deserved something like that. He hadn't expected to do it now, but apparently, that's where this was going. "Martel, will you marry me?" His voice broke a little, somewhere in the middle, but he tried to keep his calm.
She stared at him, wide-eyed. Her gaze flicked to the ring in the box he was holding out, a little awkwardly balanced. "Are you serious?"
That made him laugh, the sound a little hysterical. Spirits, but he couldn't remember ever being this terrified. (He'd been telling the whole truth. He doesn't know what his like would be like without Martel Yggdrasill and he doesn't ever want to find out) "Not exactly the kind of thing I would joke about."
He could feel her breathing speeding up a bit, and now she was pulling back and away, getting to her feet. Yuan's fingers scratched into the stone floor beneath them, wishing it was dirt so that his fingers could really dig in.
"I-I need to think," Martel managed before walking away.
They hadn't explored the entire Temple yet, and the room Martel found herself in was one she didn't recognize. Murals were painted on the walls, and there were carved tablets beneath the, perhaps dictating what the murals represented. The far wall was entirely open to a large stone balcony which looked out onto the open sea. Martel hurried out there, needing air.
Marriage. Yuan had just asked her to marry her.
It was something she'd never considered. Not seriously. Not with a lot of thought behind it. It had always been something quick, in passing, like a little daydream. But he was serious. He had the rings and everything.
Martel didn't know how to be married. She didn't even remember what it looked like. Her parents had been in love with each other, yes, but her mother had died when she'd only been eight. Her memories weren't strong from back then. Her most vivid memories of her father were of after her mother's death, how hollow he looked. His wife's death had broken him, and he'd followed her to death not two years later.
(She doesn't want anyone to have that kind of power over her. It's all too likely that one of them won't make it out of this war, if either of them do. Martel doesn't want Yuan's death to rip her apart. She has survived so much, and she doesn't want to break. But wouldn't love be worth it? Surely it would. And if Yuan has proven anything over the years, it's that he's very good at beating the odds)
And she'd run from him.
Yuan had proposed. And she'd run. Like she always did. Like she had after their first kiss in the desert. It was what Martel knew how to do. It was what she'd been doing for most of her life.
Spirits, but his face after she'd left. Like she'd ripped out his heart and stomped on it in front of him. How could she not have seen it? Yuan had to be just as afraid of this as she was. If he could be brave enough to try for this, why couldn't she?
Yuan was braver than her. Brave enough to risk everything, put it all on the line, even at the possibility of losing it all. Martel found it very difficult to do that. She liked keeping herself and her people safe. It was what she was good at, it was all she'd ever taught herself to do. Survival at whatever cost, even if it was herself.
But that was the mentality of war, Martel thought. There would be a day, in some future, that the war would end. She didn't know what that would look like, but she imagined that a world such as that wouldn't need such extreme measure such as she'd had to use to keep her family alive. That was the kind of thinking she had to use. Survival was not all that life was about. Survival made it so that you had a life to live, and if she kept running, kept hiding from these sorts of things, then there wouldn't be a life to enjoy.
Besides which, this was a war. She could lose Yuan tomorrow. Wouldn't she much rather have had a fiancée for a day and have the possibility of having him beside her, in every way possible, for the rest of her life instead of losing him over fear?
Martel gulped down the ocean air until she could feel her breathing steadying out. This was good. She could do this. She could be brave. And when her breathing came back, and her hands stopped shaking, Martel turned on her heel and left that room, intent on finding Yuan.
Martel's heart twisted when she returned to the small rooms outside of the bathing pools where they'd been. He wasn't there, nor was he anywhere nearby.
High places. Yuan liked high places.
So she climbed up the lighthouse steps—all three hundred and twenty-two of them—to find him curled at the top on his ledge, the box with the rings in it clutched in his hands.
"I hope you're not planning on throwing them away." Martel's voice came a little too fast and a little too high to be casual as she'd been hoping to appear. Yuan whipped his head to look at her, as though shocked she would ever want to see him again. She crossed the room and laid her hand over his on the box.
He was still staring at her, frozen like a startled deer. "…A-and why is that?" he managed finally.
"Because knowing you, they're quite lovely. And I would rather like to wear one."
"Yeah?"
Martel nodded, pressing her forehead to his. "Yes. My answer is yes, Yuan. I'm so sorry I scared you like that."
He kissed her quickly, firmly, one hand slipping around her hips to draw her nearer. "I'll be honest—I'm still scared. I don't know how this is going to work, if it even will or—"
"Neither do I. Frankly, this terrifies me. But I'd much rather be at your side than give in to fear. You have this way of making a girl feel very brave."
Yuan's laugh was half hysterical with relief, and half true joy as he tugged her closer, this kiss hard and desperate. "You're amazing, Martel Yggdrasill. And I feel the same way."
She stepped over his legs to straddle him, nudging at the box. "So. Let me see them."
When he slipped the ring out, she took it gently, turning it in her hands. She'd been right; it was lovely. And unique. She caught the inscriptions on the inside and she smiled fondly. He was so thoughtful, her fiancée. She turned the word over in her mind, feeling it echo. Then she said it aloud, felt the syllables and the way her tongue curled around it. "I quite like the sound of it."
"So do I," Yuan confessed, his own ring in his hands.
This time, when Martel kissed him, it was softer, gentler, no hint of desperation or fear. They were here. Together. They could do this.
They'd all been offered separate rooms, but honestly, they found it difficult—nigh impossible, really—to sleep without someone else in the room. Too many nightmares of finding each other dead, of being alone trapped in chains.
Yuan woke slowly, as he had most of these days in the Temple. Nowhere he needed to go, or be. He had time to catch up on his sleep, let his mind rest, and he was taking full advantage of it. Martel was still asleep beside him, her long hair tangling beneath and over her. He'd suggested that she braid it for bed, but she had kept it in a braid the entire time she was on the warfront, so she wanted to indulge herself.
Light peeking in through the curtain made the ring on his finger glint and Yuan grinned in delight to see it. It hadn't been a dream. He threw his arm around Martel's waist, tugging himself a little closer, and pressing a kiss to her arm, smiling as the scent of her—subtle, between the bathwater and the salty air, but always always with an undercurrent of something herbal.
Martel stirred a bit, shifting against him. "Somethin' wrong?" she mumbled.
He shook his head. "Absolutely nothing." Kissing her again, he added, "You can go back to sleep."
She didn't even have the energy to give him an odd look, just shuffled back under the blankets a bit more and went back to sleep.
Kratos noticed first, when they came to the dining hall for breakfast. He grinned and hugged both of them hard, congratulating them. Martel went pink, even as she and Yuan beamed. Mithos hugged his sister, and eyed Yuan.
"You'd better treat her right," Mithos told him, the threat lurking behind the words.
"Have I ever not, kid?"
(Yuan doesn't blame Mithos for being protective. At least now, he has the skill to back up his words. And honestly, if he ever does do anything to hurt her, Mithos has his full permission to carry through with whatever threat he chooses)
Martel sat and learned from the Healers among the priests, and they taught her from a rather different perspective than Myra had. Mrya's had been straightforward, clinical thinking. Problem A had solution B. It made sense; they'd been on the frontlines of a war. There had been no time to learn more intuitively.
Here, however, Martel's trainer—Lanuin—taught her to expand her sensitivity to mana, to be able to find the solution to whatever the problem was by listening for it, as he put it. It wasn't literally listening, but it was feeling. Kind of like what Mithos did with the mana that he saw.
"The problem may not always be visible," Lanuin explained. "Or the patient may not be able to tell you, specifically, what is wrong. But the body is very good at knowing if something is not in balance, and it will have a solution. You're a Healer, not a doctor. That means you need to develop the skill to listen for what the body needs and adapt appropriately."
It was difficult, and Martel struggled to do it properly. When she voiced her concern that, perhaps, she was doing it wrong, Lanuin shook his head.
"You've already been doing it instinctively. You're a natural Healer." Martel remembered Myra telling her much the same when her training had first begun, but she hadn't understood what that meant. "What you need to learn is to be able to do it consciously." Lanuin smiled, the soft lines of his face crinkling with the motion. "It is difficult, and you're making some progress, but if it were easy—"
"Everyone would do it," Martel finished.
His notebook was nearly full, Kratos thought, making a mental note to buy another one when they came to another town. If he had to sweep floors or wash dishes in exchange due to lack of gald, he would. He remembered Yuan's fascination with books as a child because he'd never seen stories written down, had never experienced them that way. He looked around at the murals painted on the walls and ceilings, and Kratos thought that perhaps the priests and priestesses here had never seen them written either. From what he'd seen, half-elves had largely oral traditions, and in losing much of their writing system, they'd created beautiful illustrations to put pictures to their words.
Kratos wasn't much of an artist, though he did his best to copy the murals as he learned the stories behind them from Mithos. It helped the information to sink in, for Mithos to really know it, for him to recite the stories back aloud. The stories, Kratos copied down, word for word, as well as making a note of where he'd learned it because he'd found that, depending on what region he was in, the stories would differ.
Kratos joined Mithos in a room full of light, as many of them were, incense burning. Mithos had taken to keeping his hair tucked up in a tail with the hot weather. They'd all suggested just cutting it, but Mithos said that he kind of liked having it long. He was stretched out on the floor, studying a spell circle.
"Problem?" Kratos asked, sitting cross-legged beside him.
"No. Just a different way of doing it, I suppose."
"How so?"
Mithos slid his slab over, where the chalked sketch of the circle sat. "See this rune here?" Kratos recognized it, a common one for water spells. "I feel like it would do more good on the top portion of the circle."
"Why?"
"Summoning water from the ground is more difficult," Mithos explained. "I mean, water is usually in the ground, so it isn't hard to use mana to bring it up and then expand on that. But water exists in the air too, and that requires less force to move, and therefore you can devote more strength to the actual spell rather than just the preparation for it."
"So because the movement of the water takes less work, you're saying that the actual spell itself will be stronger?"
"Precisely."
Kratos studied the spell circle. Theoretically, it made sense, but then, in theory, most everything could make sense. "This." Kratos tapped a set of two runes on the outer rim. "If you move the other rune, you throw this one out of balance. You change it to a different element entirely. This one adjusts for the earth to move it through. Without that, it becomes more like…mud. A mudslide type effect rather than a wave of water."
"Huh. How do these things make so much sense to you? I mean, they make sense to me too, but I've been looking at this for an hour and I didn't realize that."
"Fresh eyes." Kratos shrugged. "Or maybe it's because my brain isn't trying to a hundred miles an hour to invent something new like yours is." He poked Mithos playfully in the temple as punctuation.
"You say that like you couldn't."
"I don't want to invent anything." Kratos smiled down at Mithos. "I have enough trouble keeping up with the world the way it is."
(Kratos has come to terms with the fact that, as far as history goes, he will probably remain quite forgotten. Perhaps a footnote here and there, a mention every now and again. Mithos, though. Mithos will most certainly change the world, with his brilliant ideas and unwavering tenacity. Yes, Mithos would go down in history for certain)
"I don't believe that," Mithos said, propping his head up on his hand.
"No?"
"No. I think that you just don't like to be in the spotlight. You can keep up just fine, but it suits you to be thought of as being a bit behind."
"You make me sound absolutely devious."
Mithos' laughter rung out, bright and silvery, a harmonious note to Martel's echoing off the walls. His voice hadn't begun to break yet, not really. Once, when Yuan scared him by jumping at him from a tree, had him yelping, his voice cracking, but that was it. "I've seen you and Yuan be ridiculously clever when you want to be. So yeah, I think deviousness is part of your nature, and it's only enhanced because you look so absolutely un-devious."
"I don't think that's a word."
Mithos shrugged. "I can make it a word."
Kratos huffed in lieu of laughing properly. "Of course you would. Now c'mon, enough psychoanalyzing. You need to review your lesson."
Mithos' nose wrinkled, but he was still smiling. "Once a teacher, always a teacher." He proceeded to recite the story of Undine and Celsius, two facets of the same element, two sisters who had been shoved apart by fate. Celsius, the rebellious one who had refused to buckle beneath the expectations of society, and Undine who had simply accepted them and then turned them on their ear.
"It's why up north, there is no position of King. It's never existed," Mithos said, kicking his legs in the air. "They have the Empress and her word is absolute."
"And down here?"
Mithos grinned. "They have the position of Queen, and if you read the laws correctly, while the King has a great deal of power, the Queen has the ability to subvert his orders. In truth, the Queen has more power, but much of the time, they're not fully aware of it."
"Because it only helps the King to keep the Queen in the dark." Kratos tapped his pen against the notebook. "In a system that's supposed to be, if not equal, at least somewhat balanced."
Mithos narrowed his eyes. "What're you thinking?"
"This area used to be part of the human empire. This power of the Queen might not be restricted to simply half-elven monarchies."
"Okay…your point?"
"When have you ever heard of the human Queen doing anything?"
"Never. But I barely hear about her at all."
"Exactly. Half-elves took this land from the humans well over two centuries ago, very early on in the war. That means that there's been at least two hundred years of adapting practices and governments, as well as plenty of time for pushing laws under the rug."
"You think they're keeping the Queen deliberately in the dark? Making her just a figurehead?"
"At the very least." Kratos looked down at his notes, not taking them in all the way. "They're probably doing more than that. The smarter political players will be using her to their advantage with her being none the wiser."
"And you say you're not devious."
"I mean, it's nothing concrete. I don't know the laws that give the King and Queen their powers." It wasn't something taught in human schools. Which only added arguments to Kratos' theory. How better to ensure no political upheaval when ninety-eight percent of people would never learn the truth? Times were hard in the human kingdom too; the university had fewer and fewer students, with everyone being drafted, and that wasn't adding in the fact that university was expensive. And the two percent who could afford it and weren't drafted wouldn't be enough to actually cause a political upheaval. It was kind of brilliant.
When Kratos told his new evidence to Mithos, he got a thoughtful hum. "We need to get to a human library. An upscale one. They have to have documentation of their laws somewhere."
"Why do you want to read them?"
"We tried making a peace treaty with the King, and we saw how well that worked out. What if the Queen has the power to make a treaty? Or even override the King's decision on this?"
"That's a big 'if'."
"C'mon, Kratos, where's your adventurous side?"
That made him laugh. "What'd you call the last six years then?"
Mithos' grin went wicked. "Dress rehearsal."
Kratos only laughed harder, but he agreed to help Mithos research it.
When they told the others of their idea, Martel and Yuan just looked at them like they'd gone insane. "You want to break into a human library?" Yuan repeated. "The ones that have that kind of information will only be at a university or at the capital itself."
"We never said it would be easy."
"I thought you were supposed to be the voice of reason, Kratos."
"That's why I think it's a good idea," he said. "We can play their political game better if we know the rules. If we keep running blind, we run a greater chance of continuing this war. Anish was right; we have more power on our side, great, but that's easy to twist into something tyrannical. We need diplomacy."
"And you think we have a better chance of convincing the Queen?" Yuan asked. "If she's basically been a political puppet this whole time, how is what we're doing any better?"
"Because we're not controlling her opinion," Martel said suddenly. She'd been reading Kratos' notes, turning the idea over. "She already has to have an opinion on this war. Everyone does. Whatever game her puppeteers—if that's what's happening—are playing is that they're twisting that opinion to keep the war going. They're more than likely profiting off of this war; weapons and medical supply manufacturers by themselves would make an enormous amount of gald from all of this. Giving the humans a common enemy in half-elves? It just makes it so that no one questions the war, makes them think they're doing the right thing."
"My question still stands, Martel. How do you propose that we convince the Queen?"
"Because she's a mother. The royal line has to be continued. She doesn't want a war ongoing, where the chances are greater and greater every day that the capital is bombed beyond recognition, that her children are the ones found in the rubble."
(Martel knows that terror, knows it every time she looks at Mithos. Every time she holds Yuan's hand, or leans on Kratos. They are all so temporary, so breakable. Nothing is guaranteed, and she never wants to lose them)
Yuan softened a little at that response. "…I just want it on the record that I think this is a bad idea. How do you even plan to get all of us into a human university and not get caught? We don't exactly blend in."
"That can come later," Mithos said. "One step at a time."
"So what's the first step?"
"Picking one to break into," Kratos answered. "I think the capital is our best bet, honestly. There will more than likely be a section dedicated to the royal family since that's their city."
"And it's also the one that'll be the most heavily guarded," Yuan argued. Kratos was good at strategy; how had he overlooked that?
"There's one important fact you're overlooking. This is a war. They're not concerned with guarding their books; they're concerned with staying alive."
"I feel like this is going to be one of those times where I'm gonna get to say 'I told you so'."
"Boys," Martel interrupted.
They both shrunk down. Yuan and Kratos were a powerful force if they presented as a united front; when they argued against each other—well, Martel had seen it go on for hours on the subject of a potential metaphor in one of the stories of Shadow. On something this important? They could go all day.
"I agree with Kratos' idea. We don't have time to break into libraries to get the wrong information. If we can pretty much guarantee that a library in the capital is going to have the correct information, then we need to go straight to it."
Yuan was clearly outvoted, so he let his argument fall away. "…We still have time to do more research; I refuse to go into this blind." (He can't stop thinking of the capital, of the manacles on his wrists, of the brand on his arm. Of the scars on Kratos' back and the hollowness in his eyes) "I'll write to Alstan and see if he has any information to help us since we're going to be here for a little while longer anyway."
Mithos nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."
A priest sat across from Kratos at lunch one afternoon. His mustache and sideburns were shot through with gray, but his black curls showed no trace. "I see you often with that book."
Kratos looked up, frankly surprised that anyone was talking to him. While these priests and priestesses hadn't shown any of that obvious hatred and prejudice for humans, they'd all left him a wide berth. Then he remembered that he was expected to reply. "Oh, er—yes."
Crinkles formed at the corner of the priest's eyes as he smiled. "I'm sorry—that was rather rude, wasn't it? My name is Eli. And you are?"
"Kratos Aurion."
"A pleasure. What is it that you have inside that book of yours?"
"Stories, mostly." Kratos slid the book across the table to him. "I like hearing different stories—even different versions of the same ones—and then I copy them down."
Kratos watched Eli, recognizing the same look in the priest's eyes that had been in Yuan's all those years ago. Uncomprehending, but curious. From what Kratos had seen of the Temple, there was no written language system left. There were carvings and murals—all beautiful and illustrative—and he was sure that they had an oral tradition as well, like most half-elves had.
"Humans show their stories very differently."
"We do at that."
"…Could you teach me? To understand this?" Eli tapped the page, his eyes—a lavender color, now that Kratos was looking—hungry and gleaming.
Kratos smiled. "Absolutely."
They had lunch together every day, and Kratos would teach Eli over their food, often lingering at the table long after the dining hall had cleared. Eli was a quick study, but his problem was putting sounds to the letters.
"It is very strange," Eli said. "But I will get it."
"I know you will. You're doing very well." Kratos picked up a small crust of bread that had been left on his plate, popping it into his mouth. "May I ask why you wanted to learn?"
"I am a scribe, here. I am instructed to pass our teachings on to those who follow. I create the stories on the walls, the images." Eli scrubbed a hand through his hair. "But that is not enough. Not for this world that you and your friends speak of. We must be able to communicate with the humans if peace ever happens. We cannot seem unintelligent."
"I won't lie—that's a good reason. And that's probably what the humans would think too."
"You speak like you aren't a human anymore."
Kratos felt like he'd been having this conversation a lot lately. Each time he answered, he felt more and more distant from the Aurion plantation, from his father and the photographs of his mother on that far off shelf. "Maybe I'm not anymore. I was born among them, my veins are full of their blood," It wasn't a complete lie. "But my family is half-elven. All the people I love are also half-elven. My father called for my execution, branded me a traitor. So, no. I don't think I am a very good human anymore."
(It used to hurt, talking about his father. It still kind of does, but it isn't that gaping hole it had been when he'd died—been killed. Kratos had killed him. He can't let himself forget that, even if he thinks it had been the right decision. Maybe this is part of growing up too)
Eli whistled low. "Well. A turncloak, huh? That'll do it. And now you're here, educating half-elves on the other side of the world."
"To be fair," Kratos said wryly. "I was doing that over there too."
Eli chuckled. "You are a strange one, Aurion."
"You're not the first to say it."
"And hopefully not the last. This world can use more of your strangeness."
"We believe the ocean is the great healer," Lanuin explained as he and Martel walked down the steps into the shallow waters. "It takes all you are willing to give and brings it back clean. Besides the disinfectant qualities of the salt in the water, the nature of water is also something you must consider when you're using it as part of your medicine."
"I don't usually have that luxury," Martel pointed out.
"I understand. You are in warzones, and constantly traveling. Being choosy is often a luxury you cannot afford, but you must understand the concept. Clean water—beyond being clear of material impurities—is also clear of spiritual ones. There are stories of old elven temples to Undine that had sacred wells or ponds to be used only in their ceremonies."
Martel thought back, trying to remember the temples—not the true residences of the Spirits, but places of worship—that were in Heimdall. "…We had a stream in Heimdall, but there was an offshoot of it that ran behind one of the temples. We were always told to never play there."
Lanuin nodded. "That would logically be why. Even dwarves understand this. They keep a clear well nearby solely for cooling items from the forge. Water with impure mana in it would soil their iron or steel and make it weak."
"So—assuming I have the luxury—look for clean water to use on my patients," Martel repeated. "I can try to do that."
"See that you do." Lanuin slipped his shoes off on the lowest dry step before walking into the shallow water. "We bring people to heal here, if they are badly enough off. The ocean and the body can match each other's rhythms, and a body can be restored to its natural rhythms through that."
"…like the mentally ill?" Martel asked, copying him. The water was cold on her calves.
"Yes. It is difficult with them, as it is as much a mental healing as a physical one, and Undine does what she can. But also patients who have suffered head trauma, or have sicknesses in the lungs."
"I wouldn't bring a patient with lung sickness into the water. It'll make them worse!"
Lanuin smiled at her. "Don't let them swallow it, but performing this spell can reduce or cure the sickness. It is similar to a Recover spell, but it has a broader range of use."
He taught her the movements of the spell—how to use her hands to shape and guide the mana, echoing the push and pull of the water. He taught her the incantation, though with practice, he said, the incantation often became unnecessary.
Martel watched the spell circle appear beneath him, glowing bluish-white beneath the water, reflecting outwards to the stone above their heads and filling the cavern out to deeper waters. After she took a moment to focus her mana, to properly channel, the same spell circle appeared beneath her, spinning slowly.
"Restore," she breathed and the mana burst, dissipating out in ripples. Martel could feel the difference, could feel how wide the spell went.
Lanuin nodded approvingly. "Well done." His face creased with a smile. "You may be one of the cleverest students I've ever taught. It takes most quite a while to get this one. Water can be tricky to work with."
(Martel is sure that that's true, but when she remembers Heimdall, she remembers lots of water. She remembers it in the ground, remembers when the truly bad summer storms came and the city flooded. She remembers playing in the stream, the children shooting little spouts of water at each other with their magic. She remembers Mithos' hand in hers as they ran, their feet squishing into the soil. Remembers the Ymir and how they had hidden in the root systems of the trees, the water to their chins, terrified of being found. She remembers the curious eyes of the enormous fish that live there passing by, their tails undulating the water with every flick. She remembers their offspring darting in and out and how Mithos had reached out to touch them, fascinated. Water is in her earliest memories and despite her affinity for light magic, Martel thinks that Undine still sees her as a daughter of Heimdall, of a village in the water)
Yuan was tying the letter to the carrier pigeon's leg when he felt a nudge high on his back. He looked back. "Noishe."
Noishe leaned his long neck past Yuan's head to poke gently at the hand holding the string.
"Do you…not want me to send the letter?"
Noishe picked up his own leg, looking significantly from the pigeon and back to the leg.
"You want to deliver the letter?"
A nod.
Yuan shifted his weight onto his other leg, eyeing the protozoan. Noishe was, of course, perfectly capable of the job, but Yuan hadn't even considered to ask him. Noishe didn't like to be too far from them, but the protozoan must consider this area beyond safe if he was willing to leave for such a long trip. "…I guess you're getting bored hanging around here, huh?"
Another nod.
"Well, at least Alstan will know the letter really is from us." Yuan untied the letter and gestured for Noishe to pick his leg back up. As he tied it on, he said, "Be careful, alright? You make a pretty big target, and I know you can take care of yourself, but that doesn't mean you can get complacent, okay?"
Noishe nuzzled his face affectionately, trilling softly before taking a few steps back.
"Yes, yes, I love you too. Get going. Sooner you're gone, the sooner you come back."
Yuan watched Noishe fly away, his feathers glinting silver in the sun, until he faded away.
Water resistance was good for training, Kratos told him as they moved through their forms. Mithos had to admit, it was much more difficult waist deep in water. Or rather, Kratos was waist deep. Mithos was up to his chest. He was both heavier and not, and his balance floated if he stepped any deeper.
Yuan had shaken his head when they'd asked if he wanted to train with them. "I'm good. Keep me out of the water and everything's just dandy."
Instead, Yuan lounged in a patch of sunshine higher up the staircases, reading over Kratos' notebook. He could see how Mithos and Kratos had gotten to their conclusion about the queen having more power than she seemed to be exercising, but he didn't like how far the mental jumps had to be for it. But then, he'd learned that he needed more logical steps in between than the others did.
It had been a little less than a week since Noishe had left and it was beginning to make them all nervous.
Yuan looked out at Kratos and Mithos, watched them flow through the forms, saw Mithos struggling to keep his balance sometimes, and smiled at Kratos sometimes slipping on the sandy bottom. Peace—even relative peace like this—wasn't something that Yuan knew what to do with. That none of them really knew what to do with. They'd all woken in the night, waiting to be attacked, waiting to hear bombs dropping.
Mithos, of all of them, seemed to fear winter the most. Yuan had woken with Mithos curled against his back more than once, shaking. He'd gotten words out of him before, how he'd mentioned that people got desperate in the winter when there was no food. Yuan hadn't needed more of an explanation than that and had tucked Mithos close to him. (People do get desperate. Yuan has been there when people shoot their dogs and horses for meat. It is not a far stretch to imagine people eating children, who are easy prey and soft meat)
Kratos didn't scream in his sleep. He went rigid and silent. He slept easier with them curled around him, with feeling someone else's body heat, hearing their breathing. There had been times when Yuan woke to Kratos' barely-there fingers tracing the numbers on his forearm, to a firmer touch to his pulse because Kratos always feared losing his family, but he feared losing Yuan the most.
Martel would wake screaming sometimes. She was very good at catching herself, but Yuan and her slept half-entwined most nights, so he felt her jolt awake. The only thing that could calm her down was knowing that they were all safe. She would need to gently untangle herself from Yuan and the blankets, would reach over to brush Mithos' hair away, to put her hand gently on Kratos' shoulder or chest to feel him move with his breathing.
"I dream that I can't save you," Martel confessed one night when sleep wouldn't come back. "Any of you."
The truth was that the odds were very good that there would be a day that she wouldn't. But Yuan couldn't tell her that, especially when she already knew that. So he'd simply tugged her closer, letting her bury her face in his neck.
"I dream that none of this was real," Yuan murmured back to her. "That I wake up and I'm in a ranch somewhere, and I never met any of you. That you're all daydreams."
Martel clutched him tighter and kissed him hard, biting at his lip before pulling away just enough that he could see the steel in her eyes. "We're real, Yuan. And you're never going back in a ranch."
(She never says it, but Yuan hears it. That she'll kill anyone that tries. It's a thing people don't understand about Martel. She's a Healer, a sister, a peace-loving woman. But those are all secondary. Martel is, has always been—first and foremost—a survivor, and surviving means that the ends justify the means)
Kratos nearly leapt a foot in the air when a weight dropped behind him. Noishe's familiar whistle a moment later made him relax.
"Were you trying to give me a heart attack?" Kratos asked grumpily, stroking Noishe's neck and kissing his beak.
A gleam of mischief in eyes entirely too intelligent for a bird made him sigh. A gentle tap against his knee made Kratos look down at the offered leg with a letter tied to it. It took Kratos a moment to undo the knot and slide the letter free.
"How was it out there?" Kratos asked, looking for any injuries. "As bad as ever?"
A bob of Noishe's head that Kratos took to be a nod. But he couldn't see any injuries and for that, he was grateful. "C'mon. Let's get you some food and find Yuan."
He found Yuan sweeping a courtyard, his hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of his head to compensate for the heat. Winter wasn't really a thing in this part of the world. They sat against a wall, shoulder to shoulder, Noishe laying his head across their laps, to read.
Yuan, it read in Alstan's smooth penmanship. And Kratos, Mithos, and Martel, for I have no doubt that all of you are reading this: I am relieved to hear from you, and to know that you four are, relatively speaking, safe.
Also, congratulations to you both, Martel and Yuan, for your engagement. May the Spirits shine their blessings on you.
As for your plan—and I hesitate to call it that, but considering you were concerned enough to ask me for advice on this plan, I'll skip the lecture this time—
"Thank the Spirits," Kratos muttered and Yuan laughed.
The theory is interesting. I'll admit that I'm not very familiar with the human laws outlining the powers of their monarchy. As for your 'research trip' to a library in the capital, there are two that I can think of that are likely to have the information you seek. One is, naturally, the Royal Library.
DO NOT TRY AND ENTER THE ROYAL LIBRARY.
It's within the Royal Grounds and you're going to get caught if you try to sneak in. That's not a challenge, it's a fact. The four of you are rather lacking in stealth or subtlety.
"He has such a high opinion of us," Yuan said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Kratos snorted.
The other library is at the Ciridian University. It is the oldest library in human territories. It is still quite risky to try and enter it, but it has a much higher chance of success than the Royal Library. It is largely an academic school that does not teach much in the way of war, so I did not spend very much time there as a spy. You cannot miss the campus, as it has the tallest point in the city, a tower twin to the one in the Royal Library.
I hope your theory is correct, and that this is a fruitful avenue towards peace. I understand that you are nearly finished with your goal to collect the Summon Spirits. If—and more than likely when—you go to the elven territories to make a pact with Origin, I'm sure they will try to keep you from entering their cities if they don't catch you on the border. Before you try to start an international incident, tell them that I will vouch for you. I'm sure it will rankle their sensibilities, which of course, I would never want to do.
"Oh, no, never," Kratos drawled sarcastically, making Yuan bury his laugh in his best friend's shoulder before it echoed through the whole Temple.
I wish all of you safety and peace on your long roads.
Alstan, son of Rosnain
Beneath Alstan's letter, in a sharper, loopier hand was a short message.
If they object to Alstan vouching for you—he is not, naturally, in the best standing among the elves for the way he left their military—I will also vouch for you. May Luna's light shine on all of you.
Myranda, daughter of Frindhall
The night before they faced Undine, Kratos came back to their room, hair still damp from his bath. Yuan didn't look up at his entry, engrossed in trying to decipher the symbolism in the illustrations that Kratos had copied. It was a puzzle he enjoyed, and it provided a good distraction from what was to come tomorrow.
Kratos sat by Yuan's knees, not even making a dent in the thin mattress. "Are you going to be okay tomorrow?" His voice was slightly hoarse.
A person who didn't know Yuan wouldn't be able to see the sudden tension in him. Kratos, of course, knew better. "Why wouldn't I be."
From his tone, Yuan knew why Kratos was asking, and he didn't want to discuss it. Kratos ignored that subtle signal; he didn't want anyone getting just tomorrow just to avoid an uncomfortable situation. "Because it's Undine. I know you're still afraid of that much water. We don't know what's coming tomorrow. She might flood the room for all we know."
Yuan flinched at the idea.
Kratos set a comforting hand on his knee, a grounding warmth. "That's my point," he continued gently. "We had a close call with Mithos and Shadow. He panicked and if I hadn't seen him, he might've died. I don't want to run that risk again."
Yuan flicked the pages of the notebook absently, avoiding Kratos' eyes. "I don't know if I'll panic," he said honestly. "I don't know that I won't."
"But there's a good chance of it."
"Think of the other option, Kratos—"
"You mean the option where you stay safe?" Kratos interrupted, a flash of temper.
Yuan was unfazed. "I mean the option where we win. You and I both know that I'm going to be the biggest asset against Undine because of my lightning magic." Kratos opened his mouth to say something, but Yuan cut him off. "Were you going to say that I'm more important than winning?"
A guilty silence.
"This is bigger than just me, Kratos," Yuan told him, softening. "We win, and we're one step closer to ending this war. I'm not worth that."
(Kratos' first response is "Yes, you are." But he knows better than to say that)
"…Promise me you'll be careful."
Yuan smiled fondly. "You're such a softie. But yeah, of course. I promise."
Kratos was right to worry. That was Yuan's thought as saltwater flooded the room, sweeping them off their feet. Yuan had to press himself against the ceiling to keep his last gasp of air before it was gone. Underwater, he could barely make out Mithos, even illuminated as he was with a spell circle. (…caught in a storm…)
Another flare of light brought his focus back, a familiar Barrier settling over his skin.
That was it.
Martel was brilliant.
Yuan glanced around, lungs beginning to burn (Kratos—where's Kratos? He can't see him, wasn't he just standing right next to him?) and it took all of his focus to create a Spark Wave.
The electricity coursed its way through the flooded room. Yuan couldn't feel it, but he wasn't sure if it was because he was the caster or because of Martel's Barrier. He was counting on it being the latter. (Don't let this spell have hurt them. Please let them be okay)
The water receded almost as quickly as it had come. Yuan hit the floor gasping for breath, his knees screaming from the impact. He froze when Undine appeared before him, her sword raised.
(She is the roiling sea, deep violets and greens beneath the deep blue-grey. She is the riotous currents that had pulled him deeper and deeper, the powerful waves that had tossed the ship they'd been on like a child's toy. This is where he dies, the ocean finally coming to claim him…)
"Thunder Blade!"
The shout came from two people, and the shockwave of power made Yuan's teeth buzz.
And then it was quiet. No water rushing, no spells, no muffled sounds. Kratos moved in front of him, slipping slightly. "Are you okay?" he asked, ducking his head so that Yuan was forced to meet his eyes.
It took Yuan a long minute to respond. His limbs felt far away, and it was hard to hold a thought in his head.
"Yuan?" Martel's voice, her hair loose from its braid and sticking to her face.
"…I'm okay," Yuan rasped, the taste of saltwater thick in his mouth.
Kratos touched his forehead to his, relief slacking his shoulders while Martel pressed her lips to his temple, lingering.
Someone was missing. "Mithos?"
"He's okay," Martel murmured, and Yuan felt the words against his skin more than he heard them. "Just hurts to talk; he's pretty bruised up."
Undine shimmered to life before Mithos. No longer was she a goddess of storms; she was the stillness of a mountain lake. "You have earned the right to a pact." Her voice was the murmuring of a brook.
Mithos didn't speak, but perhaps he didn't need to because Undine just nodded. "A noble vow. I accept it."
She reappeared in front of Yuan. Kratos and Martel moved protectively in front of him. "I will not harm him," she assured.
Hesitantly, they moved aside. Undine knelt in front of him, her seafoam dress rippling out around her. "You fought courageously. I felt your fear, yet you prevailed. In this, you show great strength. It was an honor to have been defeated by you."
Yuan just stared at her, stunned. "I-um, I don't know what to say to that. Thank you?"
Her laugh echoed in the room. "Honest as well." Her eyes flicked to the rings on Yuan and Martel's hands. "My blessings to you both."
She faded away like morning mist, leaving the four of them dumbfounded. Martel got her focus back first, standing to go back to Mithos. He'd waved her away the first time, not quite up to moving, but he'd seen how pale Yuan had looked when they'd walked into the altar room. Martel's mana felt like a toasty fire after the chill of Undine's, settling into his bruises as they healed and sinking into his bones. He'd been caught in the middle of a Spread and water hit like concrete when it was moving that fast and if there was that much of it.
"That was the worst of it?" Martel hadn't been able to detect any other injuries besides a lot of bruises. Mithos hadn't gotten any water in his lungs, she'd decided after using a technique Lanuin had shown her, as well as asking him to cough. Nothing sounded wet.
Mithos nodded, absently playing with the weight of the gem that Undine had become. The adrenaline was fading and a bed was sounding great right about now. Yuan walked over to ruffle his hair, Kratos not far behind. Mithos grinned at how flat Kratos' wet hair was; even when they swam or trained in the water, it didn't usually end up that flat.
He leaned back against Yuan's legs pointedly to draw his attention. "You made it," Mithos said, holding up the fist that held Undine's gem.
A moment before Yuan beamed, bumping Mithos' fist. "Was there ever any doubt?"