Fic exchange for Micah, prompts used: "ardbert and mitron both were stuck for ~100 years of solitude, and while mitron largely died alone ardbert was backseat-driving wol for that, so did he freak out, did he really want to sit down with wol to talk afterwards? in those 100 lost years, did he ever try to find out wtf became of the ascians?" + 'hand-kissing, careful removal of armor, strained relationships that still manage to find one moment of vulnerability and for a moment feel like things may not be going to hell quite as fast, or even be able to heal' + 'summer'


The splendor of the Grand Cosmos had been an awe-inspiring sight the first time that the Warrior had laid eyes upon it. Its pristine halls were in flawless condition, every floor clean and polished, with no dust to mute the brilliant colors of the furnishings. No evidence remained that the Flood had ever struck this corner of Lakeland's people. The very air itself seemed poised and ready for some celebration to possess it, anticipating trumpets to blow or an orchestra to unleash itself - or a sudden horde of elven nobles to tumble out from where they'd been having some hidden party in another wing of the palace for decades, too inebriated to realize the disasters outside.

Clad in heavy armor and trekking mud all over the stonework, the Warrior had felt more and more out of place the deeper he had wandered in pursuit of the nu mou mage, bumbling through armories and galleries with equal gracelessness. The twins had trotted along gaily, as if they were perfectly at home in ornate halls of antiquities where even the dust seemed part of some grave historical tale. Behind the Warrior, G'raha Tia's serene voice had kept up a smooth patter of observation, as if playing the part of a local guide for a visiting yokel: At the end of this next hallway, please regard yonder paintings depicting Lord Tolthewil and his faithful knights, with Ser Phinibert and Ser Hamonth standing in attendance to the King. Kindly keep your distance - they may strike.

Not having his life under constant attack did enhance the palace's beauty, he had to admit.

As instructed during his second visit, the Warrior had kept Beq Lugg's talisman around his neck, which the nu mou had assured would identify him as one of the faerie's servants. The charm itself seemed no fancier than some trinket out of Ul'dah's stalls: a small disc of brass that had been secured on a short chain to keep it from getting caught on anything during the Warrior's labors. One of its sides had an intricate labyrinth pattern stamped on it, while the other bore a word in Voeburtite script that might have either been an incantation of protection, or the name of a beloved pet.

He had tried to keep from fiddling with it, just in case doing so might weaken its protection. Beq Lugg had patted his leg reassuringly after the talisman's chain had been fastened shut around his neck; the Warrior had tried to convince himself that the look of moist-eyed concern was merely the faerie's default expression, and not a sign of rapidly-approaching doom.

The charm had done its job, however, though the Warrior had had more than one nervous moment whenever a fresh pack of the nu mou's familiars caught sight of him and arrowed in his direction to investigate. A variety of creatures with numerous wings and talons had all clambered up to stare hungrily at his throat as they had examined the talisman for authenticity, and then at him, as if questioning if he was merely a bandit in disguise. Leannan Sith had been particularly skeptical; the plant had given him a pointed, ire-filled glare that indicated that the Warrior's crimes against the garden had not gone unforgotten.

But the uncertainty - and novelty - of his presence had faded swiftly enough over the course of the day, as the Warrior had done nothing more disruptive than trudge through the halls of the Grand Cosmos checking on all the items on Beq Lugg's list. Following the directions in the crabbed script of the First that he'd translated with the nu mou's aid, he had painstakingly tracked down all the supplies that needed to be brought to Amh Araeng, loading them up snugly in crates that were lashed into his rowboat. On top of that, Beq Lugg had added on a treatise of chores, asking if the Warrior could kindly check on various hearths to ensure that they had not been left lit, and that various chandeliers of elemental crystals remained at full charge - a million small tasks that Beq Lugg must have used magicks to corral, but for which the Warrior had only his mortal hands.

By the time that afternoon rolled around, the familiars were leaving him largely alone. Only a few of the porxies were continuing to introduce themselves to him with curious squeals and squeaks, causing the Warrior to clap a hand protectively over the talisman in case their overactive snorts would suck the charm straight off his neck. Earlier, one of the larger winged pigs had been particularly interested in his hand after he'd lugged one of Beq Lugg's mysterious puzzle boxes over from the garden sheds, this one smelling strangely of blueberries and garlic.

The paraporxie had loved it. Then, it had promptly sought to demonstrate its adoration by fitting the Warrior's entire hand into its snout.

Luckily, he had managed to extricate himself before it had devoured further than his wrist - a messy affair that he had no wish to remember in any detail - and had washed himself off in the nearest garden stream, casting furtive looks about in case Leannan Sith was about to float into view and murder him for an impoliteness of hygiene.

It took most of the day before everything on the list was complete. He'd picked up all the supplies, made certain the irrigation streams were flowing properly to the gardens, and had opened and closed a hallway's worth of golden doors in a specific order at certain bells of the day. He had fed the plants and bowed three times to the draco statue guarding the entrance to the Myrhinne Hall. He had danced with several of the ghosts in the Chamber of Courtly Love - he still wasn't certain if that had truly been as essential to the upkeep of the Grand Cosmos's enchantments as Beq Lugg had claimed, but it had been a pleasant enough interlude, the elves laughing gaily at his shorter height as they had spun him from one pair of ghostly hands to another.

There was only one item remaining - and this was a personal affair, which ranked nowhere on Beq Lugg's requests.

Ever since the release of Eden's aether back into the Empty, and the truth of Loghrif and Mitron's fates had become known, the Warrior had felt a restless tug inside him. Like a scrape that had taken on infection and was now swollen hot, it simmered in the back of his mind without surcease. It was an unpleasant feeling, all the odder for not knowing exactly where the emotion came from - like a warning stemming from a set of instincts he'd never known he'd had, a buzz of someone else's uncertainty when he himself had no reason to be upset.

He had hoped that the privacy of the Grand Cosmos would have been enough to draw out the cause of the disturbance - but the Warrior had ended up performing his tasks alone, without any additional conversation or interruption, and was no closer to understanding than before.

Finally, after tying down the final crate into place on the rowboat with the rest, the Warrior wiped off the sweat from his forehead on the back of his arm. He eyed how low the boat wallowed in the water with some trepidation, and then straightened up.

"Ardbert!" The name wavered in his mouth as the Warrior tried to gauge how loud he should make it. No response came, which was of little surprise; the Warrior had referred to the man numerous times in other conversations without summoning him like an errant retainer. "Are you there?"

Only the water answered, sighing against the shores of the lake.

Closing his eyes, the Warrior tried to reach for that sense of wound-up worry, a ball of anxiousness that spun ceaselessly in his chest and felt on the verge of conjuring a tornado.

Ardbert? he tried again, this time purely within his mind; the sound of it felt weak, like a voice buried inside an overstuffed closet, each word muffled by musty robes and blankets. Might we speak?

It was a novice attempt, but when he opened his eyes once more, Ardbert was standing there. Rather than offer any sort of friendly greeting, however, the man only looked aghast as he eyed the Warrior up and down with horror.

"Are you ill?" he blurted. "Were you robbed?"

Taken aback, the Warrior glanced down at himself, just in case faerie mischief had robbed him of his natural form. There were no visible injuries, which would have been easy enough to spot: the Warrior had stripped down to only a pair of linen shorts and nothing else. His weapons and armor had been tucked carefully into the rowboat; any would-be thieves would have run the risk of being eaten by the familiars, and lugging around the extra metal would have just made him that much more exhausted. Even his feet were bare. Thankfully, the wood of the docks had been treated to keep from splintering, or else his soles would have been impaled dozens of times over by now, even through his calluses.

He looked back up, only to see Ardbert continuing to regard him with the same disbelief as if the Warrior had chosen to dress in motley instead, with a frog's head to crown him.

"It's summer," the Warrior pointed out tolerantly. "It's hot."

Instantly, Ardbert shot a dour look up towards the sky - an expression which softened as he saw the sun hanging there, framed in a clear, blue swath of color without the veil of the Light.

"Aye, so it is," he conceded, and then snorted a half-hearted laugh. "Not like I can feel it properly anymore. Suppose that means I'm not at risk of frying up like a wavekin either, at least."

Such a straightforward complaint might have sufficed as an explanation for the man's mood - save that Ardbert lost interest in the weather quickly enough, cutting off his words abruptly and not elaborating further. He turned his gaze back towards the lake as he meandered along the dock, refusing to speak and yet refusing to vanish as well, pent-up tension bleeding out of each aggravated step he took.

The Warrior watched Ardbert stalk all the way to the end of the wooden planks before staring fixedly at the waters, as if debating the value of just stepping onto the lake and frustrating himself with proof of his own intangibility. "Is there something on your mind?"

Pulling up his shoulders in a terse shrug that caused his armor to shift - the layers of tightly-banded leather and metal sitting no less heavily upon his body, despite their lack of substance - Ardbert puffed out a sigh and wheeled around. "I - wanted to say thank you. Again." His mouth looked as if a live scorpion had been placed on his tongue and he had been instructed to hold it in place; his lips were tight, and thoroughly unhappy. "I think you more than deserve it by now. Not merely for saving the First and aiding in the restoration of the Empty. But... for taking care of Mitron in the bargain."

It was the Warrior's turn to pause, brow knitting as he scoured back through his memory for any hint of insight. The Warriors of the First had slain Mitron and Loghrif, triggering the Flood to slowly march over the shard - but Ardbert had mentioned Mitron specifically, and not both Asicans together, which seemed out of place. "I didn't realize he was that grave of a concern for you."

The hiccup of laughter which erupted out of Ardbert's mouth seemed to surprise him equally; there was no humor in it. "I didn't realize it either, until now." He paced restlessly back towards the Warrior, passing him briskly and then whirling back, each stride as long as if he meant to walk straight across the Source's waters and all the way to Sullen. "But he'd been trapped as Eden, aye? Imprisoned for nearly a hundred years, just like I was - only worse. I didn't have a body. His was turned into an Eater. To be in all that pain without anyone willing to answer, unable to reach out and make yourself known - holding on to the faintest wish that if you found your companions again, they might save you. They might remember you. My friends had left this world, but Mitron's kin were still out there. He still had a chance. I had long given up hope of anyone hearing me, but Mitron never did. And although I was a ghost... he was a monster."

As if lulled by the conversation back into a sense of normalcy - one that had been lost to him for nigh-on a century - Ardbert bent down to scoop up a stray pebble that had fallen on the dock, only to have his fingers pass straight through it. Biting off a curse, he swung his foot in a wild kick that had equally little effect, save to unbalance him wildly. He batted a hand through the air angrily towards the boat itself next, and then finally sat down heavily on the end of the dock, letting his feet hang over the edge so that his legs plunged directly into the water without even a single ripple to indicate his presence.

Which left the Warrior to try and divine the right thing to say next. Carefully, he padded over to where Ardbert had hunkered down, picking his way across the wooden boards. The sun had baked the dock thoroughly, beating down upon his back and arms. He would earn himself a burn at this rate, and would have to slather himself with the sticky aloe lotions that Thancred always seemed to have on hand - but it was already too hot to put a shirt back on, and he did not want to stand up and tow Ardbert inside to be exposed to the mercy of Beq Lugg's more spiteful familiars.

He lowered himself gingerly onto the dock beside the other man, sliding his own feet into the lake. The water was cool against his skin, a welcome balm after the exertions of the day.

"Mitron's soul is freed now," he offered tentatively. "That is cause for celebration, isn't it?"

"Aye." Somehow, Ardbert sounded even less happy about it than the first time he had broached the subject. "When we fought the Ascians back then, that was still something that had to be done, one way or another And if it meant killing Mitron, well, I figure that was how our lots fell out. But as for how it all ended up..."

Kicking a boot through the water, the man struggled with the rest of whatever was weighing his mind down. When the words finally came, they were blurted out in a halting rhythm, dragged out of whatever pit he had tried to stuff them into until the pressure had become too great.

"All those years," he began unsteadily, "I thought that what I experienced was the worst fate imaginable. I spent every moment alone after Minfilia halted the Flood, capable only of watching others die or be taken by the Eaters - aye? And then, I discovered that not only was there something even more terrible which could be suffered, but I had been the one to usher it in. I did that," he repeated, straightening up to turn his glare towards the Warrior. He jabbed a thumb at his chest, the leather cheststrap of his pauldron jangling faintly at the impact, lips curling back from his teeth in disgust. "It was me. A hundred years of believing there was naught worse than what I was going through - when at that very same time, Mitron knew it."

Stirred back into action, Ardbert shoved himself back onto his feet; his boots shed no water, the leather as dry as if he had walked the length of Amh Araeng and back. He paced one restless step away from the Warrior and then promptly reversed it, fists balled tight: a broken compass seeking north in a world that had spun itself so badly out of position that there was no means of navigating it any longer.

The waves, undaunted by his ire, continued to lap gently against the dock, sloshing against the mooring poles.

"I can't apologize for fighting Mitron. I won't!" he snapped - and then turned that same vitriol towards the Warrior, the wavering fury of it building like a bonfire being whipped about by a gale, flames entangling themselves in whatever they could reach. "But I can't figure out in my head how I'm supposed to feel about that! I don't owe him and his kind any leniency. They'd never have shown it to me! Yet, how can I keep on acting as if my situation had been so horrific, when faced against that? Against that?" He whirled in place, trying to orient himself to the horizon before jabbing a finger wildly in what might have been the approximate direction of Amh Araeng's deserts, or at least the nearest outcropping of the Empty's cliffs. "How can I say that aught which happened to me was something that mattered at all?"

All at once, Ardbert's vehemence fell flat. He spat the last few words out; judgement dripped from each syllable, stripped of any hope. If there was a verdict still waiting to be made, then it was one he had already given up on hearing: he had accepted passing it on himself.

The Warrior let his gaze drop down, towards the depths of the lake as the torrent of Ardbert's questions seeped into him. The Source's waters had been touched by Beq Lugg's powers as well; tiny fish sluiced around his legs, translucent as jellyfish with no organs within them save for tiny crystal hearts. He watched them dance in shimmering formation, until the silence lost all claim to mercy, and he could not avoid speaking any longer.

"This is the first time you're seeing Mitron as a person, isn't it." It was a gentle condemnation, but no less damning: a statement of fact, even when those facts shed a poor light on everyone involved. The Warrior looked up, unwilling to shun Ardbert through the avoidance of his gaze. "You didn't think of the Ascians as aught save enemies, back then."

Ardbert flushed, but the wince was there in his eyes, narrowing them like a muscle clenching shut around a wound.

"I didn't try before," he barked back. "They don't think of us as people either, aye? You heard Emet-Selch! We're just... broken things to them. And to me, they were simply Ascians: creatures who hated us and wanted us destroyed. What else was there to do, but end them first?"

Heedless of any effect upon his appearance, the man raked his fingers through his hair; the short, dark strands jutted out at odd angles, skewed as badly as his temper. "Yet, now - now it's different. I mean, I bloody well blocked my ears to that man's pain too! I didn't know he was still alive, but I could have looked! I could have tried. At least, I might have found a way sooner to put an end to his suffering, or told you about him when you arrived. Mitron should have been stopped. But he didn't deserve - no," he corrected himself, doubling back on his words in a whirl of contradictions, "Mitron hurt so many people, destroyed countless lives as an Ascian, he should deserve whatever happened to him! He did, and... and he didn't."

Frowning similarly, the Warrior propped his chin on his hand as he tried to pick through each statement to find how deeply the roots of them ran. The distress was understandable; the anger itself was harder to define. Each of Ardbert's points made sense on the surface - but together, they boiled in a hateful morass, dragging their neighbors down until there was no justification for even a single one.

"When you left Mitron trapped as an Eater," he began quietly, each word as methodical as stones being laid out in a flat road, stretching out from one point of logic to another, "then both of you experienced what it was like to be abandoned by the world. You ignored Eden, assuming Mitron's fate for him. In turn, you were shunned by the nations of the First, who blamed you for the Flood of Light and never tried to seek out what truly became of you. Even though history is now being corrected, I can only imagine how painful that must have been to receive from the very people you had fought so hard to protect."

It was a guess at best, a tentative inquiry that had yet to prove its merit - but when he glanced up, he saw that Ardbert's face had gone pale. The man's mouth was clamped shut, dread sapping away his fury until all that was left were the dregs of what might have been courage, before it had been devoured by despair.

"They didn't know," he insisted abruptly, turning away as if he could not stomach the argument coming out of his mouth. "I can't blame them. The survivors had their own concerns - and the truth is being shared now regardless, aye?"

But the tension of Ardbert's shoulders told a different story, hunched up in a tight compression of muscle, and the anguish in the Warrior's chest only continued to bubble.

He fell quiet in order to choose his next words more carefully, sensing pitfalls in every direction - but knowing the greater danger of leaving them alone to continue festering. In the water, a cluster of amethyst fish had discovered his feet and were investigating them curiously, nibbling at his toes. Deeper down, a streak of gold slid by, long-finned and sinuous. Only Beq Lugg likely had names for them all; the Warrior could merely watch, and wonder at the world he stood on the outskirts of.

He held his feet still while the familiars navigated around their domain, deterring the native population of the lake from getting too close, before finally taking the risk to speak.

"When all was said and done, you and Mitron each paid the price of solitude." In the water, the school of fish swirled away from his toes, attacking a stray weed that had fallen into the currents instead. "But now you speak as if you're yet another villain of the story - even by accident, as the people of the First were to you. And if that is the case... are you afraid that means you no longer have the right to say you were hurt?"

At best, he expected only another scowl in response. Instead, his reward was watching Ardbert's expression contort back into the raw mess of anger that had dominated the man throughout their conversation - yet now, there were words to wrap around each piece.

Blame. Guilt, self-loathing.

Shame.

"It's bloody well got to, doesn't it?" Sharp enough to have each syllable cut his tongue, Ardbert struggled to snarl around the sharp downturn of his mouth. "I'm not sorry for fighting an Ascian! But I can't ignore what happened to Mitron, either. And the more I can't ignore it, the more it feels cowardly to weep over my fate." Each condemnation was becoming fiercer and fiercer, as if a gaoler's decree was printed on the dock itself in letters several yalms tall, and the Warrior simply didn't care enough to bother reading it. "No one saw me, aye - no one heard me, but I still had my own shape, my own mind. Compared to that, it wouldn't be fair for me to keep on acting like it was so terrible to have walked this shard like a ghost - not with Mitron there the whole godsdamned time, twisted up into a Sin Eater and unable to be seen as aught else. If I caused that to someone, to a person, then I - I deserve what happened to me, don't I? What if that wasn't punishment at all, but justice?"

The helplessness of it was a keen of sound, echoing across the waters of the lake. There was no axe in Ardbert's hands, but he swung them about just as furiously as he paced, as if to cleave through the air itself with fingers that had become blades as he blustered on, finding no enemy upon the docks save for his own self-hatred.

He turned his last question directly towards the Warrior in a final plea, his expression twisted up with both grief and confusion. "It's not right for me to claim otherwise, is it? Somehow, it's just not right."

The Warrior drew in a deep breath; he felt it shudder in his lungs. The argument had burst its moorings, revealing a tangle of logic and emotion that only writhed further into knots as the Warrior tried to find the start of its threads, all bound up in one vast puzzle with both sides biting frantically at the other's throats. None of the events Ardbert had described had occurred in a void. Ardbert had finally been discovered when the Warrior had come to the First, Mitron had eventually been saved. Minfilia had similarly endured her own agonizing form of separation, reborn again and again across the decades without recognition of her nature either. Each of the Oracles had died without being granted their own names. No one had come out unscathed.

In every direction, there were indisputable claims of suffering - and then, there had been Vauthry himself, wailing and thumping his massive fists upon the floor in the belief that he had endured the cruelest injustices of all.

Everyone was right. No one was right. The moment you tried to claim the mantle for yourself, you fell headlong into the same trap.

And between all of it, the Warrior could hear a different question too, running deeper than any of the wavekin that Beq Lugg had sculpted. Words that must have never stopped haunting Ardbert, even as a ghost: if someone could have come for Mitron, they could have tried to come for me.

Someone could have, and didn't.

Slowly, the Warrior bent forward to run his fingers through the water. The memory of Vauthry's shrieks lingered like death rattles in his mind, colder even than the lake where it flowed beneath the shadows of the dock. He stirred the currents like a cauldron, listening to the anger huffing in each of Ardbert's breaths, as the man both waited for and denied the existence of an answer that could reach through the heart of it all.

Someone could have tried.

"I was so afraid, when I was fighting the Lightwardens." No thought went into the announcement; it came out of the Warrior like a stone poorly flung from a sling, falling short of any form of grace. He tried to lift his eyes back up to Ardbert and found that he couldn't. The safest place for him to look was at the wooden boards of the dock, avoiding even the scrutiny of the fish. "Afraid and upset when no one spoke up in search of another solution, even when it became apparent that I couldn't possibly contain it all. But I didn't protest on my own behalf, either. Everyone believed in me. They wanted so much to believe that I could do it, and I didn't want to diminish that hope. But each night," he forced himself to say, shutting his eyes as he bit the rest of the explanation out, "each night, I went to sleep angry, because the pain from the Lightwardens' aether made me start to wonder if my friends truly cared - even when I knew better of them."

The confession felt petty by the end, far from being as uplifting as he'd hoped. Even merely speaking about the emotions roused them back to sleepy life, like a volcano that had been kept tame solely by virtue of refusing to acknowledge it in one's backyard. Like Ardbert, he hadn't had the chance to try and sort through it all himself yet, not in the flurry of trying to cross back and forth between worlds, tackling conflicts lingering on both the Source and the First. There hadn't been time to do anything about that same anger, or to understand what it meant to have that sentiment present at all, swirling alongside a love that was no less diminished despite the nature of its company.

Serene in its indifference, the waves of the lake continued to splash against the island's shore. The stillness of the air nudged at the Warrior, reminding him that at least one of them should speak; he glanced up only long enough to offer a halfhearted smile to Ardbert and a shrug, both of which struggled to imitate even a sliver of nonchalance.

"It's all still there - all the fear, the pain, aye, and even the anger. And sometimes even now when I least expect it, I get infuriated with G'raha and Urianger when I think about all the other means we could have tried for quelling the Light. I want to go to them and ask if they knew how frightening it was to be at the center of that, or if that knowledge would have made any difference in their plans at all." The queasiness of doubt rolled slowly in the Warrior's chest; he turned his head back down again, at the limit of being able to endure Ardbert's gaze upon him. "And then... then, I remember that G'raha spent decades with the weight of a Calamity hanging above him, sharing that burden with no one. And that Urianger dared to risk himself in infiltration of the Ascians after Moenbryda's death, all while expecting the Scions to rebuke and utterly abandon him for it. And so my anger fades once more, and I know not what I have the right to say."

Sunlight continued to gleam off the spires of the Grand Cosmos, its pristine ivory unfettered by any grime. In the far distance, a few birds scattered overhead, shying away in their course to keep from crossing over the palace's lush gardens. Preserved in its careful, beautiful bubble, the ecology of the Grand Cosmos ticked on even in its master's absence, protecting a kingdom that would have otherwise been looted and ruined decades ago - a kingdom that the rest of the world had either forgotten, or grown too afraid to touch.

The hem of his shorts had a frayed thread. The Warrior picked at it, aware of every ilm of his own coarseness before gathering the rest of himself to speak.

"There is no scale to measure us all by." A poor comfort - but every comfort was poor when asked to defend itself against the tallyboard of eternity. "Not even between what you and I both think is correct. Yet... if you feel that it's fair for Mitron and the people of the First to say that they suffered, then I believe that you are allowed no less the same."

It was hard to tell who he truly spoke to: himself, Ardbert, or even Mitron's soul where it drifted in the Lifestream. No judge existed who could arbitrate who deserved it more. He couldn't manage anything after that; his mouth felt wanted to shut itself tight, his shoulders to bow forward, as if his words had been an incantation that had woven him into a new shape, one that was ungainly and entirely without virtue.

He waited, regarding the lake glumly as he rewound the last few moments and stacked them neatly into piles of acceptable and morally reprehensible. Gradually, he heard Ardbert approach, the sound of armor jangling as the man came closer, until he came to a halt beside the Warrior and stared bleakly across the waters.

"Does it really make it all right?" His voice was no stronger than the Warrior's had been: a whisper too afraid to hope. "For me to think in such a way?"

At last, the Warrior found his smile coming back to him, though with only a glimmer of life to it. "I don't know," he admitted. "I think we find the balance for it in ourselves. And that with each person we meet, and every story we learn, that balance changes." He leaned back precariously, using his calves to brace himself against the rim of the dock, and nodded towards the spires of the Grand Cosmos and all the riddles that Beq Lugg had bid him leap through. "Even when we don't fully understand what others need from us, all we can do is to keep seeing more people as people, and that is how we'll each find the answer each time."

Momentarily forgetting the school of fish that had gathered around his ankles, he sloshed his foot through the lake, intending to send up the splash of a wave; instead, the water glittered with a rush of scales, jeweled minnows leaping up with the boldness of dolphins breaking into the sky, squealing as their voices were exposed to the air. "As for myself, I don't know where I measure up quite yet. How I decide to talk about it to G'raha and Urianger, when I do, or even if - those are things that I haven't figured out yet. But those experiences are a part of me now. And when I tell myself that they do not matter, then I tell myself that I do not matter, either."

This - of all things - felt even more painfully honest than anything else the Warrior had admitted to so far, a raw acknowledgement of how he sought to salve his own hurts, no matter how selfish a method it might be. Yet as he sat there, watching the familiars of Grand Cosmos dance, the tension in his chest unexpectedly began to ebb. It eased out of him like a thief in the night, or like a weapon that he'd finally been allowed to set down after carrying it balanced perpetually on his shoulders: an invisible blade that he had been barred from speaking of to others, and which had done nothing to truly protect him in the end.

A different realization struck the Warrior then, whisper-soft on the edges of his mind. He looked up, craning his head back as he watched Ardbert for a long moment before he spoke.

"Ardbert," he asked quietly, "why are you still wearing your armor?"

The length of his speech had given more than enough opportunity for the other man to sober, but the Warrior's question took Ardbert by renewed surprise. He shot a startled glance over, and then turned that same baffled look down upon himself, blinking uncertainly.

"I didn't think otherwise," he confessed, spreading his hands in front of him. Sunlight winked off the trim of his bracers, soaking into the darkened metal and leather. "I didn't think it even could be an option. Another fallen Warrior of Light, that's all I am, right?"

For a moment, he regarded himself with fascination, turning his fingers back and forth as if they might suddenly transform into the feathers of a bird. Then - like a candle puffed out, Ardbert dropped his hands. "What does it matter?" The hiccup of his laugh was bitter, mirthless. "No one will see me, anyroad."

The Warrior did not join in the mockery. Hauling his legs out of the lake, he gathered himself upright and turned towards Ardbert without hesitation. Water puddled around his feet, leaving melting halos on the wood.

In answer, he held out a palm in invitation: naked and unprotected by any covering of its own.

"Even when no one sees us," he answered, "we still have the right to see ourselves."

Ardbert's eyes darted between the Warrior's face and the proffered hand, back and forth, as enraptured as if the Warrior were offering up a live viper to be pet. In an impulsive jerk, he began to reach back - and then froze, metal-clad fingers crooked in the air.

"Is there aught left of me without it?" he whispered; fear made his voice rough. "What if this is all that I am now? Just... a suit of armor, with nothingness beneath?"

The Warrior did not flinch. "Do you want to find out?"

Ardbert swallowed hard. His lips pressed into a frown - and then he nodded abruptly, and stretched his gloved hand out the rest of the way.

For all the confidence of his words, the Warrior moved just as cautiously towards the first buckle. Ever since the battle with Hades - keenly aware of how the Light had snapped at Ardbert's soul - he had not tried to experiment with touching the man directly, even during the few short conversations they had exchanged afterwards. Those opportunities seemed wasted now; it would be of little use if the Warrior could not manage to help at all from his side.

But they were two souls sharing the same aether now. If the Warrior could feel solid enough to himself, then there was no reason it should not work for Ardbert as well.

He is as much here as I am, the Warrior insisted doggedly, and began to close his fingers around the furred ruff of Ardbert's bracer.

At first, he encountered only empty air. Then, as his fingertips sank deeper into the pale strands, the Warrior found the slightest resistance pushing back - like touching the hairs of a cloud mallow, the puff of it tickling his skin. He let himself hover at that boundary, exploring the sensation as it solidified by degrees, reminding himself of what that bracer should customarily have felt like. He did not know how much of it was his own wishful thinking; the pressure against his fingers might have either been solidified aether, or merely his own imagination supplying the details. Even if it was only an illusion - their souls sharing physicality in their minds alone - the distinction did not matter.

Only the success of it.

Finally - spidering his fingers over the armor's buckles and giving one an experimental tug - the Warrior felt the softness of the thick, worn leather which held the bracer as snugly in place, as real as if it was on his own body.

He unlaced them carefully, bottom to top, and lifted the curved shell of the bracer away from where it married its protection to the rest of Ardbert's gear. It came off easily, dissolving into smoke within moments of being removed. The exposed folds of the glove were wrinkled, the leather compressed for so long - and yet warm with the memory of the body beneath. The Warrior moved onto it next without stopping, tugging the fingertips loose and then sliding the entire thing off until the whole of Ardbert's hand was bare.

The limb itself seemed normal enough, to the Warrior's untrained eye. Skin, flesh, bone: all appeared present and intact. Ardbert's undershirt was cut from a plain, ivory linen; the hem of its cuff had been fixed with red thread, diagonal stitches zig-zagging haphazardly across the fabric.

Without thinking, the Warrior reached out to steady the man's arm in order to better examine it. His attention moved automatically into curiosity. His palm came to rest directly against Ardbert's skin.

All at once, Ardbert's entire arm jerked hard; his startled gasp was sharp enough that the Warrior instantly froze, terrified that he had somehow damaged the man with some form of imbalanced aether. But before he could apologize, Ardbert had already reacted, twisting his hand around with lightning speed to latch on hard to the Warrior's wrist. His grip was tight, holding on as ferociously as if he had seized a heated brand that he refused to relinquish even as it seared him, his breathing as labored as if he had just run the entire length of Bloodshore's coasts with his steel boots pumping through the sand.

Neither one of them sought to pull away. They stood in silence together as they both struggled around the sensation of contact - made new again for Ardbert after years of going without, and equally unexpected for the Warrior after the blunt honesty of his confession.

The moment gave the Warrior enough time to study the back of Ardbert's hand, absorbing each place where it matched - and differed from - his own. There was a crooked sway to Ardbert's middle finger where a break must have healed off-kilter. A blotted scar decorated the webbing between the man's index finger and thumb. All across Ardbert's body, there were a thousand details that the Warrior could never have known about on his own, or even thought to begin imagining. It was Ardbert's mind that was making the man whole: not even the Light had taken that sense of self away.

Slowly, the Warrior waited until Ardbert's breathing began to stabilize before reaching across with his other hand, resting against the man's wrist.

Then - very carefully, giving Ardbert time to read his intentions and pull away - he lifted the man's hand up, and kissed it.

He was careful not to look directly at Ardbert as he did, closing his eyes to allow the other man enough privacy for whatever reaction was invoked. He could feel the small shudders of Ardbert's muscles transmitted through every point where their bodies touched - lips, fingers, palms, wrist. His mouth lingered, just barely brushing Ardbert's knuckles, his breath heating the skin that it caressed. The blunt bumps of Ardbert's knuckles nudged his chin; on a whim, the Warrior allowed his tongue to dart out just for a moment, lapping at the narrow hollow between Ardbert's fingers and sliding over the sensitive skin.

By the time he looked up, Ardbert was staring at him with a different hunger in his expression; his breathing had escalated to the same rapidity as before, but now a flush painted his cheeks, even as his eyes were wide with trepidation.

The Warrior gently ran his thumb back across the other man's fingers, feeling the dampness of spit against skin. "Is it all right if I take the rest of it off?"

"How - " Ardbert's voice split. He wet his lips nervously. "How much?"

Everything, the Warrior wanted to reply; he could feel the sweetness of it already in his mouth. Desire was warming him from within like a second sun, urging him to welcome the man into his arms, into his body: another layer of intimacy that was as willingly offered as the bond between their souls. It was tempting to say, this is summer, here is the taste of it. Here, you can learn it all over anew.

"A change of clothes for this weather, that is all." Relentlessly shoving the impulse aside, the Warrior nodded down towards his plain, practical shorts. "Much as I am wearing. Mayhap enough to take a swim, and enjoy the lake before we return to Amh Araeng."

It was the right answer; he could feel Ardbert's hand relax slightly against his, no longer in mortal terror of being launched into something he wasn't even certain his body was real enough for, let alone ready. The Warrior didn't mind. A quick splash in the water would serve just as well to lift the man's spirits, and several bells remained before evening. Beq Lugg's talisman was securely in place enough to not fear losing it; with the chain as short as it was, it wouldn't come free over the Warrior's head by accident, and he wouldn't have put it past the nu mou to have added magicks to keep it there.

There was only one small obstacle: Ardbert refused to let go of his hand.

Even despite the tight grip, the Warrior didn't mind the extended contact. With as long as he had been alone, Ardbert had every reason to cling - and the Warrior's right hand was still free, enough to make an effort. He ran his fingers experimentally over the metal of Ardbert's pauldron, tugging on the fur that lined the broad shoulderplates. It was just as solidly fixed in place as any other large chunk of metal that had been lashed onto someone's body for their protection; he couldn't have expected less.

"All right then," he muttered aloud to the cuirass, as if it were a living thing willfully staying put, balking at any treats waved in its direction. "Let's see which one of us is the more stubborn."

He set about trying to use his imagination in place of any other tool, a slapdash mixture of visualization and pure determination as he tried to pry the pauldron away from its own strapping, willing the armor to come free like a crust of dried mud. The armor - unsurprisingly - resisted him at first. Ardbert gave him a baffled look as he tried to understand exactly what the Warrior was trying to accomplish, and then comprehension lit his face; he reached up with his own free hand and seized the other side of the belts, pulling at them from the opposite direction.

Underneath the pressure, the edge of the pauldron began to lift. Slowly - impossibly, like a vision out of one of Il Mheg's dreams - the riveted seams began to stretch and then dissolve, metal joints loosening before the whole thing finally came free in a rush, flung aside into streaks of mist that dissolved before they hit the ground.

Invigorated by his success, the Warrior swept on. He attacked the rest of Ardbert's chestplate with the same ferocity, smearing more of it into unformed aether with each stroke of his fingers - and now the metal chains and plates were peeling away in gobs like no armor ever should, like grabbing fistfuls of icing off a hyur-sized cake, or breaking off the crust of a pie that crumbled into pasty chunks even as it was levered free. He pried away entire swaths of leather like wads of soap suds, wiping them off the man and letting them drip onto the dock like muddy rain.

Ardbert's undershirt frayed and aged into threads within seconds. The leather sleeve cracked off like a field of withered leaves scattering before an autumn storm. The spiked ridges of Ardbert's pauldrons melted away, butter-soft under the sun's heat. The heavy belt was the next casualty of the Warrior's rampaging fingers, yanked free as its buckles melted into fog; the bulky tassets dropped like stones away from Ardbert's thighs, the man's eyes slowly coming back to life with the sheer wonder of it all.

Underneath, the skin was as tanned as Ardbert must have remembered it being. It had all the imperfections of reality: clumps of freckles, small moles, hairs and tiny bumps. More scars, each one with their own story - and as the Warrior drew his fingers over them in rapt fascination, he couldn't help but marvel over what had put each one of them there, memorable enough to have been embedded into Ardbert's own sense of self even decades later.

He was forced to pause once he finally reached Ardbert's other sleeve; the gauntlet here was trickier than the left side, with a bladed guard mounted on it, and the Warrior had no desire to lose his fingers. All his concentration went towards the painstaking process of making certain that everything was right - smoothing his hand down along Ardbert's skin to make certain every scrap of aether had been rubbed away, and that nothing had been left behind - that he was off his guard when Ardbert trapped his right hand in a sudden grip, and then leaned forward and kissed him.

It was a clumsy attempt, catching only the corner of the Warrior's mouth from that direction; both of their hands were tangled together, which was no help when the Warrior tried to straighten up in surprise and Ardbert just as rapidly attempted to not lose his balance. Their teeth collided by accident when the Warrior tried to turn, noses and chins bumping awkwardly together. Dismayed, the Warrior tried to tug at least one of his hands free to help guide the other man's head to a better angle - but Ardbert's grip on his right hand was equally tight as the left, as if he was afraid he would melt away like a piece of his own armor if he were to let go.

But the man showed no signs of the same hesitation as he placed another quick kiss on the Warrior's cheek, and then his temple next, the side of his nose - like marking targets on a field, aiming for each region to make certain he had the reach. The small, darting motions covered the Warrior's cheeks and forehead without any opportunity to retaliate, like the fish that had sought to nibble on his toes. Ardbert's confidence grew with every kiss that he landed successfully, each one lasting longer - as did his laughter, which began to bubble out of him as the Warrior tried to turn about properly and wrestle back some dignity.

The Warrior mock-scowled, exaggerating the displeasure on purpose as he tried to wrestle his hands free. It was impossible to get enough leverage; Ardbert matched each pull and push of his arms with equal strength, ducking away to the side mischievously when the Warrior tried to retaliate, only to turn the dodge into another kiss on the ear. His chuckles were becoming helplessly full-blown - until finally the Warrior was laughing too with the ridiculousness of it all, the two of them shuffling about like drunken dancers on the edge of the dock, as madcap as any pixie.

In that moment - as Ardbert slowed down enough to spend more time grinning than toying around - the Warrior finally managed to capture Ardbert's mouth with his own, like a jeweled familiar that had not been clever enough to escape the net.

With that touch, all of Ardbert's playfulness stopped. Raw need took over in its stead as the man opened his mouth eagerly, leaning into the kiss until he had overtaken it with his own desires, and was making each moment into a demand. His entire body surged forward against the Warrior's, the stiff leather of his jackboots rubbing against the Warrior's legs. His tongue slid into the Warrior's mouth; it moved in hot, slow strokes, as if he was tasting wine again for the first time in a century and was afraid that he would go another hundred years without.

When they finally paused long enough to let the Warrior get a full breath back, he realized that he didn't want to stop.

He tried to turn his head up again, seeking more of the same delicacy - but Ardbert simply leaned away while grinning madly, managing to somehow look embarrassed and proud at the same time, like a boy who'd caught an entire net of frogs and was bringing it home to spill all over the dinner table to show off. It was only when the Warrior made a warning tug on the man's hands that he realized that he could feel everything about Ardbert now, every ilm of skin and steel, as solid as any other person of flesh and blood: able to touch, and be touched in turn.

Then Ardbert's grin eased into a broad smirk, cocky with victory. His eyes narrowed as he considered the situation between them.

"I'm beginning to think that a quick splash to cool off wouldn't be half so bad," he teased, deliberately ignoring the way that his hips were still leaning hard against the Warrior, like the flank of a tiger rubbing against any tree it pleased. "As long as you're in the water, I'll be sure to feel it then, right?

Thwarted, the Warrior finally gave up attempting to close the distance between their mouths. "And how do you plan to go swimming like this, when you're still half in armor?"

The practicality did little to deter Ardbert's smugness; the man simply arched an eyebrow, rocking his weight back and forth in what might have been idle indecision, but which only continued to frustrate the pressure against the Warrior's cock. "Just turn the rest into cloth, aye? Should be simple enough."

Even the Warrior's sharp, stiff inhalation of arousal did nothing to slow down the teasing. He could feel blood burning in his cheeks, keenly aware of how much his body kept trying to strain itself towards Ardbert with every small gesture, every turn of his head - as if he could do nothing now save beg, and Ardbert knew it. "I'd need both hands free to experiment," he warned, making another tug of his fingers that went completely ignored. "Or else I can't be held accountable for how they might safely turn out."

He had a blissful moment of retribution when Ardbert's expression dimmed, crestfallen by the logistics of pants.

Regrettably, the setback was momentary.

"I suppose that if even the vaunted Warrior of Darkness has trouble figuring things out on occasion, then mayhap I'm not as much of a failure as I feared." With another shift of his feet, Ardbert adjusted his stance backwards to give them both some space, careful not to accidentally step off the dock in the process. He pulled their joined hands closer towards him, keeping the Warrior from slipping away. "Can't restore the Empty's aether all on your own, can't solve everyone's problems with merely a wordless nod - why do we keep you, anyroad?"

"I still have my uses." Gamely, the Warrior leaned back in resistance against Ardbert's grip, denying it stubbornly until the other man nearly staggered forward again; it was his turn to grin like a lunatic as he laughed at the naked chagrin on Ardbert's face. "Someone's got to carry that bloody huge axe of yours."

For a moment as they lightly tussled, he thought he could free himself, testing the limits of Ardbert's distraction; then Ardbert caught his balance once more. "There are a number of things that I don't mind being done to me down there," the man began slowly, peering at the heavy layers on his legs and the bulk of his boots. "But I mislike the chances of something going wrong. Seems a bit risky to try while I'm still wearing it."

The man screwed up his mouth as he thought - the Warrior joining him in deep contemplation of the obstacles of clothing - and then finally gave a dangerously nonchalant shrug. "I suppose I'll just have to take it all off then, aye?"

This turn of events was one that the Warrior hadn't anticipated; dread struck him like a splash of water in the face. "Ardbert," he hissed, and then - unable to stop himself - tried to crane his head around to peer back towards the Grand Cosmos, just in case some mortal had managed to sneak across the lake and avoid the keen eyes of the familiars, all so that they could get close enough to spot what was going on. Y'shtola had claimed the palace to be hidden by a glamour, but the Warrior had no idea if it extended fully to the docks. For all he knew, the faeries themselves could already have gathered to watch.

Seeing no one around, he jerked his head back around to try and forestall the incoming disaster - but it was already too late.

Ardbert's brow was deeply knit; the contours of his breeches were turning soft and hazy beneath the concentration of his regard. The rest of his boots melted into mist, followed close behind by the remaining clothing beneath. All of it puffed away on the faint breeze which trickled across the Source's waters, leaving Ardbert completely naked from head to toe, lacking even a pair of smalls.

The sight of the man was as arresting as the Grand Cosmos itself. Despite not seeing combat for nearly a century, Ardbert retained the solid thighs and calves of an axe-fighter, strong enough to ground himself against the numerous ways that his blade might threaten his center of balance with every swing. His stomach was tight with muscle; the hairs on his belly led down to a dense nest of curls framing his cock. Every ilm of him was freely offered up to the sun - every ilm of which the Warrior couldn't help but look at, since Ardbert wasn't making the slightest effort towards modesty at all.

He heard Ardbert's laugh, but didn't jerk his eyes guiltily away from the display; if the man planned on trying to bluff his way through the Warrior's sense of decorum, then two could play that game. "I see we're similar in other assets as well," he threatened ominously. "Don't act so proud of yourself yet."

But then Ardbert shifted his feet again, allowing his toes to overlap the Warrior's playfully - like a game of Cover-the-Thumb, only heavier - and the Warrior looked up to see the other man grinning, completely lacking shame.

"Listen here, oh fellow Warrior of Darkness," Ardbert proclaimed. He swung their linked hands again, as gaily as if they were skipping rope. "The next time you're not certain how you measure up, then remember today. You did fair enough by me, at least. And that means you've probably got a proper handle on the others." He made an easy shrug with one shoulder, muscles rippling with a careless display of the power he still had even without a stitch of armor on him. "Besides, I'm part of your experiences too now, aye? So if you tell me that I mean something, I suppose that extends to you by default."

The Warrior did his best not to glance down again in order to watch the motion progress through Ardbert's body; it was a difficult feat of self-discipline. "Not giving me much of an escape from that, are you? Seems like you have the better half of that deal."

"Well." Shifting his grip on both of the Warrior's hands as if he still feared them squirming free, Ardbert nestled his fingers securely in place. "Someone's got to carry that bloody huge sense of self-sacrifice you've got, don't they?"

The jest rightfully earned itself a protest - but before the Warrior could get a single word out, Ardbert had braced one of his heels on the edge of the dock, bunching his thighs before suddenly launching himself backwards.

The Warrior's arms jerked forward as he was towed along. Ardbert went off the dock laughing, dragging the Warrior behind him with all the weight of a full-grown hyur, armored or not. With both hands still leashed, there was no way for the Warrior to do anything save to plunge ahead and hope he didn't crack his skull on Ardbert's chin, or knee the man in the stones; he tumbled wildly headlong, eyes wide as he yelled frantic curses, despite how little good it did him.

They punched through the surface of the water together with a massive splash, scattering any fish still unlucky enough to be nearby. Liquid - thankfully breathable - rushed into the Warrior's nose and throat. It ran over every part of him, tickling his skin and puffing out the fabric of his shorts; the sun, reduced to a rippling haze of light, danced as merrily over the coin of Beq Lugg's talisman as it did in Ardbert's eyes.

Then the coolness of the lake finished closing over the Warrior's body, enveloping them both in the welcoming darkness. Gravity lazily pulled him down, like the coaxing lure of a lover's hand in the sheets. A school of aquatic familiars swirled recklessly around both him and Ardbert, the tiny chimes of their merriment singing in the currents. It was a chaotic storm of color, so wild that each hue blurred into the next, indistinguishable save for that frantic energy - like the tides of anger, trust, and despair. Of terror.

Of love.

Laughing back, the Warrior sank deeper into the waters, fearless of the descent when he had so much else to guide him: the heat of the summer sun shining distantly above, and Ardbert's hands still tightly clasped in his.