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"I hope you do not intend to spend the rest of the evening wallowing like this."
"Oh, I'm sorry, am I disturbing you?"
Stupid question.
"Yes." Y'shtola is quick to retort, not missing a beat. "You are, in fact, by ruining a perfectly good celebration, one that has quite literally saved the entirety of a shard from pure extinction, and worrying Ryne besides. Need I state the obvious?"
No, Thancred thinks as he flinches back in response, looking away from the depths of his near-empty tankard guiltily, but that's not enough to stop her scolding either way.
It only opens up the floor for Ryne's softer voice to find him just the same.
"You should speak to her." The younger one murmured, her tone steady in quiet reproach. A definite contrast to that of Y'shtola's, despite how it still penetrates deeper somehow, lancing through his gut just the same.
He buries his face into his hand, tries not to let his voice get too testy, just in case.
"Much as I might appreciate the advice, I don't know if either of you lovely ladies have noticed," Thancred starts, too deep in his woes to notice Y'shtola rolling her eyes, "but the woman you so generously speak of doesn't necessarily want to talk to me, last I checked."
"Ah, and one can't help but wonder why." Y'shtola snips in, her tone simperingly droll. "Surely anyone else would be practically jumping at the chance to do so, especially with the way you've been treating her—"
"Oh, come off it." He snaps back, his patience frayed as it was. "You know I had a right—have a right, even—to be if not angry, then at the very least frustrated with her—"
"Yes, but to continue to allow it to fester like this—is it worth it, for either of you?"
What?
As his head snaps towards Ryne, and he nearly feels his heart shudder to a stop; the complexity of his emotions entwined with the look of disappointment in her eyes leaves him cowed, reconsidering himself immediately in its stead.
"Is it worth it to let this go on much longer?" She asks again, in what is perhaps not intended to be beration, for it is all but merely a question:
Was it worth all he potentially had to lose ?
And no—no, of course not, he immediately concedes, his heart already responding with a pang at the mere thought, as he closes his eyes and looks away—but her words find their mark true, either way.
Because indeed, frustrated as he was with her, to so much as consider an outcome where they never made this work… well.
It would kill him, plain and simple.
And Aoi was worth far too much to him to lose her now.
As his eyes drew open, shifting across the crowd, brushed-bronze hues searching across the whole of the Crystrium in a bid to find her—
But all it takes is a few moments before a glimmer of red draws his gaze high up. Over towards the second-story banister, where he finds her hiding in the shadows on the platform above; her jade-green eyes peering across the gathering of people, the stark hue of crimson in her hair making her look like a flickering flame glowing in the distance. From here, he's close enough to note the stark tension in her shoulders, the sense of glacial indifference that she carries, wrapped securely around her frame. Clad in it much as though it were a cloak, as though it were a shield, keeping herself apart from all the others, separate in every way.
He recognizes the exact image she makes, understands it point blank, and it makes his heart hurt in grief.
Ryne was right: this could—would not—last.
So in a bid to rectify it: he gathers himself, taking a deep swig of what remains of his ale and chugs the last of it down, the liquid courage making him sick to his stomach as he pulls himself up and heads towards the upper levels without a word, taking the stairs two at a time to reach her.
He doesn't look back to see the way Y'shtola's shoulders had slumped in faint relief, nor the small note of gratitude—of hope in Ryne's gaze just the same. He didn't have to.
He could feel it bolstering him with every single step he took towards her side.
All that mattered now—was not to let either of them down.
"Celebrating all by yourself, dove?"
The response he gets, of course, is immediate. The dark glare she shoots him over her shoulder is well documented, knocking him down a peg as he winces—scolded at a mere glance.
He's quick to placate her before it can get any further.
"You can tell me to leave if you'd prefer it."
And he means this, of course, course he does—because as much as he wants to be with her, much as he desires to be in her presence; to just talk to her and sit with her in whatever ways she'd allow—he respects and cares for her too much to ever force his presence upon her. Especially when she's in a mood as tense as this.
As he waits in hesitant silence, expecting her to snap at him, forcing a sound retreat that would widen the gap between them just that much more—
For whatever inexplicable reason, Aoi does not do any of that at all.
As it is in that silence; that lingering, quiet stillness, that she eventually motions to the side of the banister next to her with all but one faint tilt of her head—and it's not beyond him to admit that he feels much like a young pup in that moment, his heart swelling with pure emotion in his chest as he steps forward to join her, careful and mindful, making sure to leave a small gap in the middle between them; not too close now, but also not too far.
A curious thing, one might think, considering that they sleep in the same bed, but that was neither here nor there these days.
Right now, it was necessary, all the same.
"…why are you here?" She finally asks him, after far too long of the both of them playing at silence.
He braces himself, and starts. "Can we talk?"
"What is there to say?" She softly responds, her voice tepid, thoroughly unconcerned. His lips twisting at the notion, and though he knew her words had come from a place of hurt, it didn't stop the irrationality of his feelings all the same.
He barrels in, the best he can.
"You're angry." He immediately blurts out, feeling like an idiot. "And I—I know full well there's reason for you to be."
Aoi doesn't respond to that, doesn't even acknowledge it even; not a single twitch of her expression, nothing more that entailed she'd even heard him, besides that of a sharp flick of her ivory tail. And maybe it's that exact silence that prompts him to continue, through an upswell of absolute emotion that spills forth from the very depths of his heart.
"But if I'm honest, then I'll admit that I'm angry too, and you know full well why." He continues. "Not that it's entirely at you, so I do apologize if it's come off that way. These past few days have been—a burden to get through. Through more ways than one. Between Vauthry, the light, between Emet-Selch of all things…" his brows furrow, spitting his name out like a curse, "it has not been one of my proudest moments, nor my strongest. Though it kills me to know there's nothing more I could do to help you. Perils of being the Warrior of Darkness, I suppose," he shrugs, glaring down into the crowd without thought, "perils of knowing you're the only one who could do this, knowing you of all people could not walk away from this if you'd tried. Knowing you'd do it willingly even if you could, if only it meant keeping the rest of us alive. And funny thing is—that mere fact alone kills me, knowing you're so willing to sacrifice yourself for the rest of us."
"But not being told that you were with child—" he grits out, "with our child even, adding this to your burden, taking deliberate steps to hide it from me, taking pains to lie to me, facing down Sineaters and Lightwardens alone all this while, reckless and without care, only to find out only Y'shtola knew?"
He turns to stare at her then, his eyes blazing, but his voice so barely controlled. "Did you not trust me enough to know? Could you not trust me enough to lean on me? To take some of that burden off your shoulders? To help?"
She heaves a sigh, and it only serves to make him that much more incensed, "Don't presume to know my thoughts, Thancred. Besides, as I told you, Y'shtola had read the aether signature well before I did—"
"And in the timeframe that you knew, in the time that she had confirmed it with you and you were made sure, you still chose to conspire together so I wouldn't find out. All this time, Aoi, through everything, and I find out only when you're on the brink of dying?" He spits out. "How exactly am I not supposed to be frustrated? How exactly was that supposed to make me feel?!" He exclaims, the hurt all but crowding in his voice, lingering in his chest, until he could feel it running fraught through the very marrow of his bones. Even as he'd tried to sit there and rationalize her actions, in the back of his mind knowing and understanding that he would still sit there and forgive her for anything—everything—if need be…
But that didn't stop the hurt. Even that didn't still the grief, of knowing he'd almost lost her, almost lost all he'd loved, in more ways than one.
Was he so useless that he could not bear this burden with her? So useless that he could not carry the weight by her side?
And then to even lie to him about it, when she'd never once lied to him before—the one person she'd admitted that she could always—would always—be honest with…
He didn't know how to come to terms with it. Didn't know how to even accept it, because if she had chosen to lie to him all this while, on something that was so incredibly important—something that concerned him, concerned her, something that concerned so much of their lives, of their future together—then what else was there to lie about? What else would she—had she been holding back?
And it was so stupid, borderline insane even—to feel so impossibly pained by this. He knew she played in lies, dolled them out like they were her bread and butter on the best of days, knew she used it to keep herself apart from the rest of the world, because the truth and connection was sometimes too much for her to bear—
Yet Thancred—Thancred alone had been different. Was supposed to have been different.
Or so he'd thought, once upon a time.
And to have long held this one position in her life with such certainty, her blunt honesty the one thing she'd never once refused him—an immutable fact built through their long years together; to have been a truth in itself, unshakeable and sure, only to eventually have it slipping through the cracks like this—
Why? How? What had changed?
And how was he supposed to get that back?
He didn't know. Didn't know how to bridge this gulf that had formed between them, didn't know how to stop wanting her with every fiber of his soul, even when this hurt damn near threatened to tear them both apart.
And he knows she takes no pride in it, quiet as she is in the wake of his words. Though she offers no rebuttal, her tail has stopped flicking, her eyes have turned downcast, and he knows in this moment that she understands him now, too.
For all that he can't possibly stay angry.
But something has to give.
"Say something." He pleads with her. "Anything. Please."
How desperate he must be—to have to beg.
But then she finally turns to him, her jade green eyes narrowed into slits, sharp and furious and bright.
And he knows neither of them are ready to throw this under the rug just yet.
"You want me… to say something? You want me to be honest?" She starts out, her usual calm countenance wavering amid her simmering fury. "Have you even considered how I've felt through all of this? How I was supposed to tell you when I didn't know how you'd respond? Never mind how I felt after the fight with Ranjit, where you threw yourself in without regard for your safety, or the future you'd promised me, even before you'd known about a child. Never mind that you're so willing to die if the cause suits you well enough," she spits out, taking a step forward, finger beginning to press into his chest, "never mind that this was all so new to me, new to you—when I know we've been dancing around this for years, but I'd only just told you I loved you. And then to suddenly throw a child into this, when the world is on the brink of calamity, when you walk with one foot in the grave at all times, Thancred, and I'm supposed to consider how to build a future with you, how to make you live long enough to see it, when I'm still not even sure how to bring you home. If there would even be a home to come back to, I—!"
And to see the way her face twisted through her words, to see the pain flicker across her face in ways he knew she'd sooner die than have anyone else see—
It kills him. Kills him, honestly, to know that he was the root cause of this. The pot calling the kettle black. That he was the reason for the hurt, for the pain, for the uncertainty; that he was part and parcel of what had turned this whole situation wrong in the first place.
Because the truth is that he had considered it. Had tried to see it from her point of view. But he had thought his own sacrifice wholly necessary.
He'd been wrong.
"Have you even realized that for all your hurt about this, you've not even once told me if you're even happy about us having a child together?" She snaps out through gritted teeth, "You've not even once told me if you want this. If you want me. If you want to live long enough to see it become something real, when you know who—what I am—and what they will inevitably be—" And the way she takes a half step back, only to try and hold herself in that moment; the way she cradles her full hand across her belly, her fingers shaking, her lower lip trembling, just that hint of absolute grief in her eyes that has taken root because she somehow thinks he could ever not want her, not ever want this—
It's too much. Far too much for him to take.
He snaps forward and draws her into him immediately.
And they come together like liquid fire, like two like-beings just waiting for a chance to fuse together as one. An explosion of chemistry as he slips his hand into her hair and tugs her forward, his lips finding purchase against hers, stealing her breath before she can hope to continue, willing as much love and as much devotion into that kiss as the whole of his being can hope to sustain. Taking her into his arms, hands against her cheek, fingers tangling through her hair, because he will never allow her to even think he could not want this, to think he could not want her. When she is everything his heart had ever adored, and for him to have allowed this to go on as long as he'd had—
He'd been wrong. He'd been so, so wrong.
She had never once deserved this.
"I love you." He breathes when he finally pulls away, if just to exhale the words there against her lips, "I swear by the Twelve and all who would hear me, you know I love you. And I want this life with you. And I'm so beyond happy—overwhelmed, overjoyed, to know that you're carrying our child, Aoi. My heart beats for you, for both of you now. And I will do all I can to see it through to the end. I will fight for this life with you, with everything I have. Never, ever doubt that, please. Please." He begs as he presses his lips to her hair, between her brows, lips drawing against her ivory scales as the sound of her sharp, rasping breaths matched his heartbeat thundering aloud in his chest."Nothing will ever change that, and I will always want you, more than you will ever know. I will always willingly choose this life with you, come what may. You are everything to me, the whole world to me, my only future, and I'm sorry I've ever allowed you to feel otherwise. I'm so sorry."
As he feels her hands clasping desperately into his chest, the feel of her smaller frame pressing into him, nails digging into the fabric of his leathers, and he knows she's teetering somewhere on the brink, hiding her face in his chest, the sound of her voice still hurt, still desperate, radiating need all but seeping through.
"Swear it to me, then. Tell me—tell me again. And again." She demands, her voice muffled against his frame. "Tell me that you love me, and you'll never leave me. Tell me I'm yours and you're mine and nothing will tear us apart. That we will get through this together. Even when I—even when I've hurt you so terribly like this, even when I know you have every reason to be angry, when I've pushed you away—I'm sorry, Thancred, I am so sorry—"
And as she devolves into a litany of apologies, he hushes her cries, writes out what she needs to hear plain; embeds it upon her lips, into her skin, whispers it as promises etched against her flesh, as he draws her back to his lips again and again and again.
Tells her the whole of his embodied truth—in the hopes she will always give him hers.
And Aoi takes it, accepts it, and clings to it with a fervor that goes beyond that of mere words. Because she will accept nothing less and will devour it whole. She needs to hear it, needs to mark it into her soul, even as her eyes burn as she looks up at him, as she allows him to press his lips to her in devout worship, selfish and greedy as she is, demanding and wanting all that he'd ever have to give because she cannot live without it. Without him. In the wake of all these days that had blurred together until she could see no end to this trauma, to have dealt with him being so close and yet so far. Wanting—aching—for more than she could ever bring herself to outright ask for.
But here and now, it's all hers once again. Given to her on a silver platter, and she's gluttonous with need for it, because the truth is she would do anything for him, give anything for him, so long as he did the same. And she'd let her doubts run her asunder for far too long.
So if Thancred were to pour worship on her now, then there was no better time for it. For to have been so petrified by fear all this time, by the sure certainty of loss—Kami help her, but she couldn't accept anything less at this point.
Not least of all, when she has so much more to lose.
“Tell me." She whispers once more against him, because she needs to hear it, again, and again and again. "Tell me, with certainty this time, do you want this?”
Because she's a daughter of Seiryu, and she is doomed to live a life far beyond that of his own. A life that marks her differently, a life that will make her child differently, and she needs to know that he wants that. Needs to know if he'll understand what it means when the time comes, needs to know if he wants to live with that for the rest of his life, because she's willing to do it for all of hers, and Thancred—sweet, silly, sometimes foolish Thancred—is not allowed to give her anything less.
"Of course, dove. Of course." He breathes, marking the words across her lips. "So long as it's you, Aoi Tameharu. Always and forever, whatever it takes."
And it's like a wall inside her cracks, arms wrapped around him as she shelters herself in his arms, pure love and heartache spilling out of her, unable to push it back in.
As the emotion steals at them, and his hand curls against her frame as she presses herself sharply against him, and one way or another she finds herself hitched against the railings; in the next, pressed against an alcove wall, rocking into his frame with a rasping groan.
Her mouth falls open beneath his as her long, slender legs wrapped full around his hips. Though he knows it's late, knows it's far too risky to indulge themselves like this, knows if anyone were to wander through the halls, drunk at this hour as they might be, they'd have a whole show and a half of the Warrior herself lost in the throes of heat and passion. Already knows that's far too much of her he'd never be willing to share with anyone else.
But he's missed her so; missed her so, so much, that he almost thinks it worth it to take her, right here, right now, whoever be stumbled upon them be damned.
But then she pulls away, only to press her brow desperately against his own, looking into his eyes as she catches her breath and speaks—
"I love you." She tells him. "I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Whatever that means. However long you can give me, Thancred, I want this family with you. Please, please don't ever leave me."
As he hushes her, lays a chaste kiss there against her lips, drowns out all her pleas with so many of his own. And he knows more than anyone what this means to her, knows more than anyone what this promise wholely entails. And he accepts it wholeheartedly, willing to see it through, through hell or high water—
He refuses—refuses—to ever lose her again.
"We're doing this together, dove. The whole of everything I am, everything I will ever be in this life, and the next—is yours."
And whatever it meant to be tied to her, to live the rest of his life with her, whatever it will mean come the end of his days. When he is gone, and she will be all that remains. But he will always find his way back to her, come what may.
His future was hers, now and forevermore.
Always.