Work Text:
The Ghosts that Guide Us
“We’ve been waiting for you, Xenk,” his father says, holding his arms open.
“You’ve kept us in suspense for so long, you silly goose,” his mother says, her arms hugged to her chest as she watches him approach.
Xenk’s feet don’t seem to want to move properly. He should be ecstatic about this reunion, shouldn’t he? He’s finally coming home. He should be running to his parents. Diving into their arms as he hasn’t done since he was a child. Welcoming the warm embrace of people who love him—who care for him enough to recognize when their touch is desperately wanted, and when it is too much.
Instead each footfall seems to rock his body like a minor earthquake, his guts trying to claw their way up his throat, his breath harsh and fast.
He does not want this.
He cannot want this.
He does want this, he wants it so badly—
And then he is with his parents. Their arms are wrapped around him.
Their fingers are digging into his skin.
Their lips are against his neck, teeth piercing his skin.
He should be wearing his armor. Everything in him says that he should be wearing his armor.
He has nothing on his body.
He barely has a body, because they are taking him apart, crooning all the while about what a good boy he is.
Xenk reaches with tingling, half-numb fingers for his daggersword. It must be at his hip. He doesn’t go anywhere without it; he would not have come into this nest of vipers unarmed, no matter what his senses tell him.
His fingers close with certainty over where the hilt of his weapon should be, and he draws it, gasping in pain as he does.
The creatures clawing at him—for they are not his parents, never have been, never could be—screech and pull back.
Xenk’s head pounds, pain building, building—bursting forth as a torrent of red from his nose, as trickles of burning liquid from his eyes.
He needs to finish this.
He takes an unsteady step forward, his grip too tight on his daggersword, for if he loosens it to a proper stance the blade may slip away from him utterly.
He blinks, trying to see through the illusion to what he is actually fighting. Trying to assess what state he is truly in.
It’s so hard. It would be so easy to just fall asleep. To let his mother stroke her fingers through his hair, and when he wakes—
“For tomorrow we shall dance and play, dance and play, dance and play—”
Xenk blinks his vision clear, straightening at the unexpected Thayan words. It has been at least a century since last he heard that song. What—
“For tomorrow we shall own the day, own the day, own the day—”
A children’s song, long lost alongside the children of his homeland, but not a child’s voice.
Edgin’s voice, rich, filled with so many emotions.
Xenk leaps forward, allowing the magic infusing Edgin’s words to sink into his skin. To give strength to limbs that have been rendered weak, but not so weak they cannot perform their function.
The creature wearing his mother’s face falls first.
His father is only six seconds behind her, though.
And as Xenk pulls his blade free of the monster, the familiar visages fade away. The creatures he had been fighting are still humanoid, but they’re pale, hairless, spindly things; nothing at all like the beloved people whose forms they stole.
Xenk stands panting, staring down at the creatures. He forces his thoughts to steady; to count to ten in first Common, then Thayan, then Elvish, then Dwarvish. By that time the trembling of his hands had slowed, and he thinks he can face his companion again.
“What in the hells was that?” Edgin asks, his face flushed, his eyes bright. “You knew they would be there, didn’t you?”
Xenk wipes his daggersword on his cloak—tattered in the fight; he will need to spend some time mending it tonight—and slides it back into its scabbard. “The instructions said that ghosts guarded the final room, ready to sing all who approached to a permanent slumber. I wasn’t sure exactly what type of monsters I would be facing, but yes, I suspected something like this would happen.”
“You didn’t tell me!” Edgin protests, closing the distance between them, his breath warm on Xenk’s face. “I could have…”
Edgin trails off, his face paling as he clearly considers what might have happened.
Xenk allows his hand to rise, cupping Edgin’s face gently. He doesn’t lean forward; doesn’t obliterate the space between them. They are working, and their relationship is still young, tentative. Now is not the time to kiss this man, though a large part of Xenk longs to. “We both know what ghost would have been pulled from your past, and how deeply it would have hurt you.”
“And does your pain count for anything?” Edgin hisses. “You’re crying, Xenk.” Edgin’s hand rises, trailing along the wet lines down Xenk’s cheeks.
“Am I?” Xenk asks, somewhat surprised. “I thought I was bleeding.”
“You know that’s not any better, right?” Edgin’s hand slides down, gripping tight to Xenk’s shoulder. “That’s actually worse, especially since you’re right, you are.”
“My ghosts are old and well tamed,” Xenk counters, turning to study the final door that they’ve unveiled.
“Ghosts are like wolves. Never tame, only sometimes less feral,” Edgin mutters.
“Doric would protest that,” Xenk comments softly.
“Doric would fight the sun just because it’s bright and she wants it to be dark.”
Xenk finds himself laughing, a startled sound of delight. “You do her a disservice. Though she is quite eager to fight against unjust systems and situations, she is quite reasonable about natural processes.”
“People are just as natural as wolves,” Edgin counters, and his hand lands on Xenk’s shoulder again.
Xenk allows himself to be turned around, his mouth opening to ask Edgin about how they should handle this last door between them and their target.
His words dissolve into a strangled moan of pleasure as Edgin’s lips find his.
Edgin pulls away, and there is fire in his eyes, strength in his hands. “I’m not going to lose you before I even get a chance to enjoy you. Understand?”
Xenk reaches out to cup Edgin’s cheek once more. “I do not intend to go anywhere. I knew that you would assist me, and you did.” Xenk swallows. “Where… where did you learn that song?”
Edgin’s gaze drops to the stone floor. “From some of the Harpers. It was part of my payment for helping with this mission.”
Xenk opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know what to say. To thank Edgin for agreeing to this? To gently chastise Edgin for requiring payment for doing what’s right?
Edgin takes the choice of what to say out of his hands, kissing him once more and making speech impossible.
When the kiss is done, Edgin takes a deliberate step away. “We fight our ghosts together. Understood?”
Xenk doesn’t protest that they did fight together—that Edgin did exactly what Xenk needed him to do.
Instead he nods, and turns toward the next obstacle between them and their objective.
When the mission is done, he can take Edgin’s hand. He can rest in the sunlight, and ask Edgin to sing him the song, start to finish.
They can sing it together.
They can do so many things, when this mission is done.
And perhaps in one of those actions, they can put to rest a few of the restless spirits that haunt them both, even if neither of them will ever be completely free of haunts.