026 ✭ the first star shone and died

[copernicus]

oh hey i haven't been crossposting my fics to here in literal months. let's start with what i wrote for the sappho challenge so far.

a halt
762 words, eirika/l'arachel. emotional hurt/comfort set right before the final chapter of the game. g.

She has seen the tallest temples, the most delicate carvings depicting the works of gods and heroes. She has breathed in golden legends since childhood, and her fingertips have always itched to write her own. (No writer nor historian could see her soul and do it justice.) She has, all her life, known holiness and how it manifests.

Today she sees its opposite. She grips her staff tight, feeling the polished wood closer to her skin than on the day she had left Rausten. Her gloves don’t have holes in them yet, but they are worn and begin to thin. She has made efforts to keep them clean, at least, but in this ruin, the green darkness seeps into everything. It covers and chokes, like vines, and makes the muddy water look like a bottomless abyss.

She forces herself to cross from one platform to the other without looking down. The darkness wouldn’t dare call to her, a holy, valorous woman, but it whispers. She has been hearing voices since they descended here, slithering murmurs, soft, wet prattling. Everyone has.

She steps on a growth of moss, slippery like ice and pliable like a sponge. Eirika stands a few paces ahead, her gaze fixed at something distant.

L’Arachel is aware of the dull echo of her footsteps, but she clears her throat softly as she approaches anyway. It’s only polite to gently alert others of her presence.

“It is dreadful here,” she begins. Before the last syllable leaves her mouth, she realises her voice is quieter than intended. Fear bites her throat, but she chases it away. Darkness has no right to choke her. “I hope you haven’t been… overly affected, Eirika.”

Eirika doesn’t move, not even to meet her gaze. L’Arachel has seen her like this before, her and Ephraim both. Still like statues, unflinching, gazes and thoughts sent far away. Maybe to a different time.

Water drips somewhere. The sound intensifies, and the echo is loud as a cascade.

When she is certain her voice won’t be drowned out, L’Arachel speaks again.

“We will see sunlight again, and soon. I trust in the Sacred Stone, and in you, Eirika.”

She watches Eirika closely, intently. She wishes to draw her back from the place and moment that occupies her thoughts. These days, Eirika remembers only things that cause her regret.

“When it is done,” Eirika says, finally, though her voice is barely above a whisper, “what will happen then?”

L’Arachel smiles, the corners of her lips heavier than usual.

“Then we shall return home, and we will rest. I have your word for that, don’t I?”

“What will happen to this place, L’Arachel? What will happen to, to… ”

She can’t bring herself to say the name, not here, not now. And it is not L’Arachel’s place to make her do it.

“With luck, the forest will swallow it completely, and nobody will set foot here again. That would be for the best.”

“I wish I could bring it down, stone by stone.” There is no anger, no heat in Eirika’s voice, only sharp determination. “With my two hands. So that no witness would remain to what will happen here.”

“There will be witnesses, Eirika. All of us. You and me.” L’Arachel hopes her voice is steady. “Even if you order everyone to retreat so you could end this alone, I will still go with you.”

Eirika turns her head, finally. It’s an invitation, and L’Arachel steps closer, through the translucent walls Eirika has raised around herself. Now, Eirika can be shielded from the darkness and its whispers like she is. Holiness spreads, she is certain of that.

She lifts her hand and touches Eirika’s cheek. Through her worn, thinning glove, Eirika’s skin feels cold.

“We have made a promise,” she says. “We will survive this, and we will remember it. And I will remember you as a heroine, whatever you will have to do.”

Eirika lifts her eyes. She lifts her hand, too, and puts it over L’Arachel’s hesitantly, as if uncertain of what she is touching.

“Whatever you will have to do, it will be the right thing,” L’Arachel whispers, hoping her voice can warm the air around them. Eirika’s palm is even colder than her cheek.

When Eirika speaks, her voice is softer, and her eyes finally, finally meet hers.

“No matter how it ends, I’m glad that we met.” She moves L’Arachel’s hand to her lips, and presses a fleeting kiss to her fingertips.

The darkness withdraws its tendrils from around them, even if for a little while.