Chapter Text
Janthorn was seething.
She’d reported her suspicions of her comrade’s passing to Kitti, but she had been bypassed at every turn. Anyone she approached with her insights would look at her sympathetically, as though they were pitying her and Jan was having none of it.
“It’s like they think I’ve gone crazy!” she burst out to Siri one evening. The other girl sympathetically put her hand on her shoulder, “to be fair, there was a body, so maybe they think there really isn’t any need to look for more evidence.” She pointed out reasonably.
“But what if the body wasn’t Phob’s?” Jan gritted out, her eyes narrowing in rage, “if I only had more evidence- darn it!”
Siri put her head on her shoulder, “keep trying, love,” she murmured, “something will eventually come of it, I just know.”
The journalist nodded absently. Sensing she was making her lover concerned, her tense expression softened.
“How is your book going?” She asked curiously, pointing to the manuscript lying beside them on the table.
Siri turned to it and smiled as she showed it to Janthorn. “Apparently, I got a letter from a publisher saying they want to add it in their magazine!” A shy smile rested on her face as Janthorn’s bemused face melted into pure joy. She pulled Siri into her arms, peppering her face with kisses.
“Oh, why didn’t you just start with that?” she said presently after the laughter had subsided.
Siri looked at her, a soft expression on her face as she took Janthorn’s face in her hands.
“You seemed so worried, I didn’t want to-” she didn’t finish the sentence, looking embarrassedly to the side.
Janthorn’s smile faded into something morose.
“I have been a handful, huh?” she said ruefully, “but I feel so restless, Siri.”
It has been almost 3 weeks since Phob’s disappearance, and Janthorn felt more and more helpless at every turn.
Siri squeezed her hand gently, “surely you must’ve found something... right?” Janthorn’s gaze turned grim as she shook her head.
“All I could find were rumors of a soldier being taken to a village for healing, but I don’t know which one.” She sighed, putting her head between her hands. “At least there is hope for us... how is the prince these days?”
Siri’s smile faltered as she leaned back. “He is such a sweet soul- he tries, but I fear his health is beginning to take a turn for the worse again.”
Janthorn frowned in concern, “wasn’t he beginning to recover?” Her lover shook her head. “He was- but ever since the funeral, he’s gone back to bottling himself up again- I don’t understand what to do anymore.”
Both women fell silent as they thought about the quiet prince who had been living by himself in the days that had followed. Something about that fact made Janthorn deeply uneasy as there seemed no one to watch over his highness.
“He will be alright. When we find Phob, everything will be as it was.” Even though the journalist’s words held conviction, her voice unfortunately- did not.
. . .
Behind the placid facade he presented to the world, a grim reality had manifested from the trauma suffered all those years- for Tinn had now become an insomniac.
He had been trying to live a normal life as best he could, but sleep eluded him each night, like a phantom dream he was chasing relentlessly but could never quite reach. He still left a space for Phob beside him every time he lay in their bed. Perhaps if he reached far enough, Phob would answer back.
The bitter taint of grief on their sweetest memory haunted Tinn like poison dipped in honey. Yet when all was lost, it was the thought of them lying in each other's arms that inevitably was deepest undoing. Tears slid down his pale cheeks as he clutched the portrait of Phob tighter to his chest, crying as though his already shattered heart had something left to crumble. "Phob," he wept, "why must you go where I can no longer follow-"
No matter where he went, everything reminded him of Phob. The dreaded military unit, the cotton rose tree, the ground outside his school. The worst moment arose when he had fainted outside the school premises, only to be caught at the last minute by a visiting soldier.
"Your Highness, are you alright?" When Tinn's dizzy eyes blinked, the blurry visage turned into Phob and he weakly reached out a hand.
"Phob... you-you came back!" Upon the ugly realization which seeped in slowly at the look of absolute confusion on the soldier, Tinn closed his eyes again.
The pain, it seemed, would never end.
. . .
Janthorn was having a bad time before, but it had somehow gotten worse; Her jeep had broken down on the way to their next assignment which had tragically cut off her personal quest to find Phob. On top of that, she was stuck next to a nearby village where no one knew her or where she had come from, and it was beginning to rain.
"Oh, for goodness’ sake," she exclaimed to her assistant, "could this day get any worse?" At that moment, her stomach growled. It had been almost ten hours since she last ate anything so with a frustrated sigh, she made her way down to the village.
"Excuse me, we are hungry travelers and our car has broken down," she approached a nearby child politely, "do you know anyone who can help us?" The child looked at her with wide, curious eyes and nodded. He turned and disappeared to his cottage where presently he returned with a stoic older man behind him.
Janthorn and her assistant Boi bowed low to them in a show of respect, making their wary expressions soften slightly as they beckoned for both travelers to follow inside.
"And to think you're only the second visitor to have been under our care!" One of the women taking care of Janthorn said carelessly, "it truly has been difficult since the uprising." Janthorn's ears pricked up, "oh?" She said innocently, "what happened?"
"Oh, you know, there was a soldier they found half dead so naturally he was brought here." The journalist's heart hammered in her throat, "is he- awake?" Her shoulders slumped in disappointment when the woman shook her head, "no..." She said gravely, "it has been almost a month since he was brought here but nothing has changed since then- we don't even know his name."
Janthorn decided to take the opportunity as a wave of hope rose inside her, "I'm a journalist," she said delicately, "maybe... I could help."
The woman nodded slowly, "well... you can't see him yet because he is barred visitors, but maybe you could try identifying his possessions?" She added helpfully, much to Janthorn's relief.
When the items in question were brought to her, she immediately rose to her feet, tears filling her eyes as Phob's face looked back at her on the photograph. "I know this man! We have been looking for him for so long!”
The other villagers gazed at her with shock and surprise, slightly suspicious of her sudden revelation. But it was true after all. Upon questioning, Janthorn produced a picture of their entire group with Phob beside her, causing everyone else to smile in pure joy and relief.
"May I see him now?" Janthorn asked cautiously when all was said and done. "Everyone back home thinks he's dead... There was no one we could've contacted for news of any kind." The elders of the village stared gravely at her before turning to each other and nodding. "Very well, miss." The father of the child who had led her there beckoned her to follow him.
When the door opened slowly, at first... there was nothing.
"Phob? It's me, Janthorn." There was a gentle squeeze on his hand. Hazel eyes blinked open slowly in confusion.
"J-Jan?" A hoarse voice croaked out as Janthorn's eyes lit up as they had not done in a long time.
"Welcome back, captain, you have been missed sorely." A teardrop fell on his hand as it weakly moved.
“I’m... alive?”
And then suddenly... There was everything.
. . .
"Is there a way to send a letter home?" Janthorn asked around while Phob was being tended to by the chief healer. "I'm afraid not, miss." The village elder shook his head apologetically.
“There's a massive storm blowing outside and will be raging for the whole week or so. It's unfortunate that no mailman would dare visit such treacherous hills in times like these." Janthorn's heart sank in disappointment as she thought of her grieving friend who still had no way of knowing that all was not yet lost.
"How long do we have to wait?" She asked. “No one can really say for certain." Outside, thunder boomed as rain steadily pattered the windows.
At that moment, the healer exited Phob's room, a warm smile resting on his face. "The boy seems to be recovering well which I’m very glad to see." He told the concerned woman before him before it faded away to a more somber look. "However, he's still too weak to travel, so I would recommend another two weeks before he's able enough to move."
Janthorn smiled back, thanking him for his kindness while her eyes remained furrowed in worry. Even though Phob was alright, she had a bad feeling that something else wasn't quite right. Although... Now that she thought about it- most probably, it had something to do with the fact that there was no way to reach home and let anyone know of their miraculous discovery.
Janthorn sighed impatiently. Truly nothing would ever go right for them, it seemed.
. . .
Phob thought he might just have been dreaming somewhere in the afterlife. However, Janthorn's dry smile made him dispose of that notion immediately.
"How long... Has it been- since...?" He asked quietly. His friend looked away sadly as her shoulders slumped. "It will have been almost a month and half since we thought that we-" she paused, trying to regain control of her frantic thoughts, "-we had lost you... forever." The last part was finished bitterly.
"What- where is my mother?" Phob asked imploringly, his eyes wide and searching. His friend squeezed his hand softly. "Nual is alright..." she looked away again. "She grieves for you every day, but Tinn and Siri make sure she's never left alone."
"And- how is- how is his highness?" Phob's voice was small, but Janthorn could feel the urgency he was trying to keep hidden under the facade. "I don't know..." She admitted bitterly, "he had been ill for a while as- news of your passing came as a shock to him."
Upon seeing Phob's pinched face, she rested a hand on his shoulder. "You need to understand; his highness's family is scheduled for an execution a month from now- he truly has no one left except for maybe... Siri." Phob's lips trembled as he thought of his gentle prince, who had confided in him about his fears of being alone, only to have them confirmed in the cruelest way imaginable.
"I miss him so..." He said mournfully, "all I dreamt of when I was trapped in that darkness was the weight of him in my arms- but he slipped away from me each time." Janthorn gave him a wry smile of comfort, "maybe this time would be different." She said gently. Phob only nodded as he gazed off to the window, watching the raindrops hit the glass as they frosted over.
His lips moved, but no one heard the words he mouthed.
"Wait for me, my prince."
. . .
Tinn sat quietly under the cotton rose tree. The storm which had been raging for so long had finally ceased, bringing with it the promise of new bloom. To the disgraced prince however, it signaled nothing but the ghost of the loneliness that seemed to take more out of him with each passing day.
As he leaned back against the trunk, his eyes, which had been harrowed with dark circles for the longest time, finally slipped shut. Memories of Phob danced in his head- of when they were children, of their innocent youthful love which had bloomed and withered- but never died.
After what seemed like forever, a warm touch engulfed his cold cheek, and he unconsciously leaned into it.
"Phob..." He murmured, a soft sigh slipping out of him as he felt the golden glow ebbing around with all its wonder. His hollow eyes remained closed, like he was afraid that the feeling would leave him if he dared to open them.
"My prince," a familiar voice affectionately called to him, causing a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips. "Your Ai' Phob is here- he will never leave you again." If Tinn heard, he did not answer for fear of the dream fading away.
His eyes opened slightly, to see a smile he'd long since burned into the back of his mind.
"Phob.... Is it- really you?" He whispered, tracing his palm on Phob's warm cheek. His dead heart skipped a beat at the touch. A deep chuckle sounded in his ear- a symphony he had not heard in far too long.
At last, Tinn couldn't take it anymore- he simply had to know if Phob was real, or if his hallucinations had gotten the better of his senses again.
Opening his eyes slowly, he looked at the vision before him.
Phob still looked at him the same way he’d always done, his eyes bright like stars. Time had made him thinner; his shoulders slumped forward, and his arm held a crutch which in turn supported his bandaged leg. “My prince,” he cried, opening his embrace for Tinn to fall into, “how I’ve longed to see your face again!”
A breath caught in his throat, every feeling he had been burying ever since that fateful night rushing up to him in a frantic frenzy. They all catapulted into one. single. word.
Phob.
Phob.
Phob.
Tinn's lips kept moving, but it seemed his voice had vanished into the air as Phob's arms slipped around his waist, pulling him into all that was his universe.
The scent of fresh linen engulfed his senses- no, Tinn thought blearily, angels didn't smell like linen, did they? His hands hesitantly wrapped in Phob's dark hair, tugging and twisting the strands as Tinn inhaled everything that was him, as though Phob was the air he breathed and stopping for even a moment meant he'd die without it.
"Phob... You came back to me," Tinn murmured dreamily, body going limp as the other steadied him, a shadow of concern crossing his face.
"My prince, I told you I'd return-" a finger traced the corner of Tinn's pale lip, "why- what have I done to make you so-"
At the sight of Tinn's weak and trembling smile as he wiped the last of Phob's tears away like he'd always done- something in the worn, rugged soldier who had touched the brink of death stood still- and crumbled.
"Phob..." Tinn just kept repeating the same word over and over-eyes wide and struck by wonder, "if this is a dream, I will die with your name on my lips- please just- never let me wake in a world where I spend a moment without you ever again-" Phob raised a finger to silence his lips as he clutched him tightly, sobs wracking his body alongside Tinn's heavier, more quiet ones.
"My love-" he cried, "let us never talk of death ever again- I’m here-and won’t leave you ever again- you have my word." He placed a hand under Tinn's chin so that he could properly see those beautiful eyes he had relied on to keep his last breaths at bay, the eyes he had replaced instead of stars to see in his darkest nights.
The eyes which had never truly lost their shine.... even though deep hollows encircled them- the hollows Phob tried to fill with his own tears as his lips met Tinn's own.
Tinn's mouth weakly stuttered against him, but Phob was relentless. Staring at death in the flesh had awakened a long since dormant beast within him as he kissed Tinn harder, teeth nipping and pulling at the dry upper lip which was still the silkiest rose in his mouth. Tinn's soft moans were a blissful melody to his ears as he held him tighter, barely registering the fact that his grip would leave marks on Tinn's otherwise unblemished skin.
Upon realizing the stoned soldier before him had at last turned to gold, the cracked pieces of Tinn's heart slowly tried to mend themselves with the glue of Phob's tears. A lovely pain encircled his chest, tightening it like a lasso made of the softest silk.
"Phob..." He said again, clutching Phob's face in both his hands and gazing unflinchingly into his sharp eyes which had only ever dulled their edges for him.
"Promise me... You'll never, never go again."
"I promise, my love." Phob kissed the hand that had been resting on his cheek, as Tinn made his final vow.
“I will make sure- if one of us is to leave first, it will have to be me-” his breath hitched as he continued, “to save me the pain of living without you by my side.”
Phob's heart lurched as he wrapped Tinn tighter in his arms, his hands trembling like withered leaves.
"Enough!" He said fiercely as he kissed him once more, effectively silencing him as both men sagged to the ground, neither having the strength left in him to stand.
When the last cotton rose from the tree had turned pink and fallen neatly on Tinn's peaceful face, Phob knew it was time to go.
The reunion had been a bitter heaven, yet it still seemed like the bliss they had finally attained was... temporary.