Work Text:
The last of the embers fade in the Firekeeper’s hands. The sun remains, bleeding out over a field of papery flowers and cold ash. Nausicaa takes a deep breath, and holds out her hand to the Firekeeper, who gently sets down the cooling black coal that had once been the First Flame. Her hands are still warm from the Flame and soft in her calloused palms. She gives them a reassuring squeeze and they turn and walk out of the Kiln, as the darkness slowly fills the empty space.
The Shrine lies dark and empty, purpose fulfilled, bonfire extinguished, and the candles guttering out. A profound silence fills the air, unbroken by even the once constant thud of Andre’s hammer. They take one more look around the place, before leaving with Nausicaa’s flame lighting the way through the night.
Nothing moves on their journey but the two of them, past the untended graves, up to the High Wall and through the Undead Settlement hand in hand. Out into the Woods where the dark seems to cling to the hollows and through the trees to a small house half-built into the trees.
Nausicaa retrieves the key from under a rock in the scraggly little side garden and opens the door. It smells like herbs and dust. She clears off the table and puts on the kettle while the Firekeeper pokes around her shelves and at the herbs hanging over the windows. The steam catches the candlelight and they sit in companionable silence until the pot of tea is finished and the candle burns down.
She helps Nausicaa out of her armor, letting it remain when it falls. They curl up on the bed, foreheads touching. The last lights go out. The world smells like soil and old rot. They close their eyes and wait.
Nausicaa awakens to the distant roll of thunder and the pitter-patter of rain against the glass. Her cottage is dim in the pre-dawn light just before the sun crests over the horizon. Birds sing in the trees as though the world never ended. She rises slowly as not to wake her companion and pulls back her threadbare curtains to crack open the window.
The air smells like wet earth and green things poking up below the soil. She thinks of the garden and how it’ll need tilled again and maybe the tomato seeds in the pot above the hearth will still grow. The trilliums down by the stream are going to bloom along with the violets. Trout for dinner sounds good, if nothing's nicked the fishing pole from its spot by the front door.
Nausicaa puts on the kettle and pulls up a chair, waiting for the Firekeeper to wake. She would love the way the sun look on the new leaves. If they were really lucky, they might see the first robins building their nests.