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Eret’s changing into something less formal for their sparring session this afternoon, but it’s hard for Foolish to see them as anything but regal. They’ve been royalty enough times that it’s almost habit for him to address them as your majesty or, less often, your highness. They’ve put on a sleeveless shirt and loose trousers while Foolish was respectfully averting his gaze and definitely not lost in thought. They’ve moved onto wrapping their hands, which signals that they want to work on hand-to-hand combat today. That’s fine by Foolish, his trident could do with some repairs and probably isn’t in fighting shape. Not against Eret, anyway.
“Hand-to-hand?” they ask, somewhat unnecessarily.
“Sure,” Foolish agrees anyway. He waits for them to finish before offering a hand. They take it, and he pulls them up.
They settle into sparring fairly easily. Foolish might be taller and stronger but Eret has always been faster and more agile, so they’re pretty evenly matched. Several times, they lean back and swing a leg at him, trying to throw him off balance, but he skips backward each time and avoids the kick neatly.
Eret’s at a bit of an unfair disadvantage, with their memory and all. Foolish has centuries of fights with them to refer to, and it’s muscle memory at this point. They catch him off guard, though:
They swing and their shirt moves, just a little. Foolish catches sight of a prominent freckle on their shoulder and freezes, and Eret lands a blow that actually knocks him down.
“Oh, shit!” They lean down and hold a hand out for him to take. “You alright, dude?”
It’s hard sometimes, Eret not remembering. “You have a freckle on your shoulder,” he says, and they quirk an eyebrow.
“Yep. Got a lot of em.” He brushes sand off Foolish’s shirt. “You know what they say about freckles.”
“What do they say?”
“That each one is a kiss from a lover in a past life. Kinda funny, isn’t it?”
Funny. He laughs, because he knows Eret expects him to, but there’s truth in the statement.
More often than not, Eret doesn’t remember him, at least not at first. But they’ve been dancing around each other for as long as Foolish can recall, and it’s always the same. Well, not always. Eret changes much more than he does- after all, they’re mortal- but their essence inexorably finds its way back to him. And this means Foolish knows that saying to be more than a superstition or an old wives’ tale, because Eret has been collecting freckles from Foolish for a long time.
The knuckles: Eret was a prince, Foolish her knight. He’d help her off her horse every day, bow low and kiss her hand before letting go. She was an accomplished rider, of course, but they both used her heavy skirts getting in the way of dismounting as an excuse to touch. She’d laugh and thank him for being so devoted, and he’d duck his head, blushing, and mumble something about his duties. It was strange, for a god of death to be playing at knighthood, but he didn’t want to lose her again so soon.
The cheek: A totem of death is never far from the battlefield. He hadn’t found Eret after their latest death. He’d been looking, but hadn’t had any luck. Until, of course, he was in the middle of a war. He’d felled one soldier heading their way and whirled to face another, but she wasn’t coming for him. No, her sword had been plunged into Eret’s chest.
Foolish screamed because Eret couldn’t: it looked like she’d punctured their lungs by the way they were gasping. He summoned lightning to kill the soldier above them, but evidently Eret’s condition had upset him more than he thought, because moments later they were the only living souls left. He dropped his trident and gathered Eret into his lap, knowing what was coming. They reached up and touched his face, smiling.
“Next time,” he promised as their eyes slipped shut. “I’ll find you sooner next time.”
Eret nodded and their hand fell. He caught it, rested it on their chest. Their head lolled on his shoulder, and he kissed their cheek, smearing some of their own blood back on their face.
Next time.
The ribs: Foolish doesn’t really scar. He’s not even sure he can. Eret, however, is a different story. He was stretched out by the fire, waiting on Foolish to bring him tea. (His tea preference is one of the things that changes, and Foolish takes care to learn it every time.)
Eret’s hair looked a little tangled and Foolish wanted nothing more than to sit their head in his lap and brush through their curls until they fell asleep. It was a familiar, soothing ritual that Foolish had been missing for years, but they weren’t at that level of intimacy yet. He reached out anyway. He was always reaching for Eret, he mused, trailing a finger along his back. Eret tensed under Foolish’s touch but didn’t move away, so he continued his careful exploration.
Every time Eret came back to him, Foolish had to relearn the topography of his body all over again. He never got tired of it.
His finger skimmed across a large scar on his ribcage and stopped.
This one looked particularly nasty, but he’d survived… whatever it was. There was a lot Foolish didn’t know about the life Eret was currently leading. But while he might’ve trusted Foolish enough to let his guard down physically, he was still closed off, and Foolish didn’t want to pry. So he settled for leaning over and brushing a kiss over the scar.
The shoulder: They were attending a masquerade ball together. Foolish had shown up in his usual formal attire, a plain three piece suit, but Eret had requested he wear a specific tie: a blue one she’d picked out for him. Why, he hadn’t known, but seeing her now he understands.
She was late, like she usually was when they didn’t arrive together. He'd asked if she wanted to go, and she’d said yes, but when he’d started talking about logistics, she’d silenced him with a finger over his lips and a smile on her own. He sees now why she wanted to come separately: she looks stunning.
Her mask was a soft cream color, wreathed in flowers that perfectly matched both the gold trim of her corseted top and the sleeveless blouse beneath it, paired with a flowing pale blue skirt. She’d traded her usual crown for a simple, elegant circlet, shining white gold amidst the flowers tucked into her hair.
She always did like to make an entrance.
Foolish stared, much like everyone else in the ballroom, as she headed straight for a waiter carrying around champagne. He grinned.
“You look radiant this evening, my lady,” he said as he approached her, bowing.
She smiled at him, returning with a curtsy. “Foolish!”
“May I have this dance?”
She accepted, and he escorted her to the dance floor.
They spent the night dancing together, Foolish keeping an eye on her champagne consumption as the evening wore on. She hadn’t danced with another partner, hadn’t taken those mesmerising eyes off him for a moment. It was rare that he got to see them, and in fact that night they were the only part of her face he could see. They were beautiful, a soft iridescent color with the slightest glow that only someone like Foolish could perceive.
Now, she was resting her head on his shoulder as he held her close. They weren’t dancing so much as swaying gently in place, and as Foolish tucked some of her hair behind her ear, he wished more than anything he could ensure she’d remember this.
Eventually it got too late to stay, and despite Foolish offering her his arm Eret was still wobbly in her heels on the way out. Some things never changed. He had her take off her shoes and scooped her up, easily carrying her.
The ocean was nearby, if the cries of gulls were anything to go by. Foolish decided to take them on a detour, a bit of calm after the haze of lights and music. It was serene there, just as he’d known it would be, a faint breeze bearing the familiar scent of salt.
Eret tugged at his jacket and he looked down at her. “What’s up?”
She pointed at the dunes and mumbled something about sunrise , and, well. He’d never been able to tell her no.
He found them a dune with a good view of the horizon, carefully depositing her on the sand before settling down beside her. He was going to miss this. When Eret was gone, and again when she didn’t know him anymore.
The life of a god could be very lonely.
They sat in companionable silence for awhile, quiet in the moonlight, and then she spoke. “I know I’m going to forget this.”
Foolish said nothing, unsure whether she was referring to the alcohol or-
“I know you,” she continued. “I always do.”
Ah.
“Can’t get rid of me,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
She shook her head and one of the little blue flowers fell from where it had been woven into her curls. Foolish caught it as she said, “I don’t want to let you go.”
He recognized the blossom, finally.
A forget-me-not.
The sky began to turn orange and Foolish sighed, resting his head on her shoulder. “You’re going to have to, someday.”
She took her crown and mask off and set them down. “Why do you get to remember? Why don’t I get to keep all of our history?”
“I don’t die,” he reminded her. “Maybe someday you’ll find a way to cheat death.”
They both know it’s a joke, but it sparks something inside him. Cheat death. Huh. Maybe there’s something to that. He’s been getting tired of destruction. No matter how much he likes having this much power, he’s tired of people- of Eret- dying.
She rested her head atop his as the sun climbed higher in the sky. “Foolish?”
“Eret?”
“I love you.” He turned his head and kissed her shoulder, the only place he could reach without disturbing her.
“I love you too.”
In the present, Eret is asking if Foolish is alright again.
He shakes himself. “Yeah, just… thinkin’, I guess.”
They’re looking at him strangely and he knows. He knows this will pass. He can’t help the ache in his chest this time. He wants to keep them.
Something isn’t right here. His powers aren’t working. He could’ve destroyed that egg and ended it all. He should have been able to save everyone.
He can’t.
So he does the next best thing. He offers himself instead.
His mind is clear except for one thing: protecting Eret. He walks over to Eret, who reaches for him with shaking hands. They cup his face, pull him in close, and kiss his forehead.
It’s over in a matter of moments. Eret is pulled away and Puffy is shouting, several people are shouting, and then-
Silence.
As the sword descends, Foolish is at peace. He’s finally fulfilled his purpose; both as a totem of undying and as Eret’s protector.
It takes a few days for him to notice. He hasn’t taken his armor off since the banquet, but he needs to repair his helmet after one too many falls from his latest build, and then he sees it.
A faint freckle on his forehead, right where Eret had kissed him.