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Jester’s never died before.
She doesn’t think about it in the moment, in the moment where she was battered and broken at the base of the horrible caricature of what was once a friend, a mass of bulbous skin and tendon and muscle and city. All she remembers is her vision going dark, vicious pain lancing through her chest, impaled by the clawed wings of Lucien, before everything went black. Her last word was a plea to Artagan, for protection or help, but then nothing.
The Blooming Grove is beautiful as ever as their feet land in the soft grass. Clean, fresh air enters their lungs after so long underground, and then in Cognouza (how long was it even? They did so much with so little time, it’s a miracle).
“Well,” Caduceus says, sounding a little winded even as he smiles at the sight of his home. “Who wants tea?”
There’s a chorus of “yes, please” from The Mighty Nein -- finally nine in number -- as they shuffle through the Grove towards the home in the center, carefully navigating the graves so they don’t disturb anything.
The Clay’s are more than happy to accommodate them, brewing multiple kettles to make enough tea for everyone as they cram together and let their guards down for the first time in so long.
They re-attune to their necklaces, aware that their safety won’t last long with Trent and the Assembly still on the lookout for them, but they agree to take some time to themselves. Just a little while to readjust, to learn how to live without the threat of the Somnovem and Cognouza and Lucien hanging over them like the blade of a guillotine poised to drop at any moment.
Eventually, the exhaustion begins to set in, the last dregs of anxiety and adrenaline circling the drain, and Caleb offers the last of his reserves to make the tower. It only takes a minute before the door springs to life and they stumble in and start going to the center column, saying “up” to ascend through the iris.
Jester watches her friends go, a soft smile on her face that disappears as the last of them disappear into the upper floors. Her entire body aches, and where Lucien impaled her is still throbbing with sharp pain. She takes a step and winces a little, but then she feels a hand gently touch her shoulder before fingertips skate down her arm to lace their fingers together. She turns and sees Fjord looking at her with kind eyes, and he squeezes her hand.
“Would you like some company?” he asks.
She opens her mouth, and like their first kiss, she finds no words coming out, so she only nods.
He takes her up to the column and they float up to the sixth floor where their rooms are. There’s faint, muffled murmuring coming from Beau’s room as their feet touch down and they walk past to Jester’s room.
The silence between them isn’t uncomfortable -- it never is with Fjord, she thinks -- and he lets her stand for a moment, drinking in the decor, before guiding her over to the bed and beginning to help her out of her layers. He starts humming something as he kneels before her, and she feels herself relaxing from the steady sound.
He undoes the surviving clasps at the front of her embroidered cloak, helping her slip it down her arms, leaving her in the thick, furred leggings and her undershirt. He stares at the holes in it, hands gently pulling the loose cloth to the side to see the red, angry wound. It’s been healed a bit, enough that it isn’t bleeding and hopefully won’t reopen, but he can see the way she’s wincing with every breath, so he exhales and presses his hand closer, a teal glow illuminating the space between them as Jester stares at him and he stares at the wound knitting itself back together.
He stops humming as he continues to rub his thumb back and forth over the new scars, seemingly lost in thought until Jester cups his face, fingers splayed across his green skin, to force him to meet her eyes.
“Are you alright, Fjord?” Jester asks softly. She asks if he’s alright, as if he’s the one who died, not her.
“You’re always looking after other people,” he replies, moving his hands up to brush a thumb over her bottom lip. “Let someone look after you.”
It’s all he has to say, for now.
Jester gives him a long look, and then he sees her starting to crack. Her brow creases, her lip beginning to tremble under his thumb and her eyes welling with tears. It looks like she’s fighting it for a moment before Fjord simply nods and whispers “it’s okay” and she drags him up and into a bone crushing hug, burying her face into his shoulder and beginning to sob out every last emotion she’s been bottling up in favor of determinedly marching on Cognouza, ending Lucien’s reign of terror before it began. She always kept everyone together, on task, and now she could simply fall apart in his arms and let the weight disappear from her shoulders.
“You’re okay,” Fjord murmurs into her ear, rubbing her back soothingly as he repeats it like a mantra. It’s just as much for her as it is for him. He’d watched her die -- strong, beautiful, lively Jester. Through his marine layer, he watched her utter her final prayer and expel her last breath.
Minutes pass, or it could be hours, before Jester’s tears dry up and she’s left sniffling against the wet spot on his shoulder.
“Do you feel better?” he questions gently, still holding her close.
She nods against him.
He inhales deeply -- blood and sweat, but also a lingering perfume of sugar. “Do you want to take a bath?”
Jester snorts and pulls back, smiling weakly, though her eyes glitter with amusement. “Are you saying that I smell, Fjord?”
“We’ve been in a living nightmare for the past I-don’t-even-know-how-long,” he says blandly, a smile threatening to break his composure when he sees her coming back to herself. “Literally walking in a city of flesh.”
“We definitely walked through a Cognouza butthole to get to the Aether Crux.”
Fjord chuckles and stands up, stretching and groaning when his entire body seems to creak and pop. “So, wouldst the lady protest to sharing a bath with her fair knight,” he jokes.
“She would not,” Jester replies, getting off the bed -- with only a slight grimace, because while she has been somewhat healed, the soreness is setting in -- and helping Fjord out of his armor, and then out of his clothes before letting him finish undressing her.
The bath is full when they get into the adjacent bathroom, steam rolling off of the water and an assortment of bathing oils and soaps to choose from set to the side of the basin.
Fjord sinks in first, the hot water warming his still tense muscles. He holds Jester’s hand to steady her as she steps in, and he smiles as she kneels and then fits her back against his front.
He urges her to sit up a little and cups water in his hands and to start wetting her hair, using his nails to dislodge the dried blood and sweat matting her hair down. She almost purrs as he massages her scalp, a shiver running down her body before she settles with a serene look on her face. Her shoulders slump and she leans into his touch as his hands move down to her neck and shoulders to squeeze and knead at the knots in her muscles.
“Oh, fuck,” Jester whimpers.
“If you get any louder the others are gonna start thinking,” Fjord chuckles as he starts lathering the soap in a washcloth..
Jester looks over her shoulder at him as he begins working, fresh faced and clean of the grime that had been splattered across her face in Cognouza during the battle with the flesh horror in the streets-- with Cree on the way to the vault-- with Lucien in the Aether Crux. The way she can look so beautiful after having literally died not two hours before this moment is astonishing to him. He feels his heart give a heavy thump-thump against his ribcage as he stares, awed by this woman who he loves, who loves him back.
“Let them think,” Jester whispers, twisting and leaning in to kiss him slowly, sweetly.
“I love you,” he murmurs when they part for a moment, lingering in each other's spaces, drinking in the moment. They can finally breathe -- Jester is breathing -- and he leans in to connect their lips again, pouring every ounce of emotion possible into the kiss, baring every thought and insecurity and fear and triumph and love, love, love.
Jester pulls away after an indeterminate amount of time -- they both got a little caught up in what was happening -- and she tilts her head a little, lips quirked in a fond smile as she says, “Your turn.”
“Not gonna say it back?” he retorts.
She giggles and gives him a final peck. “I love you, Captain Tusktooth.”
“You better. That ring of fire resistance probably saved your li-”
Jester splashes him, starting an all out water war in the bath.
They end up having to replace the dirty water to clean Fjord, but they both get clean eventually and tumble into Jester’s bed in soft cotton pajamas, the view of Nicodranas shifting above them as they snuggle into one another and finally settle.
There are still things to do, but for now, they rest.