Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wishbone

Of all the musicians and artists of Greece, Eiji is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the most talented. Mortals, gods and spirits alike flock to listen to his playing-- he’s able to coax such gentle and melodious sounds from the lyre that many believe he has sold part of his soul for the ability to produce godlike music. Others argue that being a child of Apollo, Eiji’s musical talent is only natural. In any case, his voice, thin and sweet yet full and strong, enchants all who hear it-- one simple song, and the listener finds themself struggling under the honey-thick weight of Eiji’s charm. It is said that even the rocks and trees themselves move to be closer to him. Despite his talent and accidental fame, however, Eiji is content to lead a simple life, spending his days on the riverbanks of the Neda, indulging in beautiful music and storytelling. Nereids and nymphs alike approach him, enamored with his wide-eyed beauty and gentle music, begging for his hand in marriage, but he refuses them all with the same apologetic yet congenial smile.

“I would apologize,” he says each time. “Although I am most flattered by your offer, I am afraid I must decline.”

Something about the lilting cadence of his voice seems to ease the pain of heartbreak, and the spirits float back to rest among nature, hardened by refusal yet somehow un-bittered.

Every so often, Eiji wraps up his belongings, and moves further along the Neda. So as to travel the world with his music, he says. Eiji walks lamely, his left leg dragging a little along the mossy riverbank. He travels leaning against a modified shepherd's crook so as to relieve himself of the pain of putting pressure on his left ankle. He had once been an adventurer, whisper the nymphs, had traveled the seas with heroes like Jason and his Argonauts, although the numerous brushes with abject danger had not left him entirely unscathed. Although Eiji is very open about his past and his adventures, jumping to regale querents with stories at any opportunity, whenever the subject of his injury is brought up, he freezes, his face closing and hardening like rock, the topic to be quickly abandoned each time.

In the evenings, children, mortal and divine alike, gather around him and listen to his stories. Accompanied by his lyre, he tells the children of the monsters Scylla and Charybdis, of the sleek, feathered Harpys on the island of Crete, of the sharp-eyed sorceress Circe, who had been banished by her father to live alone on Aeaea. The children revel in the thrill of Eiji’s epics, although the crowd-favorite seems to be the story of Jason and the Argonauts.

“I told you all that story last night. Are you sure you want to hear it again? ” Eiji asks over the enthusiastic clamor of the children.

“Yes, yes!” they shout, none as loud as the little brown boy with tight curls that grow out toward the sun. Skipper is always there, always ready to listen to Eiji’s stories-- the first to join him when the sun rises over the mountains, and the last to grudgingly leave when the moon makes her rounds across the sky. Eiji sighs in mock exasperation, leaning to run his hand over the wooden beads that adorn the twists in a little girl’s hair.

“Alright,” he says in acquiescence, and begins weaving the familiar tale of Jason, Medea, the island of Colchis, the thrilling chase at sea, and the tragic return to land. The children listen with wide eyes as Eiji tells them about how he managed to lull the legendary sleepless dragon into slumber with a few gentle strums of the lyre, effectively allowing Jason to conquer the golden fleece. There’s a certain familiarity in the storytelling, and Eiji enjoys these moments, and keeps them close to his heart.

It’s starting to get late now, and most of the children have run home to their parents with promises to return early the next morning for more stories. Eiji wishes each of them a good night and restful sleep and thanks them for indulging him. Slowly, the children trickle away, leaving one by one until Skipper is the last one left. Despite the late hour, his eyes are big with excitement, and he bounces his little leg as though he’s too eager to stay still.

“Where’s Ash?” asks Eiji, thankful for the cover of night, which shields him in shadow, effectively masking the blush that rises in his cheeks.

Skipper, who’s been running in circles and picking at little pieces of grass, holds still just long enough to point into the trees before resuming his frantic dance. Eiji squints into the distance, and sure enough, he can just make out a streak of blond hair advancing through the woods.

Finally, Ash emerges from the cover of wilderness and scoops up little Skip, who’s still running around, arms stretched out behind him as though he has wings. Skipper squeals in delight as Ash throws him into the air, catching him just before he reaches the ground.

“I’m flying, I’m flying!” shouts Skipper. “Are you looking, Eiji? Can you see me?”

Ash laughs out loud, clear peals of laughter that seem to echo throughout the clearing, and Eiji nods perhaps a little too vigorously.

“You’re so high up!” he says. “What can you see from all the way up there?”

“Well,” babbles Skip in his high voice. “I can see all the birds! And I can see the little fireflies! And I can even see the tip-tops of the trees! And, and, and…”

Ash slowly starts lowering Skipper to the ground, who whines out in protest.

“Sorry, Skip, but we have to get you to sleep,” he says gently so as to avoid a temper tantrum.

“But I’m not tired,” argues Skip. He wriggles out of Ash’s arms and resumes running around. “See?” he asks, but Ash picks him up a second time, slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“You need to go to sleep, or you’ll be grumpy in the morning,” says Ash. “And then you won’t be able to spend time with Eiji.”

This finally seems to convince Skipper, who stops kicking at Ash’s back in an attempt to get Ash to set him down on the ground.

“Alright,” he sighs regretfully, and Eiji stifles a laugh. Skipper sounds like an elderly mortal indulging in nostalgia, and not a six-year old who has just stayed up long past his bedtime.

He and Ash start walking back toward the trees, Skipper perched on Ash’s neck. Eiji watches them leave until Ash looks back, and motions for him to join them. Eiji readily agrees, and moves to walk in step with the two.

As they continue walking, Skipper grows steadily more tired until he’s slumped over Ash’s head, eyes fluttering with the effort of keeping them open.

“It’s alright,” says Eiji. “Go to sleep.”

Skip yawns, smiles gratefully at Eiji, and closes his eyes. It isn’t long until gentle snoring fills the space between Eiji and Ash.

“You really care for him,” Eiji marvels as Ash adjusts slightly so as to make sure Skipper isn’t jostled by any overhead branches.

“I do,” Ash says. “I used to know his mother, although she…” his voice breaks off, and Eiji gets the feeling that whatever happened, it’s serious. “Anyway, I take care of him now. I owe most of it to you, though. You watch over the children during the day. I almost feel as though I’ve been sitting and listening to the stories with Skip, the way he talks about you. Every night when I get home, he retells the old legends. It’s adorable.”

Eiji blushes. “It’s no trouble-- I love looking after the children. Skip is such a sweetheart, and he really cares for you a lot. He talks about you all the time. Really, it’s a wonder the children haven’t gotten tired of listening to my stories. I rather feel as though I’ve run out of new tales.”

“No,” says Ash quietly. “I’ve heard you sing. There’s no possible way anyone could get tired of listening to you.”

Eiji’s flush deepens. “You are very kind,” he says at length.

“It’s true,” Ash says simply, then pauses. They’ve reached a clearing bordered by a ring of trees. The ground is carpeted in thick moss, and a stream babbles in the distance. Ash gently sets Skipper down on the floor, props his head up, and pulls a square of silk out of a pocket of the pack he always carries with him. Gently, so as not to wake Skip, he wraps the cloth around his hair, tying it securely at the nape of his neck. He scribbles a quick note on a rugged piece of parchment-- Eiji can make out the words, I’ll see you in the morning, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Ash notices Eiji’s glance.

“Skip and I live here,” he says in an explanatory whisper, “but I can't stay tonight. I have to go see--” he breaks off, as though the words are burning the back of his throat. “I’m just letting him know I’ll be back in the morning so he doesn’t worry unnecessarily.”

Eiji nods, but he’s already noted the way Ash’s fingers trembled over the words, the way he tensed when he mentioned having to leave for the night. Something is amiss, but Eiji knows better than to pry.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” is what he asks instead, and Ash almost trips over a tree root in surprise.

“If you’d like to see me, I’ll be there,” Ash says finally, and the corners of Eiji’s mouth round into a smile.

“I’ll see you then, I promise.”

Eiji waits until Ash is completely out of sight before turning on his heel and exiting the clearing himself.

_______

The next morning, the sun has reached its peak in the sky before Eiji sees Ash again. Eiji scatters the children for lunch with a few words-- he’s opted to teach them anatomy today in the hopes that knowledge of the human body will prove useful should the children or their loved ones ever face injury or sickness. Skipper throws himself into Ash’s arms, and Eiji doesn’t miss the way Ash winces slightly with pain at the impact, or the way Ash flinches away from the children darting around his legs before realizing they’re just part of Eiji’s ragtag band of followers.

Eiji motions Ash over and sets a meal of olives, tomatoes, bread and cheese between them.

“It’s light, I know,” says Eiji apologetically, “but I don’t have anything else.”

“No,” says Ash, his sullen look clearing. “It looks delicious. Thank you.”

They settle into easy, casual conversation, Eiji and Ash listening to Skip’s fantastical (and wildly impossible) tale about the nereid he saw once that transformed into a tropical bird of paradise, making ohs at the appropriate times. Ash tells Eiji about the trek they once took up Mount Mytikas--apparently he’d had to carry Skipper for most of the journey, but the views more than made up for the discomfort of hiking up the mountain. Talking to Ash is easy, Eiji finds. He’s shy, no doubt about it, and the sadness he holds in the back of his eyes is almost palpable, but for some reason or another, he seems to have taken a liking to Eiji, opening up towards him whereas he’s closed off to everyone else. Maybe Skipper’s clear trust in him has put Ash’s usual misgivings at peace.

They continue talking, and, when conversation lulls, simply sitting in the enjoyment of each other’s company. Ash basks in the sun, catlike, and Eiji watches with contentment as Ash stretches, a tear beading in the corner of his eye as he yawns. Eiji’s music has frequently been hailed as ‘magnetic’, as irresistible, and although Eiji has never understood the words as they pertain to his music, he thinks he understands them now. There’s something about Ash, his gentle demeanor, the grace with which he moves, that draws Eiji in and doesn’t let him go. He’d be more than content just to sit and watch Ash for hours, but the little children have for the most part given up on playing outside and are clambering all over Eiji in the hopes that he’ll tell them more stories.

Ash laughs as a child with hair carefully done up in cornrows drops grass down the neck of Eiji’s robe, and he shoots him an apologetic smile.

“I think I’ve stolen you from your audience long enough,” he says. “I’m leaving to go hunt; I’ll be back at nightfall. Would you like to join me and Skipper for dinner?”

Eiji doesn’t think twice before accepting. He hopes his eagerness doesn’t show too strongly on his face as he waves goodbye, letting his eyes linger on Ash’s disappearing figure long after Ash has turned his back.

Shortly after nightfall, just as he had promised, Eiji finds himself sitting with Ash and Skipper around a fire. Ash is charring river fish for dinner, and Skipper hunts in the darkness for little sticks and pieces of wood, which he throws into the fire every time the flames dwindle. He looks so happy at the prospect of helping that neither Ash nor Eiji have the heart to tell him that his twigs aren’t actually keeping the fire going.

Once the fish is cooked through, they pass the meal between the three of them. It’s late, the stars shining brightly in the sky, the smell of acrid smoke from the slowly-dying fire enveloping the night in a sort of thick haze. The silence is comfortable, warm, and Eiji doesn’t feel the desperate need to fill it the way he sometimes does, talking to the children. There’s something soothing about spending time with Ash and his makeshift little family, and Eiji feels at home in a way he hasn’t for years, in a way he hasn’t since the accident.

Over the next few weeks, Ash and Eiji settle into a sort of casual routine: Ash finds Eiji for lunch, where they talk over a light lunch of olives and bread, and he finds Eiji again at nightfall, where they share a fuller meal together. Ash is kind, easy to talk to, and is always ready to listen to Eiji’s never-ending stories about his travels around the world. As time passes, and Ash appears to trust him more, he asks more questions, allowing excitement and eagerness to show on his face. He remains stubbornly closed off to any questions Eiji attempts about Ash’s past, and Eiji accepts that Ash will tell him when he’s ready for Eiji to know.

“Do you know how I injured my leg?” asks Eiji one day. It’s barely mid-morning, the sun just low enough to provide enough light and not burn them with the sweltering heat of Grecian summers.

“No,” answers Ash pensively, and Eiji feels a little thrill run through him as he realizes that Ash will be the first person he’s ever told.

“The kids used to ask me all the time,” Eiji says. “I would tell them a different story each time. First, I was caught by dragon fire as I was escaping an enchanted island, then a hippocampus bit off part of my leg when my boat capsized in a terrible storm, then I had angered one of the gods, who sent a deluge of crows to pick at my ankle with poisoned beaks. Eventually, they stopped asking when they realized I wouldn’t give them a serious answer.”

“You don’t have to tell me, you know,” Ash says, hand twisting in the grass beneath them.

“I know,” answers Eiji. “I want to, though.” Color rises in Ash’s cheeks as Eiji continues.

“I kept telling the kids these fantastical stories. I told them I had been injured while completing heroic quests, that I’d been hurt fighting for good. Because at least my injury would’ve meant something. I’d still be hurt, but I’d have a good story to tell for it-- you know how it is, here. There’s nothing more admirable than a heroic death, a scar with a painful history. Look at Achilles or even Odysseus. My injury doesn’t have a glamorous story behind it. I tripped and fell-- it was a bad fall, and my ankle just never recovered. I think the most ironic part of the whole affair was that my fall happened only a few days after returning from my quest with the Argonauts. I’d braved all those dangers: the dragon, the hordes and armies chasing us, only to acquire a permanent limp because I tripped.”

Eiji laughs bitterly. “I always wanted to be a hero. I didn’t just want to be an unnamed member of the crew, I wanted to be Jason. I wanted to lead a quest, I didn’t want to just be a follower. I wouldn’t say I’ve been motivated by the prospect of fame, but I always wanted to be a hero, to do something that would make the world remember my name. Self-important, I know. Maybe the gods were trying to teach me a lesson, punish me for my hubris. Now, I can’t hope to do anything like that ever again. I feel like something died in me when my ankle snapped, but--” he breaks off shyly, and when he speaks again, it’s with infinite tenderness. “I think, after spending time with you, I’ve come to realize that it’s okay. Maybe I was simply never meant for that kind of heroism. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t still do good, or leave my mark on the world. That’s why I enjoy teaching the children. Hopefully they can go into the world, wielding the things I’ve taught them, and do good in my name. They can go on adventures for me.”

“You’ll be remembered,” says Ash decisively. “You’ll be remembered for millennia after you die. You’re the most gifted musician the world has ever seen. And although you might not have had a chance to lead your own quest, your contributions to Jason’s kept eighty-five men alive through dangerous straits. That’s more than admirable in its own right. I hope-- I hope you don’t allow this injury to define and limit you. You are as much a hero as Jason or even Achilles himself.”

“I am not sure that is true,” says Eiji, “but thank you all the same. You are most kind.”

“Kind?” asks Ash. “I think you are the first person I’ve ever met who’s described me as kind.”

“They must not know you as well as I do,” says Eiji, “because I couldn’t think of a better way to describe you.”

______

Eiji is walking along the Neda when he sees a flash of red and black behind him. Quickly, so quickly he can hardly register the movement until it’s happened, he finds himself on the ground, a curiously shaped pin at his throat. A drop of clear liquid falls from the tip of the pin-- Eiji thinks it’s water until he feels it burn at the thin skin of his neck.

“Who are you?” he asks, his voice steady despite the anxiety that’s rising in his chest. Although he may not be able to fight, to defend himself physically in the way he could before his injury, his experience with quests, gods and monsters have taught him better than to show weakness in the presence of an enemy.

When his assailant doesn’t answer, Eiji continues.

“I mean you no quarrel,” he says, tone as light as he can manage. “I do not know you, nor can I guess how I’ve offended you. Who are you?”

The man sweeps his long plaited hair out of his face before pressing the pin harder into Eiji’s throat, deep enough to draw blood. When the poisoned tip of the little pin breaks skin, the burn intensifies such that Eiji has to bite down on his tongue, hard, to stop himself from crying out loud.

When the man seems satisfied by the pain he’s inflicted, he eases up on Eiji’s neck.

“My name is Yut-Lung, and I am the lastborn son of King Lee,” he says. “ You’ve been spending a lot of time with Ash recently. A word of advice: you are a fool who has no idea what they’re messing with. Stay away from him, for your own good and for his, before someone gets hurt.”

“Excuse me?” says Eiji. He won’t let some third-party interfere with his friendship with Ash. He and Skip are far too important for Eiji to give them up, and he’ll brave any dangers as they come for a chance to stay by their side. He’s opened his mouth to say as much when the pressure on top of him eases, Yut-Lung disappearing into the woods with the silent finesse of a deadly viper. He’s gone before Eiji can utter a single word.

Eiji sits up, still a little stunned by the encounter, and wipes away the single drop of blood that was trickling towards his heart. The pain abated, he picks himself off of the ground, wipes his hands free of dirt, and contemplates what has just happened, his mouth a thin, hard line. He’s not going to tell Ash, that much is certain-- he doesn’t want to frighten him off. Still, something about the whole encounter leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that Eiji just can’t shake, a thrill of some sort of perverse foreboding that promises something bad although exactly what Eiji can’t say.

Skipper’s high voice sounds from somewhere in the distance, and Eiji schools his features into his usual congenial look.

“What happened to you?” Skip asks as soon as he spots Eiji and the dirt that stains the back of his robe. “Did you fall over or something?” he says with a laugh, and Eiji rubs his back and lets Skipper lead him off into the trees, shoving the ill sensation that something is going to happen so far down he can’t feel it.

______________

Eiji and Ash sit at the edge of the forest, the rustling Neda flowing alongside them and the buzzing of the cicadas filling the quiet. They’re sharing a basket of blackberries as Skipper runs to play in the distance. Every so often, Eiji is startled by a playful shriek from Skip as he presumably spots a bird, or a special bug, or some sort of wildly colorful herb. The berries are tart but sweet, warmed by the June sun, and Eiji watches as Ash takes a bite and swipes his thumb over his bottom lip to catch any lingering juice. The berries stain his lips with a dark flush, and Eiji can’t help but wonder what his lips would taste like, whether they’d be rough and chapped like his calloused hands, how their mouths would fit together.

Eiji reaches for another berry, reveling at the burst of sweetness against his tongue, and moves to rest his head in the crook of Ash’s shoulder. Ash tenses for a moment, almost imperceptible, and Eiji almost moves away, but then Ash relaxes, and begins threading his fingers through Eiji’s hair. Eiji’s hair, which is thick and dark where Ash’s is thin, and so blonde it’s almost white. A chiaroscuro painting: light and dark in perfect juxtaposition.

Eiji reaches down slightly, and picks up a berry. Turning toward the inside of Ash’s neck, he holds it between two fingers, just inches from Ash’s mouth. Ash hesitates a moment, then tilts his head to eat the berry from Eiji’s hand. Eiji’s entire body goes supernova, and he nuzzles his head into the dip in Ash’s robe to hide his blush. Ash absentmindedly rubs little circles into Eiji’s back, who melts into the touch, then, garnering enough courage, continues feeding Ash blackberries until their basket is all but empty.

“The berries are so sweet this time of year,” says Eiji in a lilting tone of voice, and Ash nods almost lazily.

“They’re delicious,” he says, leaning further fack into the grass until he’s laying on his back, facing the sun. Eiji moves with him, laying parallel across Ash, his head resting on Ash’s chest, which rises and falls steadily with each breath.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” asks Eiji before almost kicking himself, because is he really attempting to make small talk about the weather? Ash nods distractedly, and Eiji raises his head as slowly as he possibly can until his lips are just inches away from Ash’s. He looks into Ash’s eyes, which are so green and clear that Eiji can’t help but think of the Aegean sea, and waits for the slightest indication that Ash doesn’t want this. The seconds seem to slow to hours as they stare at each other, utterly single minded, before Eiji asks, “can I kiss you?”

With those words, Ash’s resolve seems to crumble into sand, and he leans forward, bridging the gap, and fitting his lips to Eiji’s. Ash moves to cup Eiji’s face, thumbing across his jawline, and Eiji makes a small sigh in the back of his throat, twisting his fingers through Ash’s impossibly fine hair, which flows like water through his hands. Ash’s lips are slightly dry, and he tastes faintly of blackberries and of salt, and Eiji moves closer, as if to breathe Ash in completely, so as to create a little world in which nothing matters except Ash and Eiji, kissing as though the world is on the verge of collapsing over them.

Ash is the first to pull away, his hair adorably mussed and lips red and kiss-swollen, and Eiji laughs, just a little, because Ash is just so beautiful and Eiji loves him so much he can feel an ache in his chest. After appearing to recover from some sort of shock, Ash laughs too, a familiar clear sound that never fails to remind Eiji of pealing bells. They thread their hands together, and Eiji presses his forehead to Ash’s and kisses him gently on the nose. The forest is unnervingly quiet-- the cicadas have ceased their humming, Eiji realizes-- odd, as it’s only early afternoon. Eiji’s stomach drops, almost prematurely, and that’s when he hears the screaming.

It’s unmistakably Skipper’s voice, crying out in a visceral scream of pure anguish that makes Eiji’s blood run cold in his veins. Skipper is howling as though the sounds are bursting out of him, no doubt ripping up his little throat even as he continues to cry out in pain and terror. Ash is standing within a quarter of a second, scrambling to his feet and pulling throwing knife after throwing knife out of the folds of his robe as he runs desperately in Skipper’s direction. Eiji fumbles for his bow and arrows before hobbling after Ash as quickly as his leg will allow. He’s never cursed his ankle more than in this moment.

After a few frantic minutes of awkward limping, he reaches a little fern grove. Skip is lying on the ground, face contorted in pain, an obscenely ornate dagger protruding from his chest. As Eiji throws himself on the ground beside him, tearing off the bottom of his robe to use as makeshift bandages to staunch the bleeding, he recalls the anatomy lesson he gave the children. It was only a few weeks ago, but it seems so far away now. A throwing knife whistles through the air, just inches above Eiji’s head, and he cocks an arrow in the general direction of the attacker before returning to Skip, whose face has gone deathly pale with blood loss. Eiji’s lip trembles as he cuts away the blood soaked fabric of Skipper’s robe to assess the wound. It’s deep, no doubt about it, and Skipper’s rattly, almost watery breaths seem to indicate that at least one of his lungs is punctured. Save divine intervention, there’s nothing that can save Skipper now, but even as Eiji’s mind recognizes defeat, his fingers continue to scrabble at the wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding. Frantic helplessness rises in Eiji, and he clasps Skip’s hand as tightly as he can while brushing a stray leaf out of his curls.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of movement. Ash sprints toward a figure with scruffy, dirty-blonde hair, and hurls a knife at him. The man simply ducks with a sinister smile, as though avoiding the weapon was the easiest task in the world. His lips curl into a snarl that shows all his teeth, as he somehow catches the next knife that Ash flings at him, wrapping his hand theatrically around the leather handle.

He’s good, but so is Ash, and they both move with deadly, terrifying precision. After a while, though, it’s clear that Ash has a slight edge on his opponent, who’s panting slightly with the exertion of dodging the knives that Ash continues to throw with the same, unrelenting force and accuracy.

“Dino’s not too happy with you,” jeers the attacker as he dances away from yet another knife. “Says you’ve forgotten who you belong to.”

Ash’s eyes go wide, and Eiji suspects that were it not for the incredible training he must’ve received, he would’ve dropped the knife in his hand.

“So that’s what this is about,” says Ash bitterly. “Dino gives an order and you follow like a fucking dog. You’re fucking pathetic, Arthur. Skipper’s not even seven yet, you fucking coward. You’d hurt a baby for him?”

The man-- Arthur, Eiji supposes-- nods, the same deranged smile on his face. “It was either him or him,” he says, jerking his head in Eiji’s direction. “It would’ve been even easier to do him in, though, considering he can’t even fucking walk. Anyway, I picked for you. Hope you don’t mind.” He pauses in mock consideration. “Did I choose wrong?”

Ash growls deep in his throat, a sound so guttural and primal that Eiji is convinced he’d rip Arthur apart with his bare hands were he afforded the chance. Arthur seems to realize this as well, and says, “Come home to Dino, Ash. I doubt next time he’ll be so lenient,” with a self-satisfied smirk before turning over his shoulder, disappearing silently into the darkness.

As soon as Arthur is out of sight, Ash darts to kneel next to Eiji, face screwing up in pain as he, too, realizes what Eiji had just a few minutes ago: Skipper isn’t going to make it. His breaths grow shallower and shallower, and the blood that pools around him in some sort of perverse halo is thick, and so, so red. Ash turns away to hide his face, his back shaking with sobs, and screams into the mildly dry June silence. He screams until his throat is hoarse, his vocal cords frayed to the point where Eiji is scared they’ll bleed. He laces his fingers between Ash’s, and squeezes as hard as he can-- it’s a meager comfort, that can in no possible way make up for Skipper’s inevitable death, which ticks faster and faster as he struggles to take in gasped breaths.

Seemingly calming, Ash turns again to face Skipper, brushing gently over his coarse curls. He presses a gentle kiss to Skip’s forehead, wiping away the tears that fall.

“It hurts, right?” he asks, and Skipper screws up his eyes in response. “I’m sorry,” says Ash, a vague kind of helplessness in his voice. “Skip, baby,” he breaks off, as though he’s struggling to find words. “I love you so, so much. You’re smart, and brave, and a great listener and an even better explorer. You’re the most brilliant little guy I’ve ever met, and I’m so, so sorry you got hurt because of me.”

Ash turns away to cry in earnest, thick sobs that choke up his throat. The whole forest is filled with a kind of heavy melancholy that weighs on Eiji, and for a moment, he thinks that this is what Atlas must feel every day, having to hold the whole sky on his back.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers and moves to rest a hand on Ash’s shoulder. Ash jerks back as though he were burned.

“Yes, it is,” he says in a tone that allows for no further argument. “It’s all my fault,” he repeats, almost dazed.

Eiji returns to stroking Skipper’s fingers, brushing over his curls.

“It’s okay,” he soothes even as he knows, guilt eating into his stomach, that it won’t be alright. “I love you, baby. It’s okay.”

Skip looks up at him with big eyes, relaxes into Eiji’s touch, then makes a final sigh, body stilling, eyes gone glassy and dull. Dead. Eiji feels bile rise in his throat, and moves away to retch violently on the ground. Belatedly, he realizes that his knees are maroon, stained with blood from when he knelt at Skip’s side-- the realization only encourages another bout of vomiting. Eiji’s eyes burn with tears.

When he composes himself such that he can stand (although not without shaking), he turns to crouch near Skipper’s corpse.

(Corpse. What a horrible word to describe Skip, who was bouncing around, full of life and vitality just hours before. It hurts, so much so that Eiji can hardly bear it.)

Ash, who hasn’t moved from his position bent over Skipper’s body, closes Skip’s eyes with infinite gentleness.

“I’m so, so, so sorry,” he whispers, low enough that Eiji is sure he isn’t meant to hear. “I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Gently, as slowly as he possibly can, Ash gathers Skip in his arms, ignoring the blood that leaks all over his arms and chest as he carries Skip to a familiar rock just near the bank of the Neda. Eiji knows the rock, of course. He’s sat there for weeks as the children bunched around him to listen to epics.

“I thought--” says Ash, unsure. It’s the first time Eiji has ever heard Ash unsure of himself. “I thought, since he loved your stories so much, that we could bury him here.”

“I think--” starts Eiji, and clears his throat when the words get stuck. “I think that would be nice. I think he would like that.”

There aren’t any shovels or tools, but neither he nor Ash needs them as they tug at the soft dirt that comes away in chunks, caking underneath their fingernails. They’re panting with effort, sweat running in rivulets down their faces, digging a grave in the silent, bone-dry evening, but the physical exertion provides some sort of welcome distraction from the horror of the afternoon. Eiji thinks back to that morning, to the berries he fed Ash, to the salty taste of Ash’s lips on his. Had that really only been that morning? How could the day have gone so terribly wrong? He’d felt alive in a way he hadn’t been in years when Ash had kissed him, and now it felt like his heart has been ripped out of his chest.

The sun has dipped below the river bank by the time they’re done, and Ash pauses at the sight of the cavity they’ve dug into the soft ground. Who knows if the children will want to congregate here now, now that it’s permanently marked with death, but everything has changed now. As much as he wants to believe it’s possible, Eiji knows that they’ll never be able to go back to the way it was before.

As they lower Skipper into the ground, Eiji can’t help the tears that run down his cheeks as Ash presses a golden coin under Skipper’s tongue to grant him safe passage across the River Styx, and he whispers a few words of prayer over the grave. They don’t have a tombstone, don’t have a grave-marker other than a smooth, round stone a nereid offered Eiji from the Neda.

“If I were a hero,” says Eiji, voice cracking, “I’d ask for Skip to be put in the stars.”

Ash nods, and they begin the task of covering Skipper’s body with the dark, sweet-smelling earth. They’re piling earth in the makeshift grave when Eiji’s hand finds Ash’s and squeezes as firmly as he possibly can, a reminder that he isn’t alone. Ash raises his head for the first time in hours, tears tracked down his face, and looks at him in silent thanks.

“Thank you for being here,” he says simply, then presses a hand over the dirt of the grave, packing it just slightly. Ash whispers a final, “I love you,” in the direction of Skipper’s final resting place and wades through the darkness of night, head down and eyes somber with loss. Eiji watches him go, then collapses to his knees, and lets grief and tiredness war inside of him until sleep ultimately wins, and he succumbs.

______________

The next day when Eiji wakes, Ash isn’t there. Eiji fights back the sadness that accompanies the realization-- Ash needs to grieve for Skipper, and if that's alone and on his own terms, who is Eiji to judge? He’s walking around, searching for flowers to mark Skipper’s grave and is contemplating moving up along the Neda, away from the woods that seem to quiver with the weight of death when he intuitively feels a presence behind him. Eiji reaches for his bow and arrows, which are just within reach-- he hasn’t allowed his weapons to leave his side since yesterday.

“Who is it?” he calls. “Arthur, if you’ve come back for me, you’re welcome to try to kill me if you wish, but you can bet I won’t go down without a fight. You’re a coward, you know. I cannot think of anyone more disgusting than a man who kills innocent children.”

It’s Yut-Lung, not Arthur, who emerges from the trees, holding his arms up in an age-old, universal sign of surrender.

“I’m not going to harm you,” he says, but Eiji doesn’t relax from his offensive position.

“What do you want?” he spits.

“I heard about the little boy.” By some good grace, Yut-Lung has the decency to look apologetic. “I warned you this would happen.”

“You knew?” Eiji shouts, incredulous. “You knew some fucking maniac was going to kill a child, and you didn’t do anything to stop it? What kind of person are you?”

“I didn’t know this would happen specifically,” Yut-Lung remedies. “Just-- Golzine is very possessive. Sooner or later, something was bound to give. This is just the way things are, here.”

“How can you talk so callously about a child’s death?” asks Eiji. “He was just a little boy, with dreams and aspirations which were stolen from him. He wanted to be an adventurer, wanted to explore the world, did you know that?”

“I said I was sorry for your loss,” Yut-Lung snaps. “What more do you want from me? Nothing I say is going to bring him back to life.”

“Why are you even here?” asks Eiji, suddenly bone tired. “Are you here to gloat? What is it you want with me?”

Yut-Lung shrugs, and tosses his hair over his shoulder. “Are you going to stay away now?”

Eiji shakes his head resolutely. “Ash is my best friend. I’m not going to leave him alone, and I’m certainly not going to let him mourn by himself.”

“You’re impossible,” says Yut-Lung exasperatedly. “Don’t you understand? Stay away from Ash! Let Golzine have him. You’re just putting both yourself and him in unnecessary danger.”

“I don’t know who this Dino person is that Arthur mentioned, or who this Golzine is, and frankly, I don’t particularly care,” spits Eiji. “Ash is his own person-- he isn’t owned by anyone. He has the agency to make his own decisions, and if he chooses to spend time with me, I’ll take all the time with him that I possibly can. I’m not afraid of either Dino or Golzine, and I’m not leaving Ash unless he freely decides he doesn't want to see me anymore.”

Yut-Lung rubs at a spot between his eyebrows. “You really have no clue what you’re dealing with. Dino and Golzine are the same person, first of all, and if you were even a little intelligent, you’d be scared of him. He clawed his way into divinity, built a literal empire out of Greece, and has reach and means you can’t even begin to comprehend. The Lee court belongs to my family in name only-- Dino usurped our land years ago and uses my family as a figurehead for his personal gain. His emissaries control everything. He’s even managed to force half the gods to their knees. They’re glorified lapdogs, now. You want to go up against the gods themselves?”

Yut-Lung’s voice rises as he talks, but Eiji remains steadfast.

“I’ll try,” he says, and Yut-Lung scoffs.

“You really are foolish,” he says, striding away dramatically as though he’s given up on Eiji entirely. Good. If Yut-Lung has given up on Eiji, maybe he’ll finally leave him alone, and let him mourn in peace.

As soon as Yut-Lang is out of sight, grief hits Eiji right between the ribs, twisting up his stomach and knocking the breath from his lungs. Eiji isn’t a stranger to death-- it was practically expected on his adventures and voyages. He knew each time he embarked on a ship that in all likelihood, half the crew wouldn’t survive the journey, and understood and accepted the very real possibility he wouldn’t return. That didn’t make the deaths of his colleagues and friends any less shocking and painful, but some part of him had been expecting it, and that helped to assuage the grief. His companions had known the risk when they stepped on board the ship, were resigned to the knowledge that their destiny, along with whether they lived or died, was in the hands of the gods and their monsters that walked the sea and land.

Skipper’s death was absolutely nothing like that. Perhaps it was that his murder was completely unexpected, perhaps it was that his death had happened so quickly and so recently that Eiji’s brain hadn’t had the chance to process it yet. Perhaps it was that Skipper had been so young, and Eiji remembers what his mother had said, all those years ago, when typhus had struck the neighboring village and had not spared a single person. The infants had been the first to die.

”There is nothing that can prepare someone for the death of a child.” As usual, she was right.

The days pass, weeks blurring into each other without a single sign of Ash. Eiji stays on the banks of the Neda even as he knows he should leave. He’s always lived by the old proverb that stagnation is akin to death, but even as he wants to leave the purgatory he’s in, he can’t abandon Ash, even as he grows less and less certain he’ll ever see him again as the days wear on.

Every morning, he visits Skipper’s grave. Most times he’s alone, although some times he’ll find others there to pay their respects: a few of the nereids Skip used to play with leave offerings, and every so often, Eiji will spot a child straying near the riverbank, crying-- one of Skipper’s friends, no doubt. Every evening, Eiji sits near the grave, and tells Skipper a story. Sometimes, he talks about his own adventures, and sometimes, he retells the epics his mother used to whisper to him as a child. He tells Skip about Perseus and Andromeda, about Heracles and his twelve trials, about Theseus and the founding of the city of Athens. Every week, he picks a fresh cluster of flowers to lay on Skipper’s resting place, and he polishes the tombstone after every storm.

Eiji remembers a conversation he had had with Zetus, one of his companions on the Argo, who had lost a leg during their encounter with the Gegenees giants.

“Does it hurt?” he had asked, referring to Zetus’s stump, which he kept wrapped up in a swarth of bandages.

“No,” Zetus had responded. “Sometimes, I feel a phantom leg-- I get pains where my leg used to be, even though it’s not there anymore. It’s almost as if my body doesn’t want to accept the reality that I’ve lost a limb. It’s been weeks since my amputation, and I’m still surprised every time I look down, because I keep expecting to see a leg. I guess I have to get used to the way my body is now.”

Eiji hadn’t understood Zetus’s struggle before, but he thinks some part of him can relate now. Everytime he looks around, he can’t help but expect to see Skipper running around and bumping into his legs, begging him for a story or asking if he can sit on Eiji’s shoulders or reciting gibberish only he can understand. He feels the pain of Skip’s loss acutely every time he passes by the grave and remembers yet again that, oh, he’s dead.

After having spent so many weeks enjoying Ash and Skipper’s company, now that he’s suddenly alone, Eiji feels loneliness weigh on him in a way it hasn’t for years. He’d always thought of himself as a solitary creature, imagined himself a perpetual traveler, and had made peace with the idea of being alone forever a long time ago. And yet, here he is, pining over a certain boy with hair so blonde Eiji would swear it glowed in the darkness. There’s a clichéd metaphor there somewhere if Eiji cared to find it. Maybe that would make a good song, someday, he thinks wryly. If only Ash were there to hear it.

As the sun continues to rise and set, and Eiji dutifully follows the little routine he’s curated for himself (archery practice, rest, hunt, visit Skipper’s grave), he gradually gives up hope of ever seeing Ash again. It’s been almost two months, and Eiji hasn’t heard a word. He’d go after him if he had any idea as to where Ash would’ve gone. Greece is large, after all, and if Ash is trying to avoid him, there are no shortage of places for him to go hide.

Every so often, he thinks about Yut-Lung’s words. Golzine must be an incredibly powerful man, to have the god of death himself wrapped around his thumb. Eiji remembers his conversation with Ash all those weeks ago, when Ash had wrapped Skip’s hair in silk and had left to go someplace. Eiji still remembers the way his shoulders shook as he wrote the little note to Skip. Could he possibly have gone to Golzine? And how powerful must Golzine be, to have such a hold over Ash, who’s possibly the bravest person Eiji knows?

Still, no matter Golzine’s influence, Eiji would jump for any and every opportunity to face off against him. Eiji wouldn’t consider himself a particularly bitter or venge-ful person, but he can’t help but hope that Golzine finds a home for himself in Tartarus, and soon. Even better if Eiji is the one to send him there for what he did to Skipper.

Eiji is firing arrows at a knot in one of the pine trees at the edge of the wood-- he’s not the best, but his aim is steadily improving with practice, and while he hasn’t actually hit the knot in the tree yet, a few of his arrows have stuck into the tree’s side, and that, to him, is a feat worth celebrating. He feels long, slender fingers curl onto his shoulder, and he jerks around, arrow nocked on the offensive. His breath catches in his throat when he realizes that he’s standing next to Ash, their foreheads so close they’re practically touching, and Eiji has to catch himself before he accidentally falls into Ash’s arms because of how light headed he is with relief at having seen Ash again.

“Ash!” he half-sobs, taking him in. Chains of gold and precious stones adorn his neck-- they don’t suit him at all, Eiji thinks. He makes as though to move closer, to wrap Ash in a hug, but Ash’s eyes are as wide as those of a spooked deer, and Eiji desists, cold running up his spine. There’s always been an undercurrent of pain and hurt in Ash’s eyes, but when Eiji looks at him now, he looks positively terrified, as though he’s struggling under the weight of unimaginable trauma. Eiji has seen this look before-- when he was a child, his entire village had once gathered to welcome the return of a ship that had been equipped with about fifty men. When the boat had finally pulled to shore, only one man had stumbled out of the ship, loss and pain and bloodshed haunting his eyes. He told the story of a witch encountered out at sea, a bloodthirsty one who had torn apart the crew, only leaving one survivor. Ash has a similar expression now, and something in Eiji cracks open, just a little.

“Ash? Are you okay?” he asks gently.

Ash swallows visibly, jaw working and fingertips shaking slightly. He avoids Eiji’s eyes, focusing instead on some spot out on the horizon. When he speaks, he sounds as though he’s reciting a monologue, or a pre-written script.

“I am sorry for not visiting you for quite some time. I have been busy. I am currently living with Dino Golzine, but please do not worry: I made this choice of my own volition, and it was the right thing to do. I have to leave for your safety, and I have to ask that you do not follow me, and do not attempt to contact me anymore. We will likely never see each other again, so I wanted to bring you some semblance of closure so you didn’t think I just up and left. I have enjoyed our time together more than anything else in the world, and will miss you terribly. I am grateful to have known you-- you are the best person I have ever known. I wish you all the best--”

Eiji cuts him off. “Ash, why are you saying this? Did Arthur or Golzine put you up to this? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

“This is for the best,” says Ash, although it sounds to Eiji as though he’s trying to convince himself, not Eiji of his words. “This way you don’t get hurt too. This-this is the way it has to be. Dino’s reach is too far-- there’s no possible way either you or I could hide. This is the only way.”

Eiji shakes his head. “That’s not true, Ash. This isn’t the only way. I’ve missed you for two months-- I’m not giving up on you now. We can get out of this forest, hell, we can flee Greece if we have to. I’m not leaving you.”

“It’s not just Greece,” says Ash, desperation evident in his voice. “Dino has agency over the entire Mediterranean. The sky, the sea, even the Underworld. Don’t you see? This is it. Being with you was fun, and it was wonderful, even, but it-it wasn’t sustainable. I’m me and you’re you. You don’t belong in my world-- I never should’ve exposed you to it, even accidentally, because you ended up hurt because of me.”

“Do you regret it?” The words are out before Eiji can take them back, and they float between them, soft and quiet.

“What?”

“Do you regret kissing me?” Before Ash can respond, Eiji shoulders on. “I don’t, you know. I could never regret kissing you.”

Ash’s eyes glass over. “Stop, Eiji. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“I’m not letting you leave,” repeats Eiji stubbornly, and Ash’s restraint washes away.

“He’ll kill you, Eiji! He’ll fucking kill you just like he did Skipper. I’m not letting you die because of me. I don’t care if you don’t value your life, but I do and I refuse to carry your blood on my hands!”

Eiji steps forward and wraps his arms around Ash’s neck, who goes stiff at the sudden touch. Slowly, he relaxes into the embrace, holding Eiji just as fiercely as Eiji holds him, as though the ground will surely split from under their feet if they let go for even a second. Eiji’s lips brush over Ash’s cheek, a butterfly kiss, and he whispers, “please don’t leave,” in Ash’s ear then pulls away, vulnerability coursing through him. Eiji puts his hands to his cheek, and frowns when his fingertips come away wet: he’s been crying.

Ash lets out a choked kind of sigh, tears running down in rivulets. “Eiji, I--”

“Walk away.” Eiji speaks in a tone so decisive he surprises himself. “Do it yourself. Walk away from me.”

Ash looks at him stricken, then turns away, shoulders racked with sobs. “You know I can’t.” The confession seems to hang in the muggy late-August air. Across the river, the wheat fields glow gold with the setting sun.

Eiji moves to meet Ash’s eyes. “Have you ever heard of Delos?” he asks, affection and warmth seeping into his words. Ash shakes his head no. “I came across it once when I was young,” Eiji says. “It’s a floating island in the Aegean Sea, south of Athens, less than a week’s travel from here. It was blessed and sheltered by Poseidon himself, and is completely hidden not only from mortals, but from the gods as well. It was my father’s birthplace. We would be safe there. Not even Death dares step over the threshold. It shielded my grandmother from Zeus’s wrath during her pregnancy.”

“But how--” starts Ash.

“I have accrued many favors in my lifetime,” says Eiji simply. “My father would accept it, and the journey is easy. Would you join me?”

“It’s impossible,” murmurs Ash, but his words don’t hold the same conviction they did before.

“No, it’s not.” Eiji laces his fingers with Ash’s. “Please?” Eiji has never put himself out there like this, has never allowed himself this level of vulnerability before, but something about Ash has him willing to risk everything.

Ash looks down, contemplative. Eiji waits with bated breath. “Alright,” he says finally, “but we have to hurry. You said the journey would take less than a week-- we need to be quicker than that. And--”

“So you’ll go?” asks Eiji, face lighting up in a way it hasn’t since Skipper’s death.

Ash nods. “I’ll go.”

Eiji throws himself into Ash’s arms, and Ash makes a small ‘o’ of surprise. “Thank you,” whispers Eiji into his robe. “Thank you.”

____________

As far as islands go, Delos is a small one, but it more than makes up for it in its beauty. When Eiji and Ash stumble into a rocky little harbor, Eiji can feel a jolt of magic-- divine protection, as it were, from both Poseidon and Apollo-- and some of his exhaustion eases with the promise of safety. As soon as Ash steps foot on the pebbly sand, it’s as if a shudder goes through his whole body, like the looming threat of Dino’s presence has dissipated, just a little. He raises his head, and when he looks back at Eiji, twenty years of worry has sloughed off his face.

“Eiji,” he mouths, a smile breaking across his face. “Eiji, we made it!”

It takes a while for Eiji to register Ash’s words, but when he does, it’s as though reality finally sets in, and he runs toward Ash, his arms outstretched.

“We made it,” he repeats tentatively, then, with increasing surety and more than a little wonder: “we made it! Ash, we did it!” He moves to hold Ash in his arms and cards his fingers through his hair. “Ash, don’t you see? We’re safe now. Nothing can hurt us here.”

Ash makes a little noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t refute the statement, and Eiji is more than happy to count that as a victory, albeit a small one. His heartbeat beats strong and steady with the assurance that he and Ash can live a happy life together, one without fear and danger.

Delos seems to carry some sort of lightness with it, Eiji finds, and while he can’t help but miss the Neda for all the memories he made living on its banks, he feels hopeful for the first time in a while. He and Ash settle near a lake in the northern part of the island-- the palm trees provide ample shade, which is more than welcome in the summer heat, but they do have to watch out for mosquitos and other insects in the late afternoon.

Gradually, as the days pass, Ash learns to relax, to trust in Delos and in Eiji. He stops hearing threats and danger in the crack of branches, abandons the furtive glances over his shoulder every few minutes to ensure someone isn’t following them from behind. As he grudgingly accepts that they’re safe, he grows more receptive to touch. He doesn’t flinch when Eiji takes his hand, and even grows comfortable enough to affectionately muss Eiji’s hair, and tuck strands of it behind his ear when it falls in front of his eyes. Ash guides Eiji in archery lessons, helps him shoot straight and true and consistently, and they celebrate each one of Eiji’s milestones and successes together. At night, Eiji often wakes up pressed against Ash’s chest, their legs intertwined even though he’s sure they didn’t fall asleep that way. Each time, he edges himself away, although not without a tinge of disappointment, and keeps the memory of the smoke smell of Ash’s hair close.

“Ash?” Eiji asks one day. “How are you liking the island? I hope you are not too lonely, with only me for company.”

Ash turns to him, eyes shining. “This is the happiest I’ve ever been.” Somehow, Eiji can believe that. Ash looks different nowadays-- not just in the way his face pinks and cools into a tan by the end of the day with the glare of the sun, but in that the tension behind his eyes, the ghost that perpetually seemed to keep a tight grip on his neck, jerking him around like a puppet, has for the most part faded away. Still, there are moments when he finds Ash curled up into himself, hyperventilating, pupils blown wide with a kind of primal terror. Eiji made the mistake, once, of trying to place a hand on Ash’s back in an attempt to calm him down. Ash had flung Eiji’s hand away, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps, and Eiji had known, then, that whatever war Ash had lived through, it hadn’t left him. He’d moved to kneel beside Ash on the ground, offering his hand to hold. Ash had grasped it gratefully, squeezing Eiji’s hand so tightly that the tips of Eiji’s fingers were plum-colored. Eiji hadn’t minded at all.

It’s hot outside-- one of the hottest days of the year, Eiji remembers later-- when Ash tells him, eyes pointedly fixed on the floor, about Dino, about the hands, unrelenting and cruel and looking to hurt, roaming all over his body as if it was their possession. As Ash talks, Eiji can almost see the hurt little seven-year old boy who had just wanted to play in the boats with the other boys in his expression, and he feels rage, rage that people lured Ash in with kindness, and abused him, over and over. Rage that people felt so entitled to Ash’s child’s body that they took, and took, and took. It’s positively sickening.

“Do you see me differently, now?” asks Ash, and Eiji looks at him incredulously.

“What?”

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to be around me anymore, now that you know I’m a whore and all. I’ll bet you’re regretting inviting me to Delos, now.” Ash laughs without humor. “It’s alright. I understand.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” says Eiji indignantly.

“What? A whore? It’s true. I’ve fucked so many men I can’t even begin to count them all.”

“People have done terrible things to you, but that does not mean that is all you are,” starts Eiji. “You are kind and clever and a brilliant strategist, and a very good friend. And no, I do not see you any differently now that you have told me. And there is no possible way I would send you away, especially knowing what I do now. That would be cruelty. It does make me wish we had run away to Delos earlier, though. Maybe things would be different.”

Eiji pauses, his mind fixating on the memory of Skipper lying helplessly on the floor, blood pooling around his body. He shakes his head to clear the image. “Anyway, Ash, I am very grateful to you for telling me. I’m sure it was not easy, and I am honored that you trust me enough to share this.”

Ash nods once, slowly, and reaches for Eiji’s hand. They sit together, hands linked, and watch the Golden Orioles twitter and flit around the lake, occasionally dipping their beaks into the water for a drink, and in this moment, it’s enough.
_______________

Recovery, and the process of helping someone else through recovery, isn’t linear, Eiji learns. Some days, Ash will cling to Eiji as though the thought of being physically separate is too much for him to bear. Eiji will cover Ash’s mouth and nose in gentle (and later, not-so-gentle) kisses, and Ash will ruffle his hair, carefully working through Eiji’s tangles. Ash will hold Eiji, will cup his cheek, and Eiji will press soft kisses to the pads of Ash’s fingers. Other days, the thought of physical touch is enough to make Ash recoil, and no matter how many times Eiji refutes Ash’s claims that he’s dirty, debased, Ash refuses to let Eiji so much as come near him.

They take each day as it comes, enjoying and celebrating the good days, and working through the bad.

“I think,” starts Ash, then breaks off, pondering his next words. It’s late, and stars dot the sky with tiny little pinpricks of light that cut through the darkness. Eiji’s arm is looped around Ash’s back, and they hold each other as they look up toward the sky. “There’s a little voice in my head that’s telling me that this won’t, can’t last. I’m scared I’m going to wake up one day and I’ll be back with Dino-- that I’ll have imagined all of this. Everything has been going so well-- it feels like I’m just waiting for the shoe to drop.”

“Don’t worry,” says Eiji, with a confidence he isn’t sure he feels. “We’re here, and we’re safe, and I love you, and I’ll be there to remind you of any one of those things at any given moment.”

Ash nods, albeit reluctantly, and nestles further into Eiji’s arms. Eiji turns his head just slightly so he’s looking Ash in the eyes. He produces a carved wooden ring from the pocket of his robe.

“I know you don’t like jewelry,” he says apologetically, “so I made it as simple as possible. And--”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

Eiji pushes his cheek farther into the itchy, dry grass. “Yes,” he says. “I am asking if you, Aslan, would do me the honor of marriage. In all of my travels, you are the most brilliant man I have ever met, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Ash’s eyes well up, and a single tear falls silently down his nose. Eiji wipes it away.

“Are you upset?” he asks. “I hope I did not ask too soon.”

“I--” Ash starts. “No, I mean yes, I mean-- fuck. No, I’m not upset, I’m--I’m happy, Eiji. I’m so, so happy. Of course I’ll marry you. I just never thought someone like you would want someone like me.”

“I’m going to choose to interpret that in a non-self-deprecating way,” says Eiji with a hint of a smile. “Gods, Ash. I am so lucky to be close to you.”

Ash moves to twine his hand with Eiji’s. “I think you make me a better person,” he admits. “When I’m with you, I don’t feel so broken. Like you’re lending me part of your vitality and you’re making me a real human being again.”

“You are a real person, with or without me.” Eiji squeezes Ash’s hand. “You always have been. I’ve always admired that about you.”

“What?”

“Well, I always admired how good you were with the children, and I like the way you move, if that makes sense. You move like a dancer-- graceful and smooth. And I think you are very kind, and very beautiful.” Eiji covers his face with his hands, and peeks out from between his fingers. “Are you trying to embarrass me?” he half-whines. “You are a very cruel man, Ash, trying to embarrass your future husband so his face gets all red and blotchy and ugly.”

Ash throws his head back in laughter, and Eiji pokes his stomach. “I take back everything I said about you,” he says, but there’s no bite behind his words. Ash just laughs harder.

___________

When the day of their wedding arrives, there are no bells, no fanfare, and none of the luxurious frivolities that sometimes accompany weddings back home. Just as well, Eiji thinks. A quiet, private yet meaningful ceremony is much better suited to the both of them. Because they’re virtually alone on Delos, they’ve had to forgo the proaulia and proteleia phases of the traditional marriage rites. What they have managed to salvage of the ancient nuptials are the traditional banquet and the ceremonial lifting of the veils. A small group of maybe twenty nymphs of the forest and the sea are gathered just south of the Sacred Harbor to attend the wedding. As per the old superstitions, gleaming green torches of Greek fire burn all around the clearing to ward off evil and malignant spirits.

Eiji and Ash sit side by side at the long table, quietly enjoying each others’ company, listening to the nearby giggling of the nymphs. They’ve spent the whole day cooking together, and although the grooms are technically not supposed to prepare the wedding feast, it’s their wedding, no one’s there to tell them not to. It was hard work, preparing the sesame sweets and pastries and meats, but it was worth it, thinks Eiji. Ash had complained the whole time, had honestly been more of a hindrance than a help, and had spent more time throwing flour and seeds over Eiji than actually helping, but it was all so wonderfully domestic that Eiji couldn’t have been happier, because the rest of his life could be like this: him and Ash laughing and growing old together.

Ash’s eyes light up as he takes a bite of the lemon and thyme hare that Eiji had made.

“Do you like it?” asks Eiji, and Ash nods enthusiastically, mouth still full.

“You’re a really good cook,” he finally says, and then, with a sly smile: “you should cook for me more often.”

Eiji elbows Ash’s side and bursts out laughing. “Once we’re married,” he says, “I’ll cook whatever you want.”

They relax into eager conversation about the tides, the different species of fish that live in this corner of the Aegean Sea, and bets about what kinds of strange adventures Zenon, one of the braggart fishermen who lived on the Neda, was attempting. All in all, pretty strange topics of discussion for one’s wedding night, but Eiji wouldn’t have it any other way.

As the night deepens, the cicadas cease their buzzing (it’s grown too cold for them), and the immortal Greek fire burns even brighter in the dark, casting a comforting, green sort of glow over the clearing. Eiji and Ash take turns feeding each other pieces of the pasteli, the sweet honey-sesame candy they prepared earlier.

“It’s really good,” Ash marvels. “I’ve never had anything like this before.”

“You haven’t?” asks Eiji, somewhat surprised. He’s been eating pasteli since he was just a little child. His mother would often welcome him home with little pieces of the sweet, or his friends at school would bring some to share on special occasions. And it was always available during festivals.

“Nope,” says Ash. “Dino didn’t like us to eat candies. Said they’d make us fat.”

Something in Eiji’s stomach drops at the mention of Dino, and he makes a silent promise to make Ash as many traditional sweets as he possibly can.

“But anyway,” says Ash, clapping his hands together as though to diffuse the tension that way, “I don’t want to talk about Dino on my wedding day. Eiji, have you ever been to a City Dionysia? They always looked like fun, but I was never able to go.”

Eiji regales Ash with as many stories as he can remember from the annual five day festival and the entertaining plays and dramas that were put on to honor Dionysus, adding on to his list of promises to Eiji in his head. Somehow, they’re going to find a way to go to a Dionysia together.

Belatedly, Eiji realizes exactly how late it’s gotten. The nymphs and nereids, still talking excitedly behind their hands, are slowly but surely moving away to allow Ash and Eiji the privacy to complete the edokis rite. It’s a thoughtful courtesy, and Eiji makes a gesture of silent thanks towards the spirits.

Eiji stands up, and offers his hand to Ash, who accepts gracefully, and allows Eiji to lead him to a more secluded corner of the island. The full moon hangs heavy in the sky, and the waves lap at the sand of the harbor. They turn to face each other, and Eiji's heart beats so fast and so hard he’s sure it’s going to beat straight out of his chest. There are no fathers to give either one of them away, so Eiji lifts Ash’s veil slowly. As Eiji lifts the fabric over the crown of Ash’s head, he feels as though he’s looking at him for the first time. He drinks in Ash’s appearance eagerly, memorizing the deep green of his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his nose. Ash lifts Eiji’s veil just as slowly, his expression soft. Eiji falls a little more in love.

“As the gods bear witness, I give myself to you,” Eiji whispers into the space between them. That isn’t the traditional phrase that accompanies the ritual, but he hopes it will erase any lingering doubts Ash might still harbor: Ash will understand that he’s freely, willingly, enthusiastically marrying him. I give myself to you as opposed to another person saying, ”I give him to you”.

Ash leans in just a touch closer.

“As the gods bear witness, I give myself to you,” he repeats, and closes the gap between them. Ash’s lips are so soft, and he tastes honey-sweet from the pasteli. Eiji wraps his arms around Ash’s neck, his whole body singing with the knowledge that they’re married, finally. When Eiji pulls away, his cheeks are stained with Ash’s tears.

“Are you alright?” he asks, thumbing the salt water away.

Ash nods. “Eiji, I am so, so happy,” he says thickly, before moving to kiss Eiji again. “My husband.”

________________________

And so the time passes, and Eiji and Ash settle comfortably into the domesticity of married life. The transition from friends to lovers to husbands has happened so seamlessly and easily that Eiji sometimes thinks it seems unreal. Every morning they wake, limbs tangled together, Eiji cooks breakfast and they eat together. (He tried to teach Ash to cook, once, but to such disastrous results that he’s all but banned Ash from the kitchen.) The rest of the day passes in blurs of archery, training (Ash’s mostly), hunting or fishing, but Eiji’s favorite part of the day is the time he spends with Ash. Generally, they walk around the island and Eiji logs the animals and plants he sees. Each time Eiji thinks he’s discovered all the island has to offer, they find new things to love about their home, and it’s magical each time. Eiji has heard others claim that marriage is the beginning of a period of stagnation, but he has never felt more alive than here with Ash.

It’s a quiet, unassuming day when the bubble of peace Ash and Eiji have precariously built bursts. The sun gapes over the horizon, bathing the entire island in an otherworldly glow, and streams of splintered light dance over the tops of the waves, which crash into the sand with an urgent rhythm. Eiji wakes first, blinking the last remnants of sleep from bleary eyes. It’s early, much earlier than he would generally wake, but he wants to do something for Ash today. Ash has spent so much time and effort teaching Eiji to shoot straight and true, and although he certainly hasn’t mastered archery, he’d like to think he’s on his way there. He slips silently from the room, pausing a few minutes to properly disentangle himself from Ash, who, as usual, has curled into him sometime during the night and is clinging to him with all the fervor of a child clutching a worn blanket. He presses a soft kiss to Ash’s forehead, steps into his sandals out of the door, marveling at the heat. It’s barely midmorning, and Eiji is on the verge of sweating already.

Eiji grabs his bow from its perch on a hook on the back wall of their house, and heads for the wooded area near the center of the island. Ash likes hare, so he’ll do his best to catch one of the scampering rabbits that dart around the forest floor. They’re incredibly fast and wily though, but Eiji is confident he can catch at least one. He has a couple of hours before Ash wakes, and even if he doesn’t manage to ensnare a rabbit, he’ll settle for one of the wild birds that make their home in the marshes.

Eiji creeps through the trees, his eyes peeled, and he shuffles his feet as quietly as he possibly can so as to avoid making any noise. The first half hour proves fruitless, and although Eiji tries to remind himself that hunting is an extremely fickle sport, and he should keep up his resolve, he can feel frustration begin to sink in. It’s early, and he’s still barely awake, and he hasn’t even seen any creatures yet. Still, he shoulders on, keeping the mental image of Ash smiling into a plate of hare in his mind. Maybe he’ll cook the hare with lemon and thyme, the way he did for their wedding, or maybe he’ll branch out, try something new.

His mind teems with recipes and flavor combinations--lemongrass and basil, maybe?-- when he hears a twig crack somewhere a few yards north. Eiji moves silently, hardly daring to breathe, when he sees it-- a large rabbit with unblinking black eyes and greyish-brown fur. It stares up at him, ears twitching, and Eiji feels a pang as he nocks an arrow.

“I’m very sorry,” he whispers. He’s made it a habit to apologize each time he readies himself for a kill. Ash finds it irritating some days and endearing some others, but Eiji has loved animals since he can remember, and although he relies on them for nutrition, he can’t help but mourn every single animal he’s ever killed.

Eiji narrows his eyes and furrows his brow in concentration as he kneels on the ground, adjusting the angle of his shot. He’s been patiently waiting for this moment for a long time-- it would be unbelievably frustrating to mess it all up now. Eiji sinks farther into the lush of the forest floor, his cheek brushing up against the moss and dirt, pulls back his arm and holds the string of the bow taut, and--

A loud crack sounds from the distance, accompanied by a litany of extremely colorful cursing. The rabbit scampers off, undoubtedly startled by the unexpected noise, but Eiji doesn’t even notice, hyper aware of the chill running straight down his spine. He knows that voice-- he’s only heard it twice before, but it’s as if that particular cadence and tone is permanently engraved into his memory.

How could he have found us here, is the only thought running through Eiji’s mind as he races toward Secret Harbor, sustained as if on a loop. We were meant to be safe here. What went wrong?

The scenery blurs as Eiji runs, but he doesn’t, can’t take any of it in. Adrenaline is pumping through his veins, so much so that he’s beginning to feel more than a little light-headed. As the woods give way to the cracked, dehydrated dirt, to the grassy hills that border the lake, to the shifting grains of sand, Eiji feels as though his whole body is vibrating with uncontrolled tension. When Eiji finally makes his way to the beach where he and Ash said their wedding vows, he realizes that he’s not the first to arrive-- Ash stands protectively in front of Eiji, eyes dark and throwing knives raised.

“Yut-Lung?” asks Eiji, his tongue tripping over the syllables out of anxiety.

Ash turns toward Eiji. “How do you know that name?” He throws a scathing glare in Yut-Lung’s direction. Eiji has never been, and never will be afraid of Ash, but in this moment, with all the venom in the world in his expression, Ash looks positively lethal and dangerous. “If you hurt him, if you harassed him, I’ll fucking kill you. Stay away from us.”

Eiji’s heart stops racing enough for him to take in the scene. When he had met Yut-Lung before, he had seemed to be the pinnacle of stoicism-- he radiated a kind of self-assured calm. Now, his clothes are ripped, his windswept hair has torn itself free of its plait, and he moves unsteadily, like a sailor struggling to find his sea-legs. Eiji wonders briefly if he’s drunk. Something genuinely horrifying must have happened to trigger such a dramatic shift.

“He killed Sing.” The words seem to burst from Yut-Lung, unbidden, and he shudders into himself when he speaks, as though having said it aloud, he’s been abruptly reminded of the pain of loss. Although right now Yut-Lung’s intentions toward them are unclear at best, and Eiji doesn’t necessarily harbor any goodwill toward him, he can’t but empathize in this, at least. Losing someone, be it a friend, a family member or a lover, is one of the hardest things Eiji has had to live through. He vaguely remembers Sing-- a little boy of no more than fourteen who followed Yut-Lung around like a dog following his master. Despite Yut-Lung’s callous nature and cold disposition, he’d been friendly, caring even towards the little boy. Somehow, the whole situation reminds Eiji of Skipper’s death, and pain twists in Eiji’s chest. Yut-Lung glances between the two of them, and suddenly, something in his tone seems to shift, the previously pained look morphing into an expression of barely contained rage. “It’s all your fault, you motherfucker!” He raises a throwing knife menacingly.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” spits Ash, eyeing the blade and its wielder with a kind of carefully calculated preparedness. “We haven’t done anything. We’ve been here for months-- we haven’t seen a single person. Just calm down and we can talk. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Somehow these words seem to enrage Yut-Lung further. “You bastard! You didn’t think he would just let you leave, did you? What would Dino do without Ash Lynx, his favorite toy.” Eiji can see Ash visibly tense at Yut-Lung’s pointed jabs.

“Watch your mouth,” snarls Eiji, but then Yut-Lung’s attention is on him.

“And you! I fucking hate you.” This time, he actually spits on the ground before Eiji’s feet. “Who do you think you are, waltzing in here, trying to remove Ash from the equation with no regard to the collateral damage? Do you know how many kids Dino has killed in the past few months in retaliation? You know it just as well as I do, Ash-- when Dino gets angry, he lashes out. Your old gang is gone, by the way,” he adds almost as an afterthought, and Ash’s hands ball into fists. “He killed them all. He said he’d turn over the entire earth to find you,” continues Yut-Lung. “So I’m bringing you back. You’re so selfish, both of you. It makes me sick.”

Ash steps forward. “I’ll go,” he says.

“Damn right you will,” snaps Yut-Lung.

“Please,” says Eiji, eyes burning with tears. “Please don’t go back. If you do-- I’d rather die than let him do those things to you again.”

Yut-Lung scoffs audibly in the background. “You’re so fucking entitled you make me sick, country boy. You’re nothing like me and Ash. Things aren’t as black and white as you’d like to believe. We all have to do things we’d rather not, and that’s just the way of the world. My family has used me and my body as a negotiation tool for years, and I’ve had to learn to grit my teeth and accept it. I learned this lesson as a child. You’re an adult. Grow up.”

“You’re wrong,” says Eiji desperately. “You don’t need to accept mistreatment. And there’s no fatalistic, universal law that dictates that certain people are meant to suffer at the hands of others. If you wanted, you could just stay with us--”

“I can’t!” Yut-Lung shouts, his eyes dark, and he looks so angry Eiji takes a frightened step back. “You don’t understand at all--no matter how broken my kingdom, no matter how divided my clan, I have a duty to uphold the Lee legacy, and I will do whatever it takes to keep the Lee name alive. Not everyone has the luxury to run from their problems without a second thought as to the consequences of their leaving, you know. Just-- stop!” The words claw from Yut-Lung’s throat and end in an anguished shriek.

“But--” starts Eiji, then freezes, mouth agape as Yut-Lung whips around and hurls a knife in Eiji’s direction. The blade whistles past him, barely missing his neck before burying itself in a tree trunk.

“What the fuck?” Eiji’s voice shakes with fear. Ash’s eyes are wide and he stares at Yut-Lung with obvious shock.

Yut-Lung’s eyes are cold as steel, his mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. The crazed, unstable expression from before is now completely gone. “Stop blathering on about your idiotic, naive ideas about how the world works. You might as well have killed Sing,” he says. “He’s dead; I’m going to kill you.”

Eiji’s feet are rooted to the ground-- he can’t move out of utter fear. His mind races to try to comprehend the situation he’s in.

“Run!” Ash’s voice breaks him out of his stupor, and Eiji, still firmly clutching his bow, runs in the direction of the forest. Hopefully, he can get out of the open air soon and hide in the cover trees. Ash grabs his hand, and they sprint as far away from Yut-Lung as they can go. Throwing knives sing through the air, both Yut-Lung and Ash coming close but never quite hitting their targets. At one point, Eiji puts his hand to his ear, which stings, and his fingers come away stained with warm blood. He nocks an arrow and fires in Yut-Lung’s direction. He hears a sharp intake of breath from behind him. Good. Hopefully if Yut-Lung gets injured, he’ll finally give up and leave them alone. Whatever misguided, traumagenic ideas Yut-Lung has internalized about duty and the ways of the world, Eiji isn’t going to let him project those onto Ash. He loves Ash too much to give him up and hand him over to his abusers.

Dried leaves and twigs crack under the pounding of Eiji and Ash’s feet as they run. While Eiji pants, his calves and lungs burning painfully out of sheer exertion, Ash is hardly breaking a sweat, urging Eiji ever faster and launching throwing knife after throwing knife at Yut-Lung with impossible speed. Despite it all, Yut-Lung continues stubbornly behind them, returning Ash’s knives with a determined glare.

They’ve been running for over an hour when Eiji stumbles and falls to the floor. His ankle, it seems, has given out completely, leaving Eiji sprawled on the dirt and clutching his ankle with a grimace. Ash turns immediately when he hears the thud of Eiji falling, horror and fear spanning his expression. Behind them, Yut-Lung continues to advance. Eiji steadies himself, and attempts to pick himself off of the floor, but his endeavor proves fruitless as he collapses back into the dirt with a groan of pain.

“Go,” he mouths. “Go, Ash. Get out of here while you still can. I’ll be okay.”

Ash shakes his head. “You said it yourself. There’s no way I’m leaving you.” He pauses as Yut-Lung’s footsteps grow closer and closer. “Here, let me--”

Ash moves so one of his arms is holding Eiji’s waist and the other is stretched across the top of his back and is gripping his shoulder. He scoops Eiji up as quickly as he possibly can, taking care not to jostle his injured ankle, and continues sprinting as far away from Yut-Lung as he can go.

It’s his fault, Eiji thinks later. It’s only because Ash had to carry him as well as run that he was so distracted. It’s only because he was more worried about Eiji and his lame ankle than his own safety that he missed the snake, coiled and unassuming as a length of twine.

Ash has been carrying Eiji only for a few minutes when he gives a wince of unmistakable pain.

“Are you okay?” asks Eiji, face contorted in worry. “Am I too heavy? Ash, you can put me down if it’s too much.”

Ash brushes off Eiji’s concerns with a flick of his wrist. “Don’t worry; I’m fine.” Eiji can tell he’s lying-- his tone is forcibly light and airy, so different from his normal voice-- but he accepts that Ash probably isn’t going to give him another response, and they continue running in silence. Soon, though, Ash slows. His whole face has gone ghostly pallid, sweat flowing in rivulets down his neck, soaking the back of his robe. His breathing grows increasingly shallow and raspy, and Eiji can sense something is gravely wrong. He jumps down from Ash’s arms, his fall cushioned by the soft grass of the marshes.

“Ash,” he says. “What is wrong?”

Ash drops to the ground, and turns to sit with his back against Eiji. He hears a sharp intake of breath from behind him, and Eiji scrabbles at the dirt to push himself into Ash’s line of vision.

“Ash,” he says desperately. “Talk to me. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Wordlessly, Ash shows him his ankle, which has swollen to five times its size and is marked with two twin puncture wounds. Snake bites. A spiderweb of purplish-black veins jut up Ash’s leg, disappearing beneath the hem of his robe. Eiji is marked by a wave of deja-vu so strong he almost keels over. The image of Skipper’s face, blanched and wan with blood loss flickers briefly over Ash’s, and Eiji struggles to breathe.

“What’s this?” he asks, although he already knows the answer. “Talk to me, Ash. Please.”

Ash inhales and exhales slowly, then looks up at Eiji, shoulders shaking. He lifts the hem of his robe to show the lattice of purple steadily crawling up his chest. “Once the poison reaches my heart, I’ll die,” he says, his voice shaking only once. “I imagine I only have a few minutes left. Go on without me-- hopefully Yut-Lung will be satisfied to return my body to Dino and will leave you alone. Will you build me a grave near our home and come visit sometime, even if my physical body cannot be laid to rest here?”

“Ash,” Eiji sobs. “No, no-- this can’t be it. This can’t be.” However ironic and cruel it was for Eiji’s ankle to be irreparably broken because of a fall just hours after having survived one of the most perilous quests of all time, this right now-- Ash dying from a snake bite after having escaped the clutches of the most powerful man in the entire Mediterranean and what looked to be a trained assassin-- is infinitely more sadistic, and Eiji curses the gods for their unfathomable cruelty even as he wallows in his own powerlessness. His eyes blister with tears, and he can feel a sob building in his gut, threatening to burst free at any moment.

Eiji moves to caress Ash’s cheek. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk as though you’re already dead.”

Ash gives a bitter smile. “I might as well be.” There’s a finality to his tone that scares Eiji even more than the veins crawling up Ash’s skin-- Ash has accepted his fate, and is now simply waiting for Death to guide him across the River Styx.

“Will you hold me?” The question falls off Ash’s lips, a final whisper, and Eiji startles. “I know it’s selfish,” Ash continues, “and I’m sorry for it. I’m not scared of death-- I’ve been waiting patiently for it since I was seven years old. It was only when I met you that I stopped actively wishing to die-- for the first time, I wanted to live, I wanted more time with you. I’ll be happy for as long as you stay near me, Eiji. You’re the most important thing to me-- you’re my whole life.
You are my happiness, and I feel so profoundly blessed to know you. I don’t deserve you, that’s for damn sure, but I’m so grateful that you allowed me to step into your light, if only briefly.”

Eiji pulls Ash into an embrace so their foreheads brush against each other. Eiji cards his fingers through Ash’s sweat-dampened hair, sweeping his lips over Ash’s jaw. “If anything, I am lucky to know you. Aslan means dawn, you told me once. Well, you are the dawn to me. Meeting you was the dawn in my life, that was when I finally started living in the light of day. I was aimless after my injury, and you-- you brought me back to life. I owe you everything.”

“Are you crying?” Ash asks softly through a rasped breath. Eiji nods.

“I’d die for you,” says Eiji. “I’d die a million times, I’d bear Sisyphus’s punishment a hundred times over if it meant you could live. But that doesn’t help us now.”

“Don’t cry.” Ash exhales audibly, a labored sound that hits Eiji like an arrow between the ribs, poisoned with the reminder of their situation. “Please, my Eiji, don’t cry.”

The morning hangs heavy with silence, and Eiji can hear his and Ash’s hearts beating in tandem through the quiet. They hold each other, sheltered in the eye of the storm, as Ash’s heartbeat slows, imperceptibly at first then glaringly obvious as Ash’s lips go ghostly blue and sweat wets through the back of the cotton of his robe.

“I love you, Ash,” Eiji whispers. “I love you so much I feel the words are too small, too insignificant to convey what I feel. Agape-- unconditional, all-encompassing love, the love the gods feel. That’s what I feel for you.”

Ash inhales, soft and sharp, and Eiji pauses in tracing patterns through the sweat-soaked fabric clinging to Ash’s back.

“Ash?” he asks. “Ash?” It’s as though the breath itself is stolen from Eiji’s lungs as he presses a palm to Ash’s chest, checking desperately for a pulse, however feeble and thready it might be.

“Ash?” Something ugly builds in Eiji’s gut as he presses his fingers to Ash’s chest, then to his wrist, then to his neck, all in search of a pulse he can’t seem to find.

“Ash?” Eiji’s fingers are shaking now as he looks up with dread and apprehension at Ash, already knowing what he’s going to see. Ash’s eyes which once spoke of adventure, of the wide open sea, have become dull and glassy. Eiji stares into them even as tears cloud his vision, waiting to see stories dance and come to life, but as Ash continues to stare, unseeing, into the distance, Eiji is forced to reckon with the truth: Ash is dead.

Eiji wraps his arms around Ash’s neck, desperate to permanently commit Ash’s herb-smoke smell to his memory. He’s crying so hard now that his sobs feel raw in his throat. His chest feels heavy, too heavy, and Eiji struggles to breathe under the crushing weight of his newfound loneliness. It’s as though someone’s taken a scythe to his side, carving out a pile of flesh, and Eiji is left to staunch the bleeding with nothing but his bare hands, and has to learn to navigate the world with a brand new body.

He rocks back and forth, still clinging to Ash’s lifeless form. Ash flops vaguely along with Eiji’s motions, and Eiji is suddenly struck with a feeling of jarring displacement-- that Ash, the most vibrant, bright person he knew, has had his vitality stripped from him.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, clutching Ash’s body like a lifeline, sobbing into the white cotton of his robe-- it feels like hours, days, but suddenly, footsteps break him out of the stupor of grief. Eiji raises his head slowly, eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed with crying. He doesn’t lessen his grip on Ash, even as he recognizes Yut-Lung’s shadow above him.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asks brokenly. The fight has been completely knocked from him, and he almost thinks he would welcome death, right now, because at least then he would be reunited with Ash.

Yut-Lung looks down at him, some indescribable emotion brewing under his calm facade. “It should’ve been you,” he spits, then walks away, fists clenched. Somewhere in the distant woods, a scream sounds, and Eiji covers his face with his hands.

Eiji is vaguely aware of his body hauling Ash’s corpse gently over his shoulder to the center of the island, halfway between the temple and the home they had built together, and setting him down on the hard, dehydrated ground. He watches his hands move to close Ash’s eyes, dress him up in funeral garb, and place the customary gold piece under his tongue, but he feels as though he’s tucked away in some little pocket of his mind. His body is moving, but his brain is locked away in some untouchable place he can’t break free from. (To be honest, he’s not sure that he wants to. It hurts less, here.)

There are no shovels, so Eiji scrabbles at the dirt with his bare hands. It gathers under his fingernails, and coats his robe in a thin sheen of dust. The ground comes away reluctantly and slowly in hard little pebbles of dry earth. Eiji works at the dirt of Ash’s grave long after the sun dips below the horizon. He looks down at his hands-- after hours of work, they’re red and ragged, and his cuticles are torn open, his fingers caked with a combination of dried blood and grey dirt. He watches himself, as though from a birds-eye view, lower Ash’s body into the grave, press a final kiss to his forehead, and begin the task of piling dirt over the corpse. The backs of his eyes feel hollow, the tears that fell uncontrollably only a few hours before having disappeared into an all-consuming emptiness. Eiji pauses over the threshold of their home-- if he could feel, he would mourn the fact that Ash would never fill the house with his laughter again-- and grabs a pillar candle made of tallow, although not before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Is that really what he looks like? Dark, almost sunken eyes, a hunched back, sallow complexion. He almost doesn’t recognize himself. The thoughts burn, and Eiji retreats farther into his head.

The wick bubbles slightly as Eiji lights the candle, and watches the flames flicker near Ash’s grave as he sits in silent vigil. It’s an outdated custom, this ritual of sitting with a dead body overnight with a candle to ensure the spirit of the deceased crosses over safely. He’s only seen it performed once, by his mother when his father died. He remembers watching his mother kneel for hours by the grave with only the feeble candlelight to cut through the darkness from the window with his little sister, who was still too young to understand what was happening. Now he watches himself perform the same ritual, whispering prayers to Thanatos, his tongue stumbling over the ancient language until the candle burns down into a stub and a pile of wax, and the sun rises in the sky.

For seven days, Eiji sits in vigil over Ash’s grave, not pausing to eat, drink or sleep. He burns candle after candle, and sings with his lyre until the pads of his fingers bleed and his voice becomes hoarse with the strain of singing for hours on end in the scorching sun, with no water in sight. Although Ash is the one dead and buried in the ground, Eiji feels like a corpse himself. The days bleed together aimlessly, and Eiji starts to think nothing will ever fill the hole of grief inside him.

It’s the ninth or tenth day of his vigil-- Eiji has long since lost count-- when a young nymph child with hair curling around their ears approaches him. Most of the nature spirits and deities have deigned to leave him alone in his grief, and although he’s spent the last few days doing nothing but singing, his vocal cords feel raw with misuse.

“Eiji?” They place a hand on his shoulder-- it’s cool and comforting. They smell faintly of earth. “For ten days and nights you have sung a dirge for your Ash. Your song is so mournful that the spirits have not been able to complete their duties, they are so absorbed in grief. We have spoken between ourselves, and we think you should speak to the god of the dead directly, and entreat him to return your beloved to you.”

“Is-is that even a possibility?” asks Eiji in a grating kind of voice. A spark of hope blooms somewhere inside of him even as he desperately tries to quell it.

“I think so,” says the nymph. “Go to the Taenarum in Laconia-- you should be able to charm the gates open with your song. Do not stop singing while you venture into the realm of the dead-- the music will keep the malignant spirits at bay. Bring coins for Charon, and speak directly to Natasha, the queen of the Underworld. She will hear you out, and if you can manage to persuade her of your love, Blanca is sure to follow suit.”

Eiji rises to his feet. It’s as though his heart has started to beat again. “Do you truly believe it possible?” he asks.

The nymph nods, resolute.

“Thank you for your guidance and your wisdom,” breathes Eiji. “I am truly indebted to you.”

The spirit waves away his thanks. “The forest has faith in you,” they say. “Do not ever waver, for if you do, all is lost.”

Eiji files the words away in his brain as the nymph fades back into the woods. He packs a bag quickly, just fills it with necessities-- food, water, his bow and the like. He takes a sip for the first time in what feels like forever, and realizes exactly how weak and exhausted he is. He takes a few quick bites of bread and gulps down some water, unwilling to waste a single second, and bounds out of the door with more energy than he’s had in quite a while. Hope unfurls and beats its delicate wings in his chest.

______

The journey to Laconia is far from easy, from the band of smugglers that attempt to prey on him, mistaking the softness of his face for weakness, to the terrible storm on the Aegean Sea that threatened to capsize his boat and leave him stranded for shore, to the mysterious magic-wielder that desperately shouted dooming prophecies at him and continued doing so even after Eiji was out of sight. Still, Eiji feels as though he’ll never tire, even as he goes days without sleep. The thought of seeing Ash again, of being able to hold him in his arms sustains him, and keeps adrenaline frantically pumping through his veins.

Laconia, or the End of the World, as it’s colloquially referred to by the townspeople who live in the area, is barren, desolate. The wind whistles through the trees, which stand bare and stock-still. Not even nature spirits make their homes here. The earth itself reeks of death, and Eiji bites back a shudder as he stands in front of the agglomeration of rocks that make up the entrance to the Underworld. This is it-- the point of no return. Very likely, Death and his wife will take his request as a great offense, and he will be banished to live forever in the Underworld and become a ghost himself. If they are feeling particularly cruel, they’ll forbid him from ever seeing Ash again. Even so, Eiji doesn’t hesitate. If there’s any chance Ash can come back to him, however small, however great the danger that awaits, however large the risk to him, he’ll take it without complaint. Eiji takes a deep breath from the bottom of his lungs, raises his hand to the strings of his lyre, and begins to sing.

For a moment, nothing changes. The rocks stand, immobile, and Eiji begins to doubt the nymph’s advice. Perhaps there was never a chance for him, perhaps he was a fool to believe so fervently in a deluded fantasy. But as he continues to sing, the ghostly, desolate feel of the place begins to give way until Eiji’s mournful song fills the entire atmosphere with his grief and his music. Slowly, ever so slowly, the huge stones marking the entrance to the Underworld begin to give way, crumbling to the floor to reveal a dark corridor that’s barely lit with a sparse few torches. Eiji continues playing the lyre, adjusting his song slightly to only require one hand as he ventures into the corridor, wrinkling his nose at the heavy humidity that seems to cling to his skin. He grabs a torches from one of the sconces attached to the rock wall, and holds it in front of him to ward off danger and to light his path.

Eiji realizes with a kind of thrill that he’s the first (and perhaps only) mortal to ever brave entering the realm of Death as a living person, and the enormity of his mission and his request swells inside him. How presumptuous is he, to expect Death to yield for him? Why would he be so special compared to the millions of other mortals who’ve lost their loved ones?

With a start, Eiji pushes down those thoughts. If he means to save Ash, he can’t be bogged down by self-doubt. The nymph had been right: if he wavers, all is lost. He continues to sing, louder and more assured this time, as the corridor opens to a clearing that’s bleary with fog so thick that Eiji can only make out vague shapes through the heavy mist. Dark water flows from a wide river, and a boat bearing a lantern is docked on its banks. Eiji strums a few arpeggios.

“I have come in search of Charon,” he says in a voice far more confident than he actually feels. “I wish to cross the River Styx.”

A hooded figure emerges from behind him, and Eiji resists the urge to jump about fifty feet in the air. “Why? Are you unaware that the living cannot cross over into the Underworld? I would disrespect my duty if I allowed you into Death’s domain. Leave, now. I am granting you a large allowance as it is for not killing you where you stand.”

“I cannot turn back,” says Eiji. “I have come too far to give up now. My lover was killed, and I wish to bring him back.”

“Your request is impossible.” Charon adjusts his cloak so his face is completely obscured.

“Perhaps,” replies Eiji, “and perhaps not. I will take my chances.” With that, he lifts his lyre once again, and begins to sing.

He sings of the Neda, of the children and his storytelling, of Delos, but he mostly sings of Ash. He tells of the family they created together with Skipper, tells of their wedding, and weaves together the story of their relationship from the first time they met to Ash’s tragic end. As he sings, Eiji can sense a shift in the air. The last note leaves his lips, and Charon stands abruptly.

“Do you have payment?” he asks, his voice thick and gruff, and Eiji starts a little.

“I do,” he says finally, and pulls out a pouch of gold coins. “They’re all yours if you’ll take me across.”

Charon nods once. “I’m putting my neck on the line for you, boy, so you might show a little appreciation. You know the risks-- if you die, that’s on you.”

“T-thank you,” Eiji stutters. “I am so grateful for your kindness.”

“That kid of yours-- he was Dino’s, wasn’t he?”

Eiji bristles. “Ash was his own person, not some sort of possession to be owned. Why do you care, anyway? Even if he was, that wouldn’t be my information to share.”

“Sorry,” Charon mutters, with the decency to look somewhat ashamed. “I just-- if anyone deserves more, it’s your boy. What Dino’s doing to those kids is despicable. I just wish there was something I could do. Funny, isn’t it? That Dino’s still human but has more power than gods themselves. Granted, I’m just a minor god, but still.” He clears his throat, and appears to recenter. “Anyway, I’ll take you across. It doesn’t mean much, but I hope you make it. You two deserve to be happy, after everything.”

Eiji nods, emotion forming a lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he repeats, and Charon gestures toward the little rowboat.

“Hurry,” he says. “The journey is long and I don’t want you to have to brave the Underworld after nightfall. It’s much more dangerous then, especially for a mortal like you.”

Eiji steps into the little boat. A puddle of water so dark it’s almost black sloshes around in the bottom of the vessel. Eiji leans over the side of the rowboat, hoping to get a closer look at the river when Charon pulls him back, yanking at the back of his robe.

“Are you insane?” he yelps. “Don’t touch the water, whatever you do.”

“Sorry,” says Eiji, and Charon shakes his head.

“You’re not going to be able to rescue your boy if you keep making stupid mistakes. Just-- don’t touch anything, and don’t engage anyone directly. Avoid eye contact and be smart. Aren’t you going to keep playing?” he asks, motioning to Eiji’s lyre. Eiji realizes belatedly that his fingers have stopped moving, and resumes the music with a few simple chords. He clears his throat and starts singing as Charon unhooks the long length of rope that held the boat against the dock, and they drift out onto the open water. Charon stands behind Eiji and paddles against the current, the oars making little splashing noises each time they cut through the water. Eiji feels as though he’s being escorted to his own funeral, which he is, in a way.

The scenery shifts the deeper Eiji and Charon venture into the Underworld. Eiji looks around eagerly while Charon seems disinterested, as though he’s seen this particular view a million times before, which Eiji supposes he has. Spirits, ghosts and monsters turn their heads as they pass in the rowboat, leaning in towards Eiji’s song. Eiji can feel hundreds of eyes on him, and his stomach clenches with nerves-- he’s never had this large of an audience before. But the thought of Ash sustains him, and he continues singing into the bitter darkness.

It’s a little surreal, as Eiji passes people he’s only ever heard about in stories, and even more so when they physically stop to acknowledge him and his music. Tantalus stands as usual in his pool, but even as the fruit and water evade his touch, he appears not to notice, he’s so entranced in Eiji’s song. Sisyphus appears to stop pushing his boulder up the hill when he hears the first few strains of music, and has to jump out of the way with a shout to avoid the huge rock from crushing him to death. The Danaids stop filling their pitchers with water for the first time in millenia, each of them turning to face Eiji with a wide-eyed expression mirrored on all fifty faces. Ixion’s wheel somehow stills-- is that even possible, thinks Eiji--, and the vultures that had been devouring Tityus’s liver suddenly stop, content to sit perched on his arms and shoulders as they tilt their heads in inclination towards Eiji.

Charon chuckles dryly from behind Eiji. “You know, kid, if you can get the Furies to tear up, I think you might actually have a chance.”

Eiji follows Charon’s glance to the three winged women huddled in a small circle. One of them tilts their head back, and Eiji can see, even from a distance, a tear trickle down her cheek.She’s crying. Eiji made a Fury cry. The thought runs in circles through his head, and he feels pride well up in him. He’s good, he’s a good musician. And he’s going to use his talent to bring Ash home safely. Of that he’s completely certain.
_________________

The boat docks quietly against the shore, the waves lapping gently at the head of the little rowboat. Charon anchors his paddle to the riverbed, and looks expectantly at Eiji, who scrambles onto the riverbank. Bleak, grey nothingness stretches interminably in front of him, and Eiji cowers a little faced with the sheer enormity of his mission. Charon clears his throat awkwardly.

“Good luck,” he says, “I’ve got to-- you know.” He motions over his shoulder to the other side of the river, where Eiji can see ghostly figures waiting on the other side. “You take care.”

Charon grunts in surprise as Eiji turns to wrap him in a bear hug.

“Thank you,” says Eiji. “I will never forget your kindness.”

Charon nods, adjusts his cloak with more than just a hint of embarrassment, then pushes away from the riverbank. Eiji watches him leave, then recenters, plucking out a new song on the lyre. He still has a very long way to go.

Most of his journey passes without incident at all. The ghosts and spirits Eiji feared would cause him trouble all give him a wide berth as he passes-- his music seems to carve out space for him in the Underworld.

Cerberus, the infamous guardian hellhound of the Underworld rears his enormous head at Eiji as he passes, and Eiji almost cowers away in fear before remembering his mission. He needs to be strong if he has any hope of bringing Ash home unscathed. Suddenly, the dog’s three heads don’t look quite so intimidating, and he raises his own high, squaring his shoulders as he sings of grief, and the pain of loss. Thick tears run down the dog’s cheeks and puddle on the floor near Eiji’s feet. Cerberus yields wholly to him, relaxing on his haunches like a domesticated pet. He can’t understand Eiji’s words, but something in the quality and tone of his playing must have touched some part of his spirit. Cerberus cedes the way with a pitiful whine, raising his head and howling along with Eiji’s song.

Eiji follows the curve of the River Styx upstream as he makes his way towards the throne room. As he ventures deeper and deeper into the Underworld, the shadows grow longer and murkier, as if they’re teeming with divinity and death. Eiji suppresses a shudder as he passes the barren landscape, letting his gaze linger briefly over the Fields of Asphodel. He’s too far away to distinguish any individual figures amid the grey fog that blurs both Eiji’s vision and the careful lines between spirit and ghost. Ash is there, somewhere. Nervousness, anticipation, excitement and fear all build in Eiji’s chest as he moves closer and closer to the throne room.

A little spark of hope blooms somewhere in him. The god and goddess of the Underworld are unquestionably powerful, all-knowing sentient beings. There’s no doubt in Eiji’s mind that they know he’s here, and know that he intends to request an audience with him. If they so chose, he’d have been dead, banished to Tartarus, the minute he stepped foot in their realm. Yet they have allowed him to live thus far. The thought propels Eiji forwards as he catches sight of a golden light somewhere in the distance.

The throne hall is the picture of opulence itself, bathed in the gleam of gold and precious gems. The sleek obsidian floor reflects the light of a few sparse torches that give off sufficient light for Eiji to not trip or accidentally veer off in the wrong direction. The ceiling is encrusted with formations of rubies, diamonds and sapphires that cast slightly terrifying shadows onto the walls. There is a ghostly feel to the whole room, and Eiji walks cautiously down the hall, letting his voice fill the darkness.

At last, the thrones themselves come into sight, and Eiji sinks into a low bow, letting his cheek sweep across the floor. He remains kneeled until he hears a high voice call to him.

“Come into the light, that we may see your face.”

Eiji obliges, walking up until he’s only a few feet away from the rulers of the Underworld, and lifts his head slowly. The opulence of the room itself is nothing compared to the thrones, which seem to gleam with wealth and luxury, and Eiji is brusquely reminded of the huge chasm between him and the couple that stands before him. Natasha and Blanca seem to tower over him in their divinity, and Eiji’s breath catches in his throat.

“What is your business here?” Queen Natasha’s voice rings high and true from her perch. Her hair is carefully braided into her head, flowers interspersed in the plaits. Considering the barren luxe of the throne room, the little flowers seem wholly out of place. Natasha moves an imaginary strand of hair from her face and continues. “Mortals are unwelcome in the Underworld, lest they wish to brave the pits of Tartarus. Do you wish for eternal damnation and punishment?”

Eiji shakes his head no, and Queen Natasha waves her hand in impatience, as if remembering.

“You may speak,” she says, and Eiji takes a deep breath.

“My lover,” he begins, “has died unjustly. I wish to bring--”

Queen Natasha cuts him off mid-phrase with a brusque, commanding gesture. “I am going to stop you there, because I am certain you are not fool enough to ask the rulers of the Underworld to stoop so low as to resuscitate an insignificant mortal. Death is permanent, boy, and you would do well to remember it. Go.”

The tone of her words leave no room for argument, but Eiji has come too far to give up now.

“Wait--” Eiji places his fingers delicately over the frets of the lyre, and prepares to sing. He takes a final deep breath, quelling the strains of anxiety that twist uncomfortably in his stomach, closes his eyes, and begins to sing. He allows himself to be transported back in time with his song, back to all the time he spent with Ash, back to the memories of Ash’s bright green eyes looking eagerly into his, back to the overwhelming feeling of family and belonging he once thought he’d never feel again. His voice fills the hall, and even the shadows appear to shrink back, ceding their iron grip of gloom on the Underworld. True, Eiji sings of pain, of loss, but his song practically illuminates the room with love and hope. Eiji doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels the tears gather under his chin, but even through tears, his voice is light and clear, vibrant as a fledgling taking off for the first time. He pours his heart into the song, letting himself feel the full weight of Ash’s loss, mourning perhaps for the first time and singing with an unmatched intensity. Never before has Eiji felt so connected to his music, and as he sings, it feels as though a missing puzzle piece has finally clicked into place.

As the final note leaves his lips, his heart is pounding and his legs are shaking as though he’s just run a hundred miles. Eiji lifts his head in apprehension as he prepares to receive the verdict that will essentially determine the outcome of his life. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels vaguely nauseous.

Eiji hears a shallow inhale from the distance, and realizes with a shock that Queen Natasha is crying. The queen of the Underworld, the only person managed to calm and quell forever the anger of King Blanca, who governed the dead with a fearsome coldness and callousness; Natasha, known and feared by all, is crying. Because of him. Because of his song.

Eiji can’t help the twinge of fear that rackets through him. If Natasha is crying, will Blanca take her tears as an offense? Will Eiji bear the brunt of the punishment? Are they angry? The thoughts circle around in Eiji’s head, all-consuming and impossible to ignore. Vaguely, Eiji sees Queen Natasha bow her head in conversation with her husband, and Eiji’s stomach twists. He’s just about accepted his fate, whatever it may be-- surely they aren’t cruel enough to send him to Tartarus simply for singing, but maybe he’ll be consigned to Asphodel forever, who knows-- when Natasha’s voice sounds, clear as a bell.

“You wish to bring your lover back from the Underworld?”

Eiji can only nod, fearing his voice will shake to the point of distorting his words if he tries to speak.

“You are aware that such a feat has never before been attempted by a mortal?”

Again, Eiji nods mutely.

“Blanca and I may rule the dead, but we are not without mercy nor are we without a heart. Apollo is your father?”

Eiji clears his throat. “Yes.”

“That explains it,” Natasha says, almost as an aside. “I have never before been so touched by music. If you wish to return with your beloved to the mortal world, we will allow it. However, we will set one condition.”

The weight that sat on Eiji’s spirit for weeks dissipates, leaving him free and light in a way he wouldn't have believed impossible. Ash is coming back to him. Ash is coming back. He did it. Eiji pushes down the feeling of victory coursing through him so as to listen attentively to Natasha’s next words.

“When you lead your lover out of the Underworld, do not turn back to look into his face. Keep your eyes fixed on the horizon until the both of you have reached the mortal world. If you turn back, he will be lost forever to the Underworld.” She glances at Blanca. “I would be interested to know if love truly transcends sight, as they say.”

Eiji lets out a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he was holding. Not turning back… that sounds simple enough. Almost too simple. Suddenly, despite the terror that was his compagnon with every step he took into the Underworld, Eiji can’t help but feel like this was all too easy. He’d expected much more resistance from Charon, from Cerberus, from the tortured spirits and especially from Natasha and Blanca, and some insidious part of his mind tells him that this is all a trick. Gods, in their divinity, can be cruel, and he wouldn’t put it past them to lead him all the way, blind with hope that Ash was following behind him just to find when it was all too late, that Ash had never been there in the first place.

Do not ever waver, for if you do, all is lost.

The nymph’s words from before come to Eiji’s mind unbidden, and he steels his resolve. Doubting the gods and their intentions is dangerous, and he’ll tear himself apart with anxiety if he continues on this particular train of thought. He just has to accept the gods’ words at face value, because worry will ultimately cause him nothing but pain.

“Thank you,” Eiji breathes. “I am-- incredibly grateful.” Eiji bites down the words that were on the tip of his tongue just a minute ago-- he’d meant to say, I truly am indebted to you, but his mother had raised him better than to make vague promises to the gods. They’d collect on his promise, urge him to fulfill his debt, which could either be innocent but more likely vicious and cruel.

“Thank you,” Eiji finishes, lamely. Natasha indicates with a gesture to the Fields of Asphodel, which stand, a greyish spot in the distance.

“He is there,” she says. “Identify and bring him back to the surface without once turning back and he is yours.”

Eiji sinks into a low bow. “Thank you, my lady.” He feels a little foolish, repeating the same words of thanks over and over again, but he can’t think of any other words to describe his sheer gratitude. His mind is clouded with memories, thoughts of Ash. In his mind, they’ve already reached the mortal world, and they’re dancing together, Eiji laying his head on Ash’s chest as they rock back and forth. Then they’re sitting at the table, eating the hare that Eiji had managed to catch, this time, and Eiji feeds Ash a few bites and tucks a stray strand of hair behind one of Ash’s ears, fingers ghosting over his cheekbone. It’s all so close that Eiji can almost taste it. Reluctantly, he draws himself out of his fantasy-- he’s in the final stretch, now, he’s almost there-- he just has to make this last part of the journey count.

When Queen Natasha nods, Eiji raises his head shyly, and waits for her dismissal. She motions him out of the throne room, and Eiji leaves, head still bowed in deference. As soon Eiji’s traveled far enough that the throne room is simply a glittering, distant memory, he breaks into a desperate run towards the Fields of Asphodel. They stand, barren and desolate, a ghostly wind whipping through the leafless trees with such vigor that Eiji’s hair is blown over his eyes.

“Ash?” Eiji calls, projecting his voice from his diaphragm so it carries through the grey. “Ash? Can you hear me?”

None of the blurred forms pay him any mind, continuing to move mindlessly through the fog. Eiji presses on, peering into each face in hopes of finding Ash.

“Ash? Ash?” Eiji continues his call as he attempts to comb through Asphodel, however, the fields stretch on for miles, an endless ocean of death. Continuing at this pace, Eiji would be searching for years, and Eiji wonders if this is the gods’ trick-- present him with a possibility and have him comb through the millions of dead for centuries, searching for a needle in a haystack.

(No, thinks Eiji. Not searching for a needle in a haystack. Rather, searching for a very specific strand of straw in a haystack.)

Eiji’s been searching for hours now, and exhaustion is beginning to seep in. Time seems to dissolve into molasses in Asphodel. Has an hour passed, or several weeks? How would Eiji even know the difference, anyway? His mind begins to spiral. How foolish was he to think it possible that the gods of the Underworld, the ones known specifically for their coldness, would allow him simply to part with his lover? That they would allow him to disrupt the balance between life and death, to steal his Ash from Death’s claws? He moves to lean against a tree, its trunk curved with the impact of the wind and rain. The bark is cool against his cheek as he huddles into a ball. He’s accepted his fate-- the gods had meant to humiliate him, and it had worked. He has been properly punished for his hubris and if they mean for him to stay forever in the Fields of Asphodel, he has no choice but to bend to their wishes.

A pale hand moves to rest over his, and Eiji looks up with surprise. In his distractedness and grief, he hadn’t noticed the stranger who had been kneeling beside the same tree. The stranger pushes back his hood, shaking the hair out of his eyes, and Eiji’s breath catches in his throat. He’d recognize that face anywhere. He has it memorized, after all.

“A-Ash?” He reaches out a hand to touch Ash’s face, as if to assure himself that Ash is truly there, that he isn’t some hallucination borne from Eiji’s grief-addled mind. Ash’s skin is cold against Eiji’s fingertips, and, like the other spirits, he’s blurring around the edges, but he’s definitely there.

“Ash?” Eiji tries once more, and something in Ash’s face brightens in recognition.

“Eiji!”

Eiji runs into Ash’s arms, all care flung to the wind, and presses against him, craving contact as if it’ll convince him that this isn’t all a dream. Ash smells of dust, but Eiji hardly notices as he rocks back and forth with Ash in his arms, murmuring soft, sweet things into his hair.

“What are you doing here?” asks Ash once the thrill of reunion has mostly passed. “You didn’t--”

“No,” Eiji hastens to reply. “I didn’t-- I’m still alive, I promise. I came to bring you back.”

Ash makes a sound in the back of his throat and turns away.

“You know you can’t--”

“I can.” Eiji turns to face him, eyes shining. “I asked the gods and they said yes.”

Ash jerks his hand away. “No, they didn’t. You-you don’t know the gods like I do. There’s always a price, always a caveat. What were the terms? What was your arrangement? There’s a trick in here somewhere-- no way Blanca would ever let a soul leave.”

Eiji blinks once, twice. “When I lead you out of the Underworld, I must not look behind me. The queen said she wanted to know whether love could transcend sight or not. But I do not think it is a trick,” he says slowly. “The queen cried when I played. I do not think she would fake such a thing.”

Ash turns toward Eiji, his look equal parts incredulous and intense. “She cried?”

Eiji nods. “You don’t believe me?” he asks, voice tinged with hurt.

“No, no,” says Ash. “Of course she did. Eiji-- I’m so, so proud of you, just-- wow. I’ve never heard of either her or Blanca ever crying before. I think you’re the only person, the only musician in the world who could’ve accomplished that.”

Eiji blushes. “I did it for you,” he says softly. He takes Ash’s hand in his and squeezes gently. Ash’s fingers are ice-cold, and Eiji blows on his knuckles lightly to warm them.

“Your hands are so cold,” he says off-handedly.

“Asphodel is cold.” Ash leans into Eiji’s touch. “And lonely. I can’t believe you came for me,” he adds. “You probably shouldn’t have.”

Eiji makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat. “And why is that?”

“I don’t like you putting yourself in danger for me. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, Eiji.”

Eiji flashes Ash a bright smile. “Save the lecture for when we get back, Ash. And look!” He stands abruptly, letting go of Ash’s hand, and twirls, his cloak billowing behind him. “See? I’m not injured in the slightest!”

Ash’s mouth curves up in a smile. “Alright,” he says. “You’ve convinced me. Let’s go.”

He moves to grab Eiji’s hand, and Eiji pulls him away, their shared bright laughter cutting through the bleakness of Asphodel as the ghosts around them clear a path for them to pass through.

The exit of the Underworld is far more elusive than Eiji anticipated. He keeps his eyes fixed firmly in front of him as they walk, hand in hand, Ash following dutifully behind. They’ve walked past the throne room, making large circles around the Underworld in search of the little path that leads to the surface. Theoretically, it shouldn’t be hard to find-- according to legend, it’s marked with foliage, completely covered in greenery, thus contrasting heavily with the waste and desolation of Blanca’s realm-- but even so, what feels like hours pass before Eiji finally spots a singular bay leaf, the green color almost hypervisible against the greyscale of the Underworld. From there, it’s almost too simple-- a short walk reveals a winding uphill path which vaguely bears a resemblance to one of Eiji’s favorite forest trails, the one he would take when he wanted to clear his head. The floor is swathed in fallen leaves-- a fragrant carpet of bay and olive.

The rain mists lightly through their clothes as Eiji takes the first step, and it’s banal, ordinary. Eiji feels almost as though the first step out of the realm of death should be accompanied by some sort of fanfare, but it’s so quiet-- the only sound filling the space is the delicate noise of dried leaves crunching under Eiji’s feet. Ash, as usual, is soundless, and moves quiet and unassuming as a cat, a true testament to his name. The silence fills Eiji’s ears, ricocheting and ringing through the hollow sockets of his skull.

Vaguely, Eiji registers that Ash has slipped his hand out of Eiji’s. That’s fine-- it’s probably much more comfortable for Ash this way, to walk without having to awkwardly hold his hand in front of him, but Eiji can’t help but feel a twinge of loneliness, and it’s enough for his anxious thought to come back at full force.

“Ash?” he calls softly, his voice catching slightly. “How are you?”

No response. Perhaps he didn’t hear.

“Ash?” If the soundlessness was loud before, it’s downright oppressive now. “Aslan?” Maybe using Ash’s given name will jolt him into replying. But no, the silence stretches on.

Eiji looks down, and realizes with a sort of detachment that his hands have curled, unbidden, into tight fists, his fingernails leaving purplish crescent-moon indents in the flesh of his palms.

“Aslan?” he tries, louder this time, and even pauses in his step to listen for anything, the slightest sound he might’ve missed, but is faced only with bitter silence.

Do not ever waver, for if you do, all is lost.

Once again, Eiji thinks back to the nymph’s words, but his determination and certainty in his mission is steadily waning as time passes with no response from Ash. Eiji bites down hard on his bottom lip, allowing the burst of pain to clear the beginnings of panic from his mind. He takes a few shallow breaths, and recenters. Eiji wills himself to ignore the voice in his head which grows increasingly louder, whispering to him that Ash isn’t behind him, was never following in the first place, that this was all a trick designed to humiliate the mortal arrogant enough to believe he held sway in the affairs of the gods. He moves faster, takes bigger, louder steps, allowing his breath and the crack of dead leaves to fill the empty space that separates him from Ash.

The path to the surface spans infinitely in front of Eiji. The sky lightens, the flower buds bloom open and color returns to the nature around him slowly but surely as Eiji runs through the endless stretch of uphill climb.There would be a puzzling beauty to the scene if Eiji could focus on anything other than the uncertainty of Ash’s presence behind him.

Eiji’s been running for an hour, maybe, when his foot catches on a root protruding from the dirt, half-covered in leaves, and he inhales sharply, doubling over in the middle of the path. His ribs ache with exertion, and his ankle seems to be crying out in pain. Stupid, stupid, stupid to have pushed himself so hard physically. He stays hunched over in the dirt for a moment longer than necessary in hopes that Ash will emerge from behind him, and ask whether he’s alright, but is forced to accept that no one is coming to help him up. With a groan, he forces himself upright, and continues along the trail, hobbling on his weak ankle.

Now that his blood is no longer rushing around his brain, that his heartbeat isn’t thumping in his ears, that the sound of his heavy breath isn’t drowning out his thoughts, all of his previous anxieties come back to haunt him at full force, and EIji finds himself grasping at something, at anything to fill the quiet.

“So,” he begins, his voice overly amiable, “how have you been, Ash?”

Stupid question. He died, he was brought to Asphodel. Obviously he hasn’t been doing well.

“Okay,” Eiji continues. “I’d imagine Blanca and Natasha ordered you not to talk to me. When the queen said she wanted to know whether could transcend sight, she probably should’ve made hearing a clause, too.” Eiji laughs, a tinny shadow of a sound that falls short from an actual laugh. The joke rots in the open air.

“I met Charon. He seemed nice enough. I didn’t think anyone would be nice, down here, but it seemed like he genuinely hoped we succeeded.”

’I didn’t know Dino’s influence extended even as far as the realm of the dead,’ Eiji doesn’t say. Ash probably doesn’t want a reminder of Dino right now, and the last thing Eiji wants to do is bring up those undoubtedly traumatic memories. All he wants to do is to wrap Ash in the warmest of blankets, and make him a strong cup of tea as they sit together under the stars.

“What do you want to do when we get back?” Eiji asks. “The house is kind of a mess-- that’s my fault, I guess. But I’ll clean it, don’t worry, and we can eat together. What do you want for dinner? I’m guessing you don’t want anything complicated, so how about Teganitai? I’ll fry them with honey and sesame if you like. That’s how my mother always made them.” Not even the promise of delicious, golden-brown pancakes are able to coax a response out of Ash, and the lack of response feels like an arrow to Eiji’s gut.

Carrying out a one-sided conversation isn’t as easy as it seems, Eiji learns. After about a half an hour, he quickly runs out of topics to keep the conversation going, and he dissolves back into uncomfortable silence. He trudges on awkwardly, leaning against a large wooden stick to avoid putting too much pressure on his ankle.

“I feel like a village elder with this stick,” Eiji confesses. “The soothsayer in my hometown had the most incredible cane-- it was carved with animals, and all the children wanted to touch it. I remember my sister throwing a fit as a child because she wanted a cane just like his. My mother thought it was hilarious.”

Even though Eiji isn’t expecting a response, the ensuing silence still hurts, just a little, but he fixes a smile to his face and continues.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I got lost on a mountain? I was still very young, and some of my friends and I went out to Mount Pastra. It’s near West Attica, if you didn’t know-- it’s not that tall, as far as mountains go, but I suppose when you’re ten years old and have a pitiful sense of direction, it seems overwhelming. Anyway, it was December, and we were avoiding our lessons and wanted to play games, so we ran away to Mount Pastra without telling anyone where we were going. But being ten years old, we forgot that the sun sets around six in the evening, and it got dark really quickly, and we got lost almost immediately. The adults found us hours later, huddled on the floor sobbing. My mother was not pleased.” Eiji laughs, caught up in the memory.

“It turned out alright in the end, and we all laugh about it now, but back then, it was really scary. Fumiko--my sister-- was terrified. She thought I was going to get eaten by lions. Not sure where she got that idea from, considering there are no lions in Greece, but I suppose childrens’ imaginations border on fantastical a lot of the time.”

Eiji shakes his head and sighs, continuing on. They’re almost there, now-- he can almost feel the air hum with the expectancy of the life that exists at the surface. He turns a corner, and from the distance, he can see a faint square of day, and he almost wants to cringe away, it’s so bright. He’s only about a step away from the mortal world, he’s effectively reached the point of no return. The sky glimmers just ahead of him, impossibly blue.

It’s as if seeing that small corner of sky destroys the wall Eiji has spent the entire journey painstakingly constructing, and he crumbles into sobs, words catching in his throat as he struggles to breathe. He’s already seen Ash die once, and the thought of losing him a second time is more than he can possibly bear. There is no life without Ash, and he would rather consign himself to oblivion in Asphodel than have to live alone.

“Ash,” he says thickly, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes as if to stop his tears, “Aslan. Please tell me you are there. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

Eiji takes a shuddering step forward, then falls to his knees in despair.

“You don’t even have to speak,” he says. “Please, even just a sound would do. Please, please, please.”

Eiji pauses a moment, craning his ears for even the slightest noise-- the faint crack of a tree branch, a soft inhale, the slight rustle of a cloak-- but it’s all in vain. The silence envelops everything, crushing Eiji with its sheer weight. Eiji feels like he’s drowning.

“Please, Ash.” The words come out as a quiet, desperate gasp. “Please don’t leave me alone. Not again.”

The silence stretches on interminably somewhere behind him.

“Ash?” Eiji asks for the last time, the word dying on his tongue like a fledgling too frail to survive the onslaught of winter. “Love?”

Something sinks deep in Eiji’s chest as he realizes the truth he’s been trying to deny-- Ash isn’t, was never following behind him. He’s been walking alone, a naive fool, his eyes fixed on the horizon, all in search of a future that would never be his. He won’t return to the mortal world, he decides. Not without Ash. Something inside Eiji twists at the thought of death because of its permanence, but that thin, reedy voice is quickly buried under the reminder of the utter emptiness of life without Ash. It was suffocating, hollow, and Eiji finds he really would rather die than go back to nothingness. Maybe he’s weak, but he’ll accept that weakness and live with it.

“I’m sorry, Ash.” The words echo in the open air.

Eiji bows his head with shame, turns around and lifts his head slowly. There standing just inches away from him is Ash, his bright hair almost glowing in the sunlight. Eiji hovers a tentative hand over Ash’s chest-- they’re so close Eiji can see every pore on his face. He drinks in the sight of Ash with the desperation of a man dying of thirst in the desert. He moves forward to touch him, and that’s when Ash’s eyes grow stricken, shock and horror contorting his face.

“Ash?”

As solid as Ash was before, he’s dissolving now into little particles of light, fading and dimming right in front of Eiji’s eyes. Eiji reaches out a desperate hand to catch him, to bring him back, but to no avail-- within a matter of seconds, Ash is completely gone, leaving Eiji alone. He stumbles forward blindly in grief, and hears a thud as the entrance to the Underworld closes with an ominous finality. Eiji falls to his knees, strings cut, and scrabbles for his lyre in desperation. He begins playing again, singing in desperation with such intensity he fears lyre’s strings will snap, all in the hopes that the Underworld will open itself for him again, will allow him one final chance to bring Ash back.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Eiji knows it’s impossible. It was astounding enough that Natasha and Blanca afforded him this one opportunity-- he’s not getting a second chance. Perhaps Natasha was right, after all-- love isn’t blind, after all. The thought burns through Eiji like poison. If only he’d loved Ash just a little bit more, then maybe he’d be with Eiji now.

Another voice tells him that he can’t possibly love Ash more, that it’s physically impossible for him to care for Ash more than he already does, but it’s immediately drowned out by the torrent of self-loathing that courses through him. Ash has gone through so much, so much more than Eiji can ever hope to fathom. All Eiji had to do in comparison was to walk a couple miles without looking behind him, and he couldn’t even do that. Pathetic.

Eiji continues playing and singing with unwavering heartache for hours on end, but the rocks that had once been so susceptible to his music now refuse to yield to his song: the Underworld firmly remains closed to him. His exhaustion from the past couple of weeks has begun to catch up to him now, and he has to fight to keep his eyelids from closing and his fingers from slipping on the lyre’s strings. It’s two days after his failed attempt to bring Ash back when his voice gives out completely. The only noises he can produce are faint, unintelligible rasps. Still, he rests his hands on their familiar positions on the instrument, fully intending to continue playing, until he notices that the dull throb in his fingertips has grown into a sharp pain. The pads of his fingers are calloused and bleeding around the cuticles, and Eiji is suddenly reminded of Ash’s funeral, of his own unrelenting playing until his body simply gave out underneath him, remembers the all-consuming feeling of grief that smothered him, filled his lungs with sand. Exactly like Ash’s funeral, Eiji thinks, except this time, Ash’s death is entirely Eiji’s fault. Eiji shuts his eyes so tightly that bright colors dance over his vision, tightens his grip on the lyre and keeps playing.

It’s been four days when Eiji feels a cool touch on his shoulder, and he jerks violently away from the gentleness. He failed in his mission-- Ash is suffering in Asphodel, alone, because of him. He doesn’t deserve kindness in any capacity.

“Eiji?”

It’s a nymph, an older one. This one looks old enough to be Eiji’s mother, and they gaze at him with a kind of profound sadness.

“Eiji, you can go. Charon asked if we would tell you to go back home. Learn to live without him. Please. You still have time-- don’t throw it away.”

Eiji throws them the most vicious glare he can possibly produce. “Tell that coward to tell me himself,” he spits. He knows he’s being unfair, that he shouldn’t take out his grief on Charon, who had been nothing but kind, but he finds he just doesn’t care about anything, anymore. “Who do you think you are, barging in here and telling me how to live my life? Go!” The last few words seem to tear from Eiji’s throat, dissolving into a wretched scream of hurt, and the nymph backs away, seemingly terrified.

Eiji curls up into a ball and puts his head in his hands. This isn’t who he is-- he isn’t the type of person to lash out, to take out his anger on innocents who were only looking after him. He isn’t sure who he is anymore.

Eventually, Eiji stops singing entirely. He keeps his lyre safe, wraps it delicately in leather, looks after the strings and even polishes it every morning, but doesn’t touch it anymore. There’s no use. No amount of singing will bring Ash back. He’s gone, and permanently, this time.

Time continues to march forward, even as Eiji wishes it wouldn’t. Since Ash’s death, he moves slowly, but the world doesn’t wait for him, continuing to move at its brisk, unforgiving pace. Eiji can feel himself getting left behind, and the retreat is easier than he could have possibly imagined. The leaves unfurl then fall, crumbling into dirt and leaving the trees barren in their wake. The birds love, nest, and fly away with their young twittering and flailing behind them.

Through all this changing of the seasons, only Eiji remains stagnant. It’s as though he has remained frozen in time since Ash’s death-- he can’t grow, can’t change anymore. Not without Ash. It’s lonely in a detached sort of way-- Eiji isn’t part of the world, anymore. He simply skims the surface of it, passes through without so much as a ripple to indicate he was even there at all.

Eiji isn’t sure how much time has elapsed when he hears a voice he knows all too well call from behind him.

“Did you actually do it?”

Eiji starts, blinks his eyes with surprise as he registers Yut-Lung’s presence behind him. He turns slowly. “What?”

“I heard you went all the way to the Underworld to bring Ash back. Is that true?”

“I tried to,” says Eiji bitterly, and ducks his head. “But I failed. What is it that you want from me? Haven’t you done enough already?”

“Why?” asks Yut-Lung, pointedly ignoring the last part of Eiji’s reply. “Why would you go so far for him? You know you could’ve been condemned to eternal punishment like Lycaon or King Salmoneus, right? You would’ve died for him? You would willingly have accepted torture for him?”

Eiji looks up a little blankly, as though the answer should be obvious. “Of course I would’ve,” he says. “I love him-- I’ve loved him since I first met him and will continue to love him for the rest of my life. I would do anything for him, regardless of the cost to my own safety. That’s what love is.”

Yut-Lung furrows his eyebrows in remembrance. “When I was a child, I had a mother,” he starts. “She took the sword that was meant for me when Dino’s armies invaded. I watched her die right in front of me. Is it like that?”

“I suppose so.” Eiji turns away as if to signify that he’s done with this conversation.

“Wait--” says Yut-Lung, almost desperately. “I’m-I’m sorry.” The reluctant words seem to stick in his throat as though he’s not used to apologizing. “What happened to Sing wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t Ash’s. Golzine was a cruel and sadistic man-- Sing and the others were expendable to him. It wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have threatened to bring Ash back, and I shouldn’t have tried to kill you. I’m the reason Ash died. I’m sorry,” he mutters, softly as though it’s a huge confessional, which, Eiji supposes, it is. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t blame you,” Eiji says, and is shocked to find that the words are actually true. “You didn’t want any of this, not any more than I did. You didn’t give Ash the venomous bite, so don’t blame yourself. What happened to Ash was just that--an accident.”

Yut-Lung scans the clearing, seemingly searching for something, stopping when he settles on the leather-wrapped lyre. “You stopped playing,” he says with a gesture. “Why did you stop?”

Eiji starts a little, surprised at the sudden change in conversation. “I couldn’t bring Ash back. Now, I can’t play anymore.”

Yut-Lung makes a noise of disapproval from the back of his throat. “You should play,” he says. “What happened to Ash wasn’t your fault, either. Ash wouldn’t want you to give up music on his accord.”

“It’s not just that,” says Eiji, hoping that Yut-Lung registers the hesitancy in his voice and will abandon this particular vein of conversation. “I physically can’t play anymore. I’ve tried. It doesn’t sound the way it used to.”

“Does it really need to sound the same, though? Surely your sound and your music can evolve as you grow and change as a person. I think,” says Yut-Lung slowly, “and I don’t mean to overstep, but I think you’re caging yourself. You’re allowed to live without Ash, you know. And you can love him and still continue to live the rest of your life. You have time. Ash doesn’t. Use it wisely, honor him, and you’ll be reunited some day. Life is short, and Ash wouldn’t want you to spend what little time you have trying as hard as you can to fade away.”

He turns to leave soundlessly, but this time, Eiji is the one to stop him.

“Wait--” he says. “Do you need a place to stay?”

Yut-Lung arches a perfectly drawn brow, but answers, albeit reluctantly. “No. I’m going back to the Lee court. I think it’s high time we absolve our kingdom of Dino’s rule. He’s brought us nothing but devastation. And what happened to Sing, what happened to Ash-- hell, even what happened to me-- shouldn’t have happened. Who knows if I’ll be successful, but I have to try. If you can travel all the way to the Underworld to bring Ash back, I can do this.”

“Once things settle, I’ll visit you sometime,” Eiji offers, his mouth moving before his brain has a chance to catch up. He feels a little strange and perhaps a little foolish for wanting to spend time with someone who just a year ago was hell-bent on killing him, but Eiji is learning to accept that life is far more complicated than it might initially appear, and that people, and their motivations, are complex and multi-faceted.

Yut-Lung’s mouth curves into something that Eiji thinks initially is a grimace, but eventually realizes it’s a funny sort of smile, as if Yut-Lung’s facial muscles are unused to the act, and Eiji bites back the urge to laugh. Something in him cracks open.

“I’d like that,” says Yut-Lung quietly. “Maybe I’ll come see you again, too. If time allows,” he adds hastily as an afterthought

“Of course-- if time allows,” Eiji returns.

“You could--” starts Yut-Lung, breaking eye contact. “You could call me Yue. If you wanted.”

“Alright, Yue,” says Eiji, and the name curls in Eiji’s mouth, light and soft with the promise of friendship. “Until next time.”

They stand there, exchanging awkward smiles until Yut-Lung (Yue, Eiji’s mind corrects) turns on his heel and disappears into the forest.

Eiji watches Yue leave silently, then turns his attention to his lyre. His fingers tremble as he unwraps the soft covering, revealing the instrument, which shines still as though new. Eiji brushes his fingers over the frets-- a ghost of a touch, barely there-- and the memories hit him so hard, he feels almost as though a speeding boulder has ripped a hole right through his chest. He wasn’t aware of how many memories he had unknowingly poured into the instrument, and he takes a moment to live in them for just a little-- the memories of singing with Skip, whose voice faltered and squeaked whenever EIji’s songs went too high or too low, of trying to teach Ash to cook and collapsing into giggles when Ash had presented him with a pile of chopped but unwashed potatoes, because apparently, ‘how was he to know that he was supposed to wash the potatoes, Eiji-- no it wasn’t obvious, stop laughing at him’. He relives the visceral terror he felt when he’d heard Skip’s thin, high scream that one June day, feels the exhaustion so heavy it seemed to seep into his very bones as he and Ash began the joint work of digging a grave for the first time. He thinks back to the sheer happiness he felt the day of his and Ash’s wedding, and smiles when he thinks of how scandalized some of the older, more conservative members of his village would be if they ever heard about his far-from-traditional marriage. He remembers the domesticity of married life, how each day seemed to carry its own unique adventure, and feels his heart swell with love with the memory. He thinks back to all the good times while processing and allowing himself to feel the bad-- the horror of seeing the lines that snaked up Ash’s torso, palm-lines that foretold destruction and nothingness, the days spent completely dissociated, the terror he felt venturing into the Underworld, and the terrible uncertainty that gripped at him, rooted deep into his heart and led him to committing the final decision he’d regret for the rest of his life: turning around.

It’s as if allowing himself to indulge in memory breaks the final dam, and Eiji puts his hands to his cheeks in wonder, blinking a little when they come away wet. He’s crying, but he isn't quite sure why. They’re not tears of pain, exactly, and they’re certainly not tears of joy, but they’re cathartic and real, and as he continues to cry, Eiji begins to feel just a little bit lighter. Not because he’s letting go of his memories, but the opposite-- instead of locking away his memories in an untouchable box of pain for him to lug around, he allows them to rest inside of him peacefully. Ash and Skipper will always be with him because the little time Eiji was able to spend with the both of them has shaped his life and will continue to color its trajectory.

Thinking of Ash isn’t just an onslaught of pain anymore, Eiji realizes, because instead of focusing on the pain of loss, he remembers how much he loves Ash, and how much Ash loves him, and the memory of that kind of affection envelops Eiji, surrounds him like the warmest of blankets.

Eiji is still crying softly, but he’s smiling, too, and the contradiction so confusing and raw and real that Eiji stops thinking, and sits in the vulnerability of the moment, allows it to fill him up.

When his tears have finally dried, Eiji takes a final shuddering breath, and places his fingers over the strings of the lyre.

“Thank you, Ash.” Eiji allows the words to dissipate into the quiet of the afternoon, then begins to sing.

The song feels different than the music he made when Ash was alive, but it’s familiar in its own way, somehow. Eiji thrums a few delicate chords, and allows himself to get swept up in the gentle melodies that speak fiercely of a home that resides just out of reach, because for Eiji, home isn’t a particular place, it’s a person. Home, for Eiji, is Ash. Whereas his vocal cords felt frayed and snapped before, the song spills easily from his throat now, as if through crying, he’s dislodged a stone that pressed on his voice. The trees, boulders and grasses that make up Eiji’s landscape all seem to hum the restlessness of his music, and Eiji feels almost as though the earth is mourning and celebrating Ash with him. It’s freeing but painful as Eiji finally releases his complicated feelings surrounding Ash and his quest to the Underworld to air and dry in the crisp November air.

Eiji’s song ends softly, a last exhale that continues long after the final plucked chord dies on the lyre’s strings. He bows over the instrument, then lifts his head, holding the lyre to his chest. The forest around him is quiet except for the last few relentless cicadas who screech softly into the afternoon. As irritating and ear-splitting as it is, Eiji finds that it’s reassuring, in its own way, to know that no matter how much he changes, certain aspects of life remain constant, and there’s comfort in that knowledge, even if those things are insects that chirp far too loudly for their own good.

Eiji laughs lightly, as the sound echoes through the clearing, Eiji is reminded abruptly that this is the first time he’s laughed since Ash died.

“Thank you, Ash,” Eiji repeats one final time, running his fingers over the cool metal of his lyre. “Thank you.”

__________________

And so, the years pass. Eiji resumes his old role as a bard, and moves along Greece’s various rivers, telling all the epics he knows. The villagers marvel at his talent, asking if his lyre was enchanted, and Eiji accepts their praise with a smile. The children particularly seem drawn to his stories like moths to the flame, and Eiji loves them all dearly. He sees Skipper in every single one of their bright eyes and insistent clamoring for more stories. They listen eagerly to all of his songs, but their favorite-- and Eiji’s favorite to tell-- is the story of Ash and Eiji. The children all think they’re clever as they prod and pry Eiji for more information-- ‘are you the Eiji in your story? Is it all true?’-- and each time, Eiji responds with ridiculously vague, roundabout answers that irritate the children to no end. He often ends up pelted with handfuls of grass and dirt, but it’s all in good fun, and Eiji finds it rather endearing.

Although Eiji’s travels impede their communication, he makes a point of visiting Yue every time he passes Mount Olympus. Sometimes they talk, sometimes not, but Eiji looks forward to these moments of companionship, no matter how brief they may be. Yut-Lung might not look it because of his surly demeanor, but he’s an excellent host, and his greenhouse, which Eiji has had the pleasure of visiting multiple times, is truly spectacular. Poisonous, perhaps, but stunning nonetheless. There’s a joy in friendship, Eiji discovers, and he finds himself ever looking forward to sharing a meal with Yut-Lung even when he’s halfway across the Mediterranean.

When Eiji finally passes, it’s quiet and calm. He’s old now, well into forty years, and has reached an age where he feels Blanca’s shadow in every creak of his weary joints. Eiji doesn’t fear death-- how could he, being the only mortal to ever venture into the Underworld and emerge unscathed?-- so his passing is expected, and peaceful. A transition into a new state of being. One where he’ll finally get to see Ash again. The thought of Ash makes the prospect of giving up his mortal life easier to bear.

He dies surrounded by the occupants of a village he spent many months in, one in which he taught the children--academics, obviously, but also of the world around them. The village elders told Eiji repeatedly that they were in his debt, but Eiji disagreed vehemently each time. They had taught him as much as he had been able to instruct them if not more. There’s crying, a quiet sniffling of childrens’ noses as Eiji imparts to them a final piece of wisdom: “in life, do not falter. You are capable of more than you imagine,” and his eyes flutter for a final time. It’s the gentle extinguishing of a long-burning candle, and beyond anything else, it’s peaceful.

When Eiji opens his eyes again, he’s on the banks of the Styx. It’s been years, but everything is exactly as he remembers it.. He feels under his tongue for the customary gold piece, sending a silent prayer of thanks to the person who deigned to perform the funeral rites for him, and steps toward Charon’s docked boat. The black waves lap gently at the boat’s bow. Charon emerges from the mist, throws back his hood, and looks at Eiji with an expression of utter disbelief and awe.

“You made it!” he crows, enveloping Eiji in a bear hug that Eiji eagerly reciprocates, despite being a little startled at the sudden contact. Charon hadn’t really seemed like a touchy person when Eiji had first met him, but people change over the years, as Eiji knows all too well.

As if remembering himself, Charon steps back awkwardly from the hug, gesturing Eiji toward his little rowboat.

“But you already know the way, of course,” Charon says. “First and only mortal to take this trip twice! Now how’s that for a legacy!” He claps Eiji on the back with such force that Eiji almost falls into the river and only barely manages to throw out his hands to catch himself in time.

They row leisurely down the river. This time, the spirits of the damned and the tortured souls don’t seem anywhere near as terrifying, and Eiji is able to enjoy the ride and the gentle lull of the waves. Death is a lot more peaceful than Eiji could’ve possibly imagined, and he finds himself hoping that Ash’s passing was as tranquil as his own.

Suddenly, even though Eiji hasn’t ever been confronted with this particular fear before, it’s all he can think about. Is Ash angry at him? Does he secretly resent Eiji for turning around, for ruining their chance at happiness. Does he even feel the same way for Eiji after all these years?

Eiji can feel his hands start to shake with anxiety as the possibilities swirl endlessly around his head. Charon’s gruff voice cuts through his reverie.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says. “I met your boy during his passing-- he was completely besotted; you could see it in his eyes. Love like that can withstand just about anything. Twenty-some years are practically nothing in the Underworld anyway.”

Charon places a large hand on Eiji’s shoulder, and it almost feels like something a father would do.

“Don’t worry,” he says gently. “It’ll be alright. I promise.”

Eiji nods and blinks away the tears that were beginning to form in the corners of his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, and the boat bumps gently against the opposite bank of the Styx. Charon throws out a loop of coiled rope and docks the boat, motioning for Eiji to step out.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again,” says Charon. “Good luck out there.”

Eiji nods, then walks into the fog of the Underworld, head held high.

The gates of the Underworld loom ominously above Eiji, but he pays them no mind and shoulders bravely through. The well-trod path winds and twists until he comes face to face with Cerberus. The hellhound stills as he spots Eiji, a spark of recognition gleaming in his eyes, and he relaxes on his haunches, tongues hanging limply out of his mouths. Sensing the invitation, Eiji moves to stroke one of Cerberus’s noses gently, marveling at how he seems to lean into Eiji’s touch. He laughs, and the sound hangs in the air a moment before dissipating into fog.

“Good boy,” Eiji mutters softly, then passes along where the Judges sit, perched on gilded thrones. An enormous set of scales sit between them and Eij, and he has to bite back the coil of dread that rises in his stomach. These three men hold his entire future in their hands-- their judgment will determine the outcome of his entire, eternal afterlife, and while Eiji is long past fear, he can’t help but send out a silent prayer that the Judges will allow him to rejoin Ash.

“You are Eiji?”

Aeacus, seated on the left, is the first to speak. Eiji nods firmly.

“This is not your first visit to the Underworld, then?”

“I have been here before,” affirms Eiji. “With King Blanca’s permission, I attempted to bring my lover back from the dead, but I was ultimately unsuccessful. I do not think I have had the honor of meeting any of you yet, though.”

Aeacus nods slowly. “As an adventurer, you traveled across Greece slaying monsters and embarking on quests. You proved instrumental in Jason’s quest for the Golden Fleece. Even after your unfortunate injury, you continued to travel the Mediterranean as a bard, keeping our lore alive with your teachings and music. The mortals speak highly of you, and even the gods have taken an interest in your musical talent.”

Eiji nods once more.

“I think it only appropriate that Elysium should be your final resting place,” he continues, and Eiji’s eyes widen in surprise. As a child, he’d heard countless stories about Elysium, the home of heroes like Aeneas, Odysseus, Hector, Achilles, even, but had never once considered joining those ranks. It had been a far off dream, a fantasy he’d held foolishly as a young explorer, but Eiji had never allowed himself to fully entertain the notion that he’d end up immortalized amongst heroes. It had seemed unbearably prideful to even consider himself worthy of that particular honor. The enormity of the prospect of Elysium stretches in front of him, and Eiji begins to feel a little overwhelmed, like he isn’t deserving of this, hasn't done enough to merit this kind of recognition. Still, he isn’t about to contest the Judges’ wishes, so he bites his tongue.

“I agree.”

Rhadamanthus looks up for the first time since Eiji stepped foot in the Judging Hall. His back curves with a permanent hunch, and he looks at Eiji with watery blue eyes, his stare piercing.

“He is known among all three realms for his musical talent and bravery. He has done more than enough to warrant Elysium.”

Acquiescence from Rhadamanthus, the Lord of Elysium, practically seals Eiji’s fate, but he still needs one more favorable vote to continue into his afterlife. Rhadamanthus has long since returned to his original position slumped over in his seat, finger-combing absentmindedly through his floor-length beard, but Aeacus and Eiji both turn to Minos for the final judgment.

Minos taps at his temples.

“When you came here for the first time to retrieve your lover,” he says slowly, “why did you fail?”

“I was asked not to look behind me when I led him out of the Underworld,” replies Eiji with just an undercurrent of shame, “but I could not do it. Self-doubt pushed me to turn around, and I lost him. It is my greatest regret. My lord,” he adds almost hastily, a little horrified at the thought of almost having forgotten to address the third Judge with the proper honorifics.

Thankfully, Minos doesn’t seem to mind. He pauses a long while, looking at the painted ceiling intently, as though it holds the secrets to the universe.

“I agree with Aeacus and Rhadamanthus,” he says at length. “Congratulations. You are deserving of Elysium.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Eiji lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He feels as though a huge weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he manages.

Rhadamanthus waves impatiently at him, and Eiji moves swiftly forward with a few words of goodbye and of thanks. The idea that he, Eiji, will live out his afterlife in Elysium is beyond anything he could ever have imagined, and it all feels incredibly surreal, like he’ll wake up any moment and discover it was all just a fantastical dream.

The path to Elysium is long but the path is light under Eiji’s feet as he struggles to take in all the desolate beauty of the Underworld. Finally, he turns a corner and Elysium comes into sight, and Eiji can’t help but gasp. Unlike the rest of the realm of the dead, the sun actually shines in Elysium just like it does in the mortal world. Eiji marvels at the familiarity and beauty of it all, when he notices a figure advancing from the sprawling fields. Only when he spots a familiar head of white-blonde hair does he break out into a run, arms outstretched.

As he runs, the years melt away. Eiji feels his face experimentally for the wrinkles he’s grown used to, and stills momentarily when his hands meet soft, smooth skin peppered with stubble. Somehow, Eiji’s not exactly sure how, but he’s back in his old body, the one he held when he first met Ash. The realization isn’t quite as shocking as it probably should be, but Eiji has always been simple-minded when it comes to Ash, and he’s not sure if he has enough space in his mind to focus on anything other than the fact that Ash is here. After fifty years alone, craving his companionship, Ash is finally here. Eiji wonders briefly, again, if this really is all a dream, but then Ash’s body comes crashing into his, and Eiji finds he doesn’t care either way. Ash fits his head into the crook of Eiji’s shoulder in a way that is so familiar, and Eiji feels something crack open in his chest. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until his shoulders start heaving with the force of his sobs. Eiji smooths his fingers in Ash’s hair and breathes in deeply as if in doing so, he’ll rememorize every minuscule detail about Ash he’d forgotten in all of their years apart.

When they pull apart, breathless, Eiji realizes Ash is crying too.

“Ash?” he asks on a breath, as though the words are too difficult to say aloud. “Ash, are you angry with me?”

Ash stares for a few seconds, confused.

“I failed. I looked behind me. Because of me, you had to stay down in the Underworld. Are you angry? I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

Ash turns, eyes soft. “Eiji, my love, I could never be angry with you.”

“But I--”

“I am not angry,” Ash repeats. “I am not angry, and I will repeat it every day if need be. I am so happy to see you again, Eiji.”

Eiji must still look as stricken as he feels, because Ash takes his hand and interlaces their fingers decisively.

“Look-- I know just as well as you how thoroughly the gods can get into your head. They say one thing, and it’s enough to have you spiraling for weeks. If you turned around, it’s only because they goaded you, twisted your thinking into believing I wasn’t there behind you. I could never be angry with you, I promise, because this wasn’t your fault.”

“But I still made the decision to turn around. I could’ve done better, kept my mind clearer, trusted in what I knew rather than what I could see--”

Ash steps forward so he’s looking Eiji directly in the eyes, and places a hand on Eiji’s shoulder. “Eiji,” he says, “there’s no use in hurting yourself over this. I’m not upset-- hell, I’m so unbelievably touched that you tried. I don’t know who else would’ve ventured of their own volition into the Underworld to save another person. I’m so, so lucky to have you, Eiji. I’ve missed you so much, every day.”

He draws down and brushes gently over Eiji’s lips. Ash obviously means for it to be a chaste kiss, but Eiji leans closer, threads his hands through Ash’s hair and presses against him as though the world will combust around them if they seperate so much as an inch. He kisses him fiercely, relearning the curve of Ash’s mouth and the herb-smoke taste of his lips. When they finally pull away, Ash puts his thumb to his lips in awe.

“I’m so happy, Ash,” Eiji says, squeezing his hand. “Are you sure this isn’t a dream?”

“Pretty sure it’s not,” says Ash, then moves swiftly to jab into Eiji’s side. When Eiji yelps, Ash continues. “You couldn’t have felt that if it was all a dream.”

Eiji can feel himself smiling. “You’re horrible,” he says.

Ash grins. “Shall we?” he asks, gesturing loosely into the distance where his home surely waits. “We have the rest of time together, after all.”

Eiji leans over to press a faint kiss to Ash’s mouth. “We do,” he says with more than a little wonder. “For once, we have all the time in the world.”

The sun beats steadily down on them as they make their way into the hills, but Eiji hardly notices. Ash is here, and the future stretches in front of him, brighter than ever before.