Archive of Our Own

Uldren groans as he rubs his bruised side, shifting his broken arm awkwardly to feel around towards his back. Jolyon can’t help but grin- he can’t keep track anymore how many times Uldren’s said the exact same thing walking out of the hospital after a mission.

“I don’t know what you were expecting, you must have fallen 20 feet,” he laughs. “It could have been a lot worse.”

Uldren pouts, trying to hide a painful grimace as he puts too much weight on his bruised side. His injuries probably are worse than he's letting on- silently, Jolyon offers an arm to lean on. Discreetly, Uldren accepts it.

“I just thought I might get lucky this time,” Uldren sighs. “We’ll be stuck moping around the city for weeks, now…”

“Maybe you ought to start listening to me, then.” Jolyon pulls him half a step closer, looping his arm around the small of his back. “I told you, I didn’t have eyes on you up there, that there could be an ambush…”

“And I told you there might be something valuable up there.” He flashes his most insufferable grin. “And I was right!”

“You think that weird hive rock is more valuable than three ribs and your left radius? I doubt it...”

Uldren shoots him a bitter look, the one he resorts to when he doesn’t have anything witty to bite back with. Jolyon takes it as a win, and leans to plant a gentle kiss at the top of his head.

“I just think it would be nice, if we could both make it home in one piece for once…”

That bitter look softens, Uldren opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, brow furrowing as he considers how to respond.

“ULDREN!”

“PRINCE ULDREN!”

His eyes light up, whatever he was going to say is instantly forgotten as he turns to greet three young awoken children sprinting up to them with arms outstretched. Jolyon tries and fails to act as a barrier, but in seconds they’re climbing all over Uldren, bouncing and jumping and demanding to be picked up.

“Where did you go?”

“Did you find anything cool?”

“Did you fight any aliens this time?”

Jolyon sees Uldren wince in pain as one of the little girls tugs at his bruised leg, and quickly swoops in again, picking her up and away from him.

“Hey, careful kids-”

“It’s fine, Jol,” Uldren laughs, dropping awkwardly to one knee so the remaining two won’t keep jumping. He pats each on the head in turn, smiling wide. 

“I’ll tell you all about my boring trip tomorrow.” He taps the other little girl’s wrist, wrapped in a soft bandage. “What I really want to know is what you three have been up to. Did you get in a fight? Without me?”

“No…” The girl recedes, blushing furiously. The little boy jumps in, shouting with glee. “She fell off a rock!”

Uldren laughs, holding up his new cast. “Hey, me too! How about that!”

Instantly, Uldren launches into an over-dramatic, heavily embellished retelling of their most recent set of escapades. The little girl in Jolyon’s arms squirms, asking to be put down, and he obliges, happy to let her join her friends as they crowd around the prince. He'll be at this for a while, so Jolyon settles back against the wall to watch with a grin. The children hang off his every word, as they always do, eyes shining with excitement. Uldren’s eyes are shining too, just like they always do…

Eventually, the doctor’s painkillers start taking effect, and Uldren’s eyelids begin to droop, his words begin to slow. After some protesting, Jolyon ushers the children on their way, and carefully helps Uldren back to his feet. The sun is setting, sparkling between a thousand glittering amethysts and casting fractured shadows across Uldren’s skin. Jolyon feels the warmth of its rays spread throughout his body, bubbling up in his chest as he looks down at the prince.

“It’s nice that you always make time for them,” he says quietly. He slips his hand into Uldren’s as they continue down the path towards their quarters, and the prince flashes him a tired smile.

“They’re good kids,” he yawns. After a pause, he bumps Jolyon with his shoulder good-naturedly. “And they appreciate all of my thrilling adventures, unlike you.”

“I appreciate the dramatic retellings, at least,” Jolyon laughs. 

The sun sinks lower, wind whistles through the baryon branches above them, low and steady. Jolyon squeezes Uldren’s hand softly, staring out at the valley below.

“Have you ever thought about having one of your own?” he asks quietly, not really considering the weight of the question until the words have left his lips. “A kid?”

Uldren snorts in surprise, laughing a bit too incredulously.

“What, you mean like... us?”

Now Jolyon’s the one shooting side-long looks, the one that lets Uldren know he’s said something stupid, something that someone who didn’t know him so well might find very, very rude. Jolyon catches a hint of a flush on his cheeks before he looks away.

“No- I just meant…” he laughs, shaking his head. He turns back with a grin, holding up his broken arm. “Why would anyone ever trust us with a kid? Look at me, I can barely take care of myself...”

It’s not really an answer, but Jolyon’s gotten used to the way Uldren wriggles out of these kinds of conversations. Maybe in a few decades, he’ll be ready to talk about this for real. Jolyon sighs, threading his fingers between Uldren’s as they walk on.

“I think you’d be a good dad,” he murmurs, half to himself. With a grin, he adds. “If you’d just learn to listen to me, every once in a while.”

Uldren laughs, leaning against him as they walk. Jolyon closes his eyes, feeling the weight of him against his side, the slow rumble of the prince’s laugh as it drops to a quiet chuckle.

“I’ll have to try that sometime,” he murmurs, and Jolyon lets himself believe he will.

-----

Uldren smiles wide, for the first time in a long time, watching the group of children bounce off into the crowd. Maybe it’s the anticipation of the battle, maybe it’s the adrenaline of his wild storytelling, but he lets his head tip back, stares up at the asteroids drifting far above, and for just a moment, for the first time in a long time, he’s so happy, he wants to laugh and shout and dance and-

“These stories...” Mara glares, her voice like iron. “Stop filling their heads with nonsense.”

The words twist like a knife in his gut, draining the fleeting rush of joy from his blood and leaving only embarrassment and frustration in its wake. Mara turns away before he can respond, stalking away to address the crowd. The festivities will be ending soon.

He feels himself unraveling, again. Somewhere deep down, he knows, something's bothering her, something she won't share with him, something she should share with him. He should be sympathetic, he should follow after her, ask what's wrong, ask why she's so upset. But he doesn't, he can't- the irrational anger that burns unwanted in his gut flares up in an instant, tangles all his insides into a tight, miserable knot. It’s not nonsense, he wants to shout after her in defiance, it’s just a story, it’s just something fun…

But it’s not just a story, not to him. That grating feeling burns brighter- it’s his story, the story of Ager and Rega, of Uldren and Mara Sov, the story of them, together-... And telling it to those children, it serves a purpose, why doesn’t she understand that? Why has she never understood that, why he does this, why he spins these thinly-veiled fables for their people’s children? Why should he tear himself to pieces caring about every callous remark she makes, when she can't even understand something as simple as that, that these stories are not nonsense, that they were never nonsense, not to him-

“It was a good story.”

A hand on his shoulder startles him back to the present. He turns to face one of his Crows, tall and handsome, even through the sunken look in his eyes. All at once, the angry ember in his heart fizzles out, replaced by a dank, disorienting haze. Uldren remembers him- wasn’t there something he needed to say to him? Some time ago? He blinks, and blinks again, but he can’t seem to recall...

“Thank you,” he manages to stutter out, when the man won't stop staring. The words feel wrong on his lips, he reaches for the right thing to say- a name, what’s his name, again? The man just keeps staring, his eyes tired as they search Uldren’s face. He can’t stand the weight of that stare, so Uldren looks off to the side, grimacing. “I’m sorry, but... What was your name again?”

“Jolyon,” he says softly, heavily, and Uldren feels another knife twist into his stomach. Of course, it’s Jolyon, one of his oldest Crows, one of his most accomplished Crows, Jolyon's been with him since the start, how could he have forgotten his name…

“Of course!” He tries to laugh. “How stupid of me- we’ve…. we’ve worked together for so long, I just… couldn’t think of it, for some reason…”

“It’s fine,” Jolyon says quietly. Uldren can still feel that heavy, searching stare, and forces himself to meet it with a smile.

“I… I think the party’s ending soon. You should get some rest. Are you flying with us tomorrow?” he asks, friendly and compassionate, like a good leader should be.

“No,” Jolyon mumbles. His eyes grow distant, but that piercing stare wandering away for a moment doesn’t afford Uldren any relief. “No, I can't fly combat anymore…”

“Oh...” 

Uldren furrows his brow. That doesn’t make any sense- Jolyon, he’s one of the best. He should be there, shouldn’t he? At Uldren’s side, at Mara’s side? Of course he should, he’s…

Uldren blinks, hard. Something’s tickling at his eye, it’s so annoying- absently, he scratches at it.

“Uldren…”

The man lays a heavy hand on his shoulder once more, Uldren feels the pressure of it squeeze all the way to his core. His name, in that voice, it grates on his ears like nails on metal, it feels… wrong, doesn’t it? Or is it something else…

He thinks Jolyon is talking, a thousand miles away, but… that something is still scratching at his eye, driving him crazy. He frowns, digging the heel of his hand into the socket, pressing as hard as he can. It itches, it hurts, he has to get it out…

“Uldren, listen to me.”

Strong fingers pull his hand away by the wrist, Jolyon’s piercing stare is inches from his face, boring directly into his skull. For a moment, the itching stops, terrified into silence by those haunting eyes.

“Uldren, please,” Jolyon says, practically whispering. “Tomorrow, please be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.”

The hand on his shoulder moves up, cups behind his jaw. There’s tears on Jolyon’s cheeks- why? Why can’t Uldren look away from them, why does his stomach twist tighter with every sparkling drop that rolls down his cheeks?

“I don’t know what Mara’s thinking, what she thinks we can do but…” 

He’s too close, it makes Uldren feel sick- he’s too far, it makes Uldren want to scream... 

“... if things look bad, please, just get out, alright? She knows what she’s doing, I think, I hope-, She doesn’t need you to play the hero, not this time…”

Jolyon’s voice is shaking, his hands are shaking. That doesn’t make sense either- Jolyon’s voice is always low and smooth, his hands are always steady, always strong and gentle. Uldren knows those hands better than he knows his own, knows every callus, every scar- but these hands are foreign to him, they shake, and the rough skin has smoothed over and gone soft from disuse, it doesn’t make sense, and why, why is he-

“Why are you crying?”

The question forms without him even realizing. The look in Jolyon’s eyes turns to despair.

“Did you hear me, Uldren?” He drops Uldren’s wrist, cupping his face with both hands now, leaning too close but not close enough. “Are you listening to me?”

“I…” 

Jolyon, he’s held him like this before, hasn’t he? A thousand times, a million times, on the surface of a thousand planets under a thousand skies, they’ve been together- haven’t they? Nausea bubbles up in his throat, the thing in his eye burns back into being like wildfire, he needs to get it out, now…

“I have to go…”

He steps back, ignoring the way Jolyon reaches for him, ignoring the desperation etched all over his face.

“No wait- please, Uldren, just listen to me-...”

“Leave me alone,” he says, without knowing why. He turns away, breathing hard. His fingers dig at the corners of his eyes so deep he thinks they might bleed. He hears Jolyon’s ragged, gasping sobs behind him, each one etched into his memory with a white-hot knife. He has to leave, he has to do something, has to stop that awful sound-...

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears. There’s something else now, a terrible drone over the sound of Jolyon’s sobbing, over the sound of his own panicked breath. It’s growing louder, and louder, he can’t drown it out, and then-

There’s nothing, only the sound of the party around him, the lull of activity winding down as the sun begins to set over the horizon. Somewhere behind him, he hears someone crying, and frowns in sympathy- it’s always hard, before a battle. He thinks it must be harder to be one of those loved ones left behind, helpless and watching... 

Absently, he glances around at the crowd. He spots the little girl, Erith, running with her friends, arms stretched out like wings as she mimics the twin birds from his stories. There, Mara, he thinks to himself, smugly. Not nonsense. They’ll need that story tomorrow, when their mothers are sailing towards Saturn.

He watches them play for a moment more, and catches himself smiling- it’s been so hard to smile lately, so hard to find joy in anything anymore, between the Wolves’ uprising and the Guardians’ meddling, and now this new threat over Saturn. Perhaps he should make more time for this, after the battle- to sit with the children and tell them fables, like he used to. 

He can always count on them to appreciate his stories, even if no one else does