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Rhel'ra knows he isn't awake.
There is no logic or reason in the scenes unfolding around him - the field of startling green grass, with a distant but clearly frowning white-haired figure walking in his direction; the sound of laughter, an arm flung around his neck, a smile straining lips that aren't his own; a smaller, scrawnier figure, blue eyes staring up at him with something close to adoration, and a burst of affection so strong it crushes his heart, vines digging deep into his flesh. And then…
Flames . Air thick with smoke, with the smell of burning flesh and the distant screams of sorrow and fear. A city engulfed in terror, a sky taken by fire... The end, and his beginning.
Rhel'ra blinks into the dark room.
His blood runs hot, his skin too small for his body. The taste of smoke clings to his tongue and a muted, but insistent pain spreads through the palm of his hands. It takes him a long, sluggish moment to realize it's his own nails digging into his flesh. He is sitting on the bed, but he doesn’t remember moving or throwing away the covers. The night’s icy air sends a shiver down his spine.
"Rhel?" A warm, careful touch against his arm, barely a brush of fingers, a sensation on the edge of his mind. The sound of fire crackling still echoes in his ears, the desperate footsteps against stone floors, the sorrowful whispers of survivors… The dying gasp of those who should live for an eternity, those he couldn’t save …
The grip around his arm tightens just enough. Rhel’ra lets out a breath, blinking again. His vision is blurred, he notices. He’s crying.
As if just waiting for his realization, the dam bursts. A terrible, keening sound interrupts the silence. It’s me . He lets out a strangled laugh, but that quickly disappears too, drowned by the tears. Estinien moves beside him, and soon enough his fingers slide down his arm to hold Rhel’ra’s hand. Rhel’ra’s grip on him tightens, but if it’s too much Estinien gives no signs of it; he leans against the miqo’te, just enough to be close but not overwhelm, his free hand drawing circles on his naked back. He avoids touching the gnarled scars going from just under his left shoulder to his right hip, gifts from Rhel’ra’s fight against Nidhogg long ago. The gesture loosens something inside of him too, untangling the vicious grip of the nightmare around his heart. Rhel’ra closes his eyes.
When he raises his head again, the sky beyond the window shows just a hint of the coming dawn, orange and purple spilling into the darkness above. Tears have dried up, but Rhel’ra still feels raw, hardened scales chipped away to reveal the fragile skin beneath. Estinien’s head rests against his back, fingers still intertwined with his own, his other hand now on Rhel’ra’s hip. The sight of him so close, illuminated by the first rays of sunlight, stuns him into stillness. It’s still surreal to be so close to Estinien, no tension or unspoken words stifling the air between them, no doubts or fears keeping them apart any longer. He sighs.
Estinien shifts, turning to face him. His eyes search Rhel’ra’s face and whatever he finds there is enough for him to relax against the miqo'te’s shoulder, though his gaze never leaves him. “I’m sorry,” Rhel’ra says, carefully building up the scales again, pulling them over sensitive skin and open, bleeding wounds. “For waking you up. We still have some time, so you can rest until someone calls on us later.”
Estinien hums, raising one eyebrow. The moment stretches, silent and not exactly comfortable. Rhel’ra bites down on his bottom lip, and for a second desperately wishes he could hate Estinien for never taking any of his bullshit, not ever and certainly not now . He feels the scales peel away, crumbling like dust in the wind. “I shouldn’t mourn them,” he spits out suddenly, the strength of it almost shocking him. His throat closes up and his jaw clenches so hard it sends a bolt of pain through his skull. “Not Elidibus, and certainly not Emet-Selch …”
Estinien is still silent. Rhel’ra takes in a breath, his eyes burning. He’s probably crushing Estinien’s hand but the elezen doesn’t complain. “These memories are not mine , these feelings…” He forces his jaw open. “They aren’t mine either.” He turns to Estinien, almost dislodging him in the process. “I’m not Azem. This is all his, it’s not mine .”
“Aren’t you?” Estinien finally asks. “Azem?”
Rhel’ra scoffs. “As much as Ardbert was,” he says, and then pauses, because he doesn’t know what that means, if it's evidence that he isn’t - that they aren’t - Azem or just proof that the opposite is true. Him and Ardbert are - were? - completely different people, and very little of their personality was alike. He isn’t the leader Ardbert was, and he certainly didn't have any of his confidence or his easy going nature. And still, they were shards of the same soul, weren’t they? Weren’t they still called to adventure, didn’t they both end up fighting the same fight even worlds apart?
If Rhel’ra slipped now into another shard, another world, would he find another Ardbert, another Rhel’ra, giving blood and more to save their home? Would this other shard of the ancient Azem have also answered Hydaelyn’s call?
Or would he find an ordinary person, living their life, maybe building a family, ignorant or unwilling to get themselves involved in this fight?
He doesn’t know what would be worse. Sighing, Rhel’ra rubs at his eyes. “I don’t know. I just… don’t know how much of me, if any, is him . And if I don’t know that, how can I know how to deal with these memories, these feelings? I killed them, Estinien.” He lets out a breath. “I murdered them, and they were…”
He trails off, not sure how to continue. They were his enemies. But Azem’s friends, too.
“I’m not sure it matters,” Estinien says after a pause, letting go of his hand to brush his fingers against Rhel’ra’s cheekbone, so close to his ruined eye. “I wish we could free you from these nightmares. You deserve a good rest, more than anyone else.” His lips curve into a smile. “But I don’t believe you need to worry about these feelings.”
“They might not be… They aren’t mine .”
“Maybe not initially. But I have no doubt they are now.” Estinien’s hand dives into his crimson hair, untangling the knots caused by sleep. “You always cared, Rhel’ra. For anyone who had any kind of problem, no matter how ridiculous, no matter if the fool had brought it down on themselves. Though that feeling is probably beyond me, I know you would care for them too. I bet you already did, even before the nightmares came.”
Rhel’ra sighs, burying his face on his hands, and doesn’t fight it when Estinien drags him to his chest, pulling the blankets over them again. The room is still dark and the air still chilly, but Estinien is a furnace against him, so he curls up as close to him as possible.
“Rest now,” Estinien says. “I will watch over you today.”
Rhel’ra hums, closing his eyes, Estinien’s words still ringing in his ears. The scales are all gone, at least for now, and some part of him is relieved enough by what was said to pull him away from the turmoil always caused by thoughts of Azem, Hades or Elidibus. He is still not sure, not satisfied with Azem or himself, but the edge of the blade is gone, and no more blood is drawn.
When he sleeps, the dreams come easily. There are no burning cities, no terrors made manifest, no pain or suffering. But there is laughter and warmth, and even though he is sure many of them aren’t from his own memories, he finds he doesn’t mind.