Chapter Text
When you die, his blood is still under your nails.
It’s ridiculous, really. It’s been days since his death, since you clutched his body to your chest, since you buried him in a now frozen field of flowers.
Nonetheless, in the moment before you close your eyes for the last time (you can still hear Ren’s footsteps, Martyn’s voice. You don’t think you’ll ever stop hearing them), you can see his blood still underneath your fingernails. You know it’s his. You can still see the dirt etched around the ring on your finger, you can still hear his voice as you gave the matching one to him, the one that now sits on a chain around your neck. You can still feel his hand in yours.
“This is forever for you, right? This isn’t just because of me? This isn’t just because we’re running out of time? Because we’re going to die?”
“Jimmy, I have never felt more forever about anything.”
He had looked so happy then, surrounded by flowers, and you had never believed in true love, but if anything could convince you, it would be that smile.
He had died, only weeks later. Died in a war he hadn’t wanted a part in, died too early, when he had so much life left to give.
You took his ring and buried his body, you swore at the sky and cried in the threshold of his house.
It’s funny, how forever can sometimes be only a moment. It’s a doomed word for a doomed world. It doesn’t exist, and yet you hold onto the word like a lifeline.
Forever.
You want that life, you want forever, you want Jimmy. You close your eyes, and you hope.
***
As he wakes up, he feels relief flooding his veins, it feels like a blessing, a second chance. Of course. Of course, it was a dream. Of course, Scott’s waking up next to him and he’s still red, but alive, of course, everything is ok.
It takes Scott ten seconds too long to realise that his bed is freezing cold, to realise that there is no warm body next to him, to realise that he can smell clean pine wood instead of warm earth.
It takes him thirty seconds too long to sit up and look around, to see the four-poster bed, the silk sheets, the crown on a lacquered desk next to him.
It takes him an entire minute to realise where he is, who he is, and still, the only word thrumming through his head is Jimmy. Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.
He’s out of bed, on the balcony, and flying before he has time to think. He needs to find him. Needs to make sure he’s alive, he must be, right?
Jimmy had been there, right there, and Scott had been able to grip his hand, to look him in the eye, to kiss him. And he had loved him, loved him so desperately. But maybe love wasn’t enough, because in a moment he was gone. Ripped away by a war, by an arrow, by a curse. And Scott couldn’t save him.
But now he’s here and Scott can fly right to him and scoop him into his arms and-
Scott stops, hovering in mid air, his snowy wings disturbing the trees below him with huge gusts of wind.
What the fuck is he doing?
Does he expect to waltz into the Cod Kingdom in his pyjamas and expect what? To be welcomed by its ruler with open arms? Because of a very vivid dream?
Scott has much too much dignity for that. He’s on okay terms with the Codfather at best, and he is not about to appear insane to a fellow ruler because of something that had happened very much in his head.
It’s mid morning on a Thursday, he has a council meeting to go to. What is he doing? He is a ruler, he has responsibilities. He isn’t about to fly to a whole other empire because of some fucked up dream he had.
Not even his fantasies can be normal. Couldn’t he have dreamt of a kiss? A date? But no. Instead, he married his crush in a death game.
This is stupid. Scott is being irrational. He should turn around and fly back and go to his goddamn meeting.
It was just a dream. Of course, it was. It had to be.
***
When you first see him, he looks ridiculous. He’s deep in a hole, and covered in coal dust, stubbornly chipping away at the stone with a wooden pickaxe. You can only see his back, but his blond hair is sticking up at odd angles, and there are rips in his pants, which are covered in hand shaped prints made by his blackened fingers. You knew that there were other people in this game, but you just didn’t expect your first supposed competitor to look so, well, so unthreatening.
You’re standing above him, looking down, and you call out, waving in greeting. He looks up, startled, and you see his face.
In that moment you are sure that you have never seen someone so beautiful.
Quite suddenly you don’t care about the coal or the rips or the pickaxe. Because he’s looking up at you and shielding his face from the sun and he’s smiling. And the light reflecting off his eyes is one thing, but his smile, it makes you think of summer days and lemonade and staring at clouds. You don’t even know the guy’s name for goodness sake, and yet more than anything you want to be down there with him, tracing his lips with your fingertips. Death game be damned.
The second time you see him, because you are sure that this must count as a different sighting, if only for your mind’s own reference to an event. The second time you see him, he looks like the sun.
“Hey,” he says, and his voice matches his smile, “nice to see that someone else is actually here.” He props one of his elbows on the edge of the hole and reaches out a hand to you with the other, “I’m Jimmy.”
You’re somewhat surprised to find yourself kneeling on the ground and shaking his hand, “Scott. Am I the first person you’ve seen?”
“Yep,” he pops the p as he says it, releasing your hand, “I just woke up in the desert over there, the heat almost killed me.” He gestures towards where you know the nearest border stands and you see his biceps. Seriously, this guy. “I needed food, so I needed coal, and, well,” he gestures to himself, completely covered in the stuff. “How about you? Met any of our adversaries?”
He says adversaries like it’s a joke, like you all aren’t actually here to win. To survive. “Just you so far, thought I’d find some iron and a place to live. Preferably somewhere near a border, thinking ahead.”
“Well, you’re welcome to join me in my hole.” He blushes slightly at the accidental innuendo but powers on, “it appears we are looking for the same things. What a coincidence.”
You laugh, and Jimmy holds out his hand to help you down. You don’t really need it, but you accept his arm and jump into the pit. “Iron and a home, what unconventional things we’re hunting down.”
“Mhm,” Jimmy picks up his pickaxe again as you set down a crafting bench to make one of your own, “fate truly must have brought us together, to join forces on our quest.”
You look over your shoulder at him, he’s already looking at you, grinning. “I suppose we have no choice, do we? If it’s fate?”
He nods solemnly, “Nope. No choice whatsoever, you’re just going to have to stick with me.”
You stare at him in mock anguish, “Oh, the horror! What will I possibly do? The cruel hand of fate is forcing me to spend time with a beautiful man! I’ll simply have to perish.”
Jimmy bursts out laughing, a full belly laugh, leaning over and clutching his stomach.
You try to stay here, in this moment. To not think about the future, about inevitability. You just keep looking at his smile.
The first thing you think, is beautiful.
The second thing you think, is fate.
***
The most annoying thing is, Scott doesn’t even dream.
Like sure maybe technically everyone dreams, but he doesn’t remember his. He has never remembered any details of his nighttime adventurers. Just woken up with vague feelings of joy, discomfort, terror. But this dream? He can remember every detail, every single moment, like they’re happening again before his very eyes.
Ok, maybe he lied about the most annoying thing. The most annoying thing is that he just can’t stop thinking about it.
Three days, three days is how long it’s been since he woke up with Jimmy’s name on his lips. And nothing has changed. In fact, Scott can feel his obsession growing. All it takes it is a pot plant, a fish, a view from a hilltop to send him spiralling into an intricately detailed web of falsities. Of events that never truly happened, and yet seem to haunt his every waking step.
Scott’s sure they would haunt his sleep as well, but, as he said, he doesn’t dream.
All this, as it turns out, has made him positively terrified of attending the Bimonthly Multi-Empire Treaty of Peace Meeting (the planning name had stuck and nobody could be bothered to make it shorter). It will be the first time he’s seen the Codfather in months, but more importantly, the first time he’s seen him since the dream. And he has no idea what he’s supposed to do.
Despite this, Scott is a ruler of an empire, and at that, a ruler with a perfect attendance record for Bimonthly Multi-Empire Treaty of Peace Meetings. So, on the fourth day, he finds his hair intricately braided, his thinnest cloak clasped around his neck, and himself, seated in a carriage headed for the Undergrove.
Scott really, really wishes he could fly there. Wishes he could put on his lightest clothing and leap out his window. He could get to Shrub’s empire in half an hour, maximum. But his council always shakes their heads, says something about dignity, about a united front, about servants and courtiers and the goddamn royal carriage. So he sits with his wings squashed against his back, glaring at the wall of the carriage until they reach the warm darkness of the mushroom kingdom.
Reaching the empire, Scott tries to think positively. Of all the places this particular meeting could be held, he supposes the Undergrove is a fortunate location. Each empire takes their turn hosting the meeting, and despite the stifling humidity, the best word he can come up with to describe the kingdom is cozy.
So, while he feels far from comfortable standing, sweaty and straight backed, in a rather dark hall. At least it’s not the Ocean Empire, where his feet feel constantly damp, or the Grimlands where he fears stepping just about anywhere, or Mezalea where just looking around at the vibrant colours hurts his eyes.
Shrub is also a wonderful conversationalist. The social aspect of these meetings is his least favourite part, the bit where he is expected to converse with the other rulers. To be polite and civil, to network. Scott can do it, sure. He was born and raised to do it, but that doesn’t mean he needs to like it.
Shrub, however, seems perfectly content to discuss the correct light levels to grow warped fungus, and give him advice on terraforming his flower beds. It’s an interesting conversation, and more importantly, keeps his eyes from wandering the room, and accidentally falling upon a familiar cod hybrid. If Scott can help it, he won’t look at the Codfather once this entire meeting. If he doesn’t look at him, he can’t react to him, and if he can’t react, he can keep his dignity intact. And then he can go home and pray to Aeor that he forgets about his honestly rather problematic dream before his next forced meeting with the Codfather.
Of course, because life is a bitch sometimes, his plans are foiled by nonother than Princess Katherine of the Overgrown.
“Smajor, would you mind if I pinch Shrub from you?” She appears quite suddenly over the shoulder of the gnome, smiling at Scott in false apology.
“Of course not, go right ahead.” He minds, a lot. But, he can see the way his friend instantly leans towards the princess, and recognises defeat. So, he waves his hand flippantly and turns away from the two, and right into the Codfather.
That’s a little bit of an exaggeration, but Scott has never claimed to be anything but dramatic. And to be fair, three meters away and face to face to face with the man you were mourning the death of four days ago certainly feels like running right into him.
The Codfather walks towards him, and why the fuck is he walking towards him? Scott and him do not talk to each other. The Codfather talks to his sister, and argues with FWhip, and gets elbowed by Joel. And Scott discusses terraforming with Shrub and has polite debates with Gem, and harbours his tiny little crush. And they do this, from opposite sides of the room.
“Hello, Smajor,” the Codfather says, walking to lean against the wall next to Scott.
“Codfather.” Scott nods in a manner that he hopes is graceful, but fears is desperate, and looks over at the Codfather, only to see him already looking at him. And this was exactly what he was afraid of. That he would look at his fellow ruler and only be able to see Jimmy.
His Jimmy, with his brown eyes and his rough hands and smile. Oh, his smile.
For all intents and purposes, the Codfather and the man from his dream should be two entirely different people in his mind. Scott only knows the Codfather’s birth name is Jimmy from Lizzie, and of course, he’s still wearing the cod head, hiding his features.
Scott has only seen his face once in life, and somehow his brain had managed to take that one moment and craft it into a thousand different scenarios.
It had been Scott’s turn to host the Bimonthly Multi-Empire Treaty of Peace Meeting and he was exhausted.
It was his first time hosting and nothing had prepared him for how much work it was on his part. But, as it turns out, there are only so many polite questions to answer and tours to give and gifts to present before a man has to well… run away.
Scott would have preserved a little of his dignity by calling it a strategic retreat if anything about it had been strategic. The reality of the matter was that he had shoved Gem (a frequent visitor to Rivendell) at Joey the moment he walked over, and just about booked it (briskly walked, smiling politely at the people he passed) across the ballroom, down the hallway, up the stairs, and onto the balcony.
Or at least he would be on the balcony if it wasn’t already occupied.
No one had ever been on the balcony before when he’d wanted to be there. So, the ruler of Rivendell was left standing rather awkwardly outside the door to his own bloody balcony. It was his balcony, to be clear. It was in the royal wing of the castle which meant that it was his living space. This balcony was directly across the hall from his bedroom.
Which was why he was the only person ever on it. Except for now.
The frosted glass of the doors was specially made to resemble ice in the royal wing, which made for an extremely distorted view of the person. However, what Scott could make out, was that they were wearing green. He didn’t remember the last time he saw one of his citizens wearing green, it simply wasn’t something Rivendellians did.
Aeor, he was the ruler, this was his balcony. He should march out there and tell the person on no uncertain terms that they needed to leave.
So, of course, he stood there, rather awkwardly, for another fifteen seconds before tentatively pushing open the door.
When the man standing there turned around, he looked much too shocked for someone standing on what he presumably thought was a public balcony. He also looked sort of like a fish.
He had long, thin gills on his neck, small fins behind his ears and soft brown scales creeping in from the edges of his face. He had rather mussed blond hair and was wearing much too thin clothing for a Rivendellian Autumn. With loose brown pants and a green vest with a brooch, he looked positively freezing.
He was beautiful. He was also violently fumbling with something under his arm.
It was a giant cod head.
Come to think of it, Scott had recognised that brooch. “Shit, wait, Codfather.”
The Codfather had managed to wrestle the head back on and was turned severely away from Scott, gripping the railing like a lifeline.
“I’m sorry,” Scott said, standing only a metre behind the man, “I didn’t know that anyone was out here.” That was completely and entirely untrue.
“It’s ok,” the Codfather said stiffly, he still wasn’t facing Scott. “This is your balcony, I should be going.”
As he turns to leave, Scott feels a moment of panic. A few minutes ago, he would have loved for the balcony to be empty, but now he was turning and grabbing the Codfather’s arm before he could leave. “Hey, wait. You don’t- you don’t have to go.”
The Codfather’s shoulders were still tense but he relaxed his posture a little. Scott let go of his arm.
“Smajor, you shouldn’t have seen me without the head,” he said.
“Why not?”
He relaxed further, walking to stand back where he was by the railing, looking out at the snow covered peaks of Rivendell. “Tradition, vulnerability. Your face holds power, it allows others to see your emotions, and to recognise you in a way outside of your control. The Cod- especially rulers, we only show our faces to those we trust entirely. It’s very- intimate. It was my fault for removing my head in a public space.”
“I’m sorry I saw your face,” Scott tried to make his words sound as sincere as possible. It made sense, the Codfather’s reasoning. He was honestly just surprised he hadn’t known it, he was getting lax on his intercultural knowledge. “And, while I can’t un-see it, I can say that I will try and live up to the level of trust it would imply.”
They were both standing at the railing, Scott staring at the Codfather, and the Codfather staring resolutely at the scenery.
“That- I’m not sure you know what you are saying.” His head turned to look at Scott, and, despite the implications in light of new information, Scott wished he could see his expression.
“No, probably not.” Scott tried to smile a little. “I do feel genuine remorse on your part though.”
“I- yes, thank you. That’s appreciated.”
Scott studied the Codfather’s body language. They were facing each other, so he presumed some part of it was mutual. He was, of course, trained in reading people, but a surprising amount of focus was put on facial features. However, he would adapt. The hybrid aspects of a person were most likely to be hardest to train. Scott himself had to spend most of his energy in a conversation making his wings do what he told them, and he knew that Lizzie had a lot of difficulty with her tail, and Gem with her ears. However, the Codfather appeared to have a distinct absence of a tail, despite being a fish hybrid. Those fins behind his ears would be a good- stop. Scott shouldn’t have thought about his face in any part of his brain under his control. It was blatantly disrespectful to the Codfather’s wishes.
Scott studied the man further. His fingers were twitching, nerves. His shoulders were relaxed, however, his elbows appeared to be locked. A contradiction? Or was this just an aspect of the man’s general stance? He was also, rather strangely, shaking a little all over. Scott wondered over it for a moment. Could it simply be anxiety? A chronic disease? Maybe he was sick. The cold certainly-
Scott was an idiot.
“Aeor, Codfather, you must be freezing. What on earth are you doing out here dressed like you’re off to Mezalea?”
The Codfather drew his ungloved (why was he not wearing gloves?) hands up to cross them into his inner elbows, as if either becoming aware of his own cold, or maybe just becoming comfortable showing it. “I, well I didn’t plan on being out here very long, and it’s still Autumn, isn’t it? I didn’t expect it to be that cold.”
Scott was already unbuttoning his thick, woolen cloak, “Autumn doesn’t mean anything in Rivendell. We only have a month without snow here.” Undoing the last button, he swept the cloak off his own shoulders and began to hand it to the Codfather before it was pushed away firmly.
“Won’t you be cold then? You can’t just go around giving people your warmth as if you’re not going going to be the one to freeze to death now.”
Scott laughed a little. “Codfather, I don’t feel the cold. I’m of Rivendell. It can’t kill me.” He spread the cloak in the air, and used its weight as momentum to settle it around the Codfather’s shoulders.
“Then why wear it at all?”
“It’s a fashion statement,” Scott leaned in a distance he would be the first to admit was a little further than necessary, under the guise of doing up the clasps of the cloak. “I am rather vain, you know. And it makes my eyes pop, don’t you think?” He whispered this last part, and when he pulled back to see the Codfather’s hands gripping the edges of the wool, he felt a little pleased with himself. Although, he couldn’t help but be convinced, that the result would have been even more gratifying, had he been able to look into the Codfather’s eyes.
“Yes,” The Codfather said, surprising Scott slightly with the strength in his voice, “yes, it does.”
Even better. Scott smiled once more, before turning back to the door to the hallway. “I should be heading back the hosting duty,” he said, “keep the cloak. I have others.” He swept away, as much as one can sans cloak, and began to walk back down the hallway and towards the glorified party.
It took Scott six seconds and ten metres for the weight of what he had just done to crash down over him.
He had walked in on the Codfather in a compromising position, he had had a wildly awkward conversation with him, he had stared at him for a full minute, and then forced his cloak upon him. And to top it all off he had flirted with the guy! A fellow ruler!
Scott was a fucking idiot.
A fucking idiot, who, due to one exchange with a man, who's (very attractive) face he had seen for a split second, was now apparently incapable of holding a more than three word conversation with his own bloody ally.
“How has trade been in Rivendell lately?” Jim- the Codfather asks.
Right, Scott thinks, small talk.
“Well, it’s been going well.” He struggles to recall anything about Rivendell’s trade as of late. He’s been rather preoccupied recently. “We’ve sent off a large shipment of white wool to the Overgrown recently, which has been prosperous. How are things for your empire?”
Somehow, the Codfather seems shocked at his own question being turned back on him. “Yes. Ah. Our slime has been selling well.”
“I’m happy to hear.”
The Codfather is still looking at him, and Scott fights the urge to turn away again. The cod head has no visible eye holes and Scott has no idea how the Codfather even sees out, but still, he can feel his gaze boring into him.
“Truly, I came to ask how you’ve been, Smajor,” the Codfather says, “have you been sleeping well?”
Scott has not been sleeping well. He knew that the exhaustion showed in the dark circles under his eyes. However, he had thought that he had done a well enough job of hiding them with a fortunate mix of concealer and magic.
“I have been sleeping well,” he lies, trying to affect an airy voice. “Why?” He jokes, gesturing to his face, “Do I really look that bad?”
“No- not at all, it’s just.” The Codfather sighed, “I’m sorry, I should be going. My sister, you see. I apologise.” And he was gone.
Great job Scott, brilliant conversation number two, this is going fantastic.
Scott accepted his inevitable demise at the hands of Awkward Conversations with the Fellow Ruler He had a Crush On and went to get himself a drink, praying that the actual meeting would start soon. The sooner it started, the sooner it was over, the sooner he could go home.