Work Text:
“You’re doing okay there?” The wanderer said to Sara. It has been a few hours since they have tracked the rainforest together. It is also Sara’s first real experience of an expedition deep into the rainforest of Sumeru. She had always thought that forest was just forest—trees, rivers, streams, whatever. Still, the rainforest in Sumeru was a whole other challenge, from the nasty mosquitoes flying around any open body of water to the freshwater crocodiles, ready to tear anyone limb to limb at the drop of a hat. Not to mention the humidity, Archons above; it was as if she were taking a bath in her sweat; everything felt sticky to the touch.
The wanderer walked towards her and, from his pouch, gave her some water. “Here,” he said, “drink up; you’re tired.”
“Thank you,” she said, and she drank the water that was given to her. And although it temporarily relieved her, the itchiness in her throat that she felt hours ago is still steadily growing.
“Actually,” she said, “can we take a break for a moment? I need to catch my breath.”
“What, the great genera—”
“Former general,” she corrected.
He rolled his eyes, though; it was almost an endearing gesture “Ah, yes. The former,” he stressed, “general of the Inazuman army cannot handle the Sumeru Forest? How amusing.”
Normally, she would retort or even argue with him a little bit, but at this point, she was too exhausted to do even that, so instead, she just nodded and smiled weakly. “Please?”
There was a sudden softness in his eyes then. “Of course, let’s find a shelter.”
A few minutes and a short walk later, they found an abandoned hut beside a large tree. It is a small hut made from wood, probably belonging to a farmer who left years ago. There are only a couple of chairs, a table, and a bed inside the hut. The place is a bit dusty, and the bed is creaky, but it will do for now.
“Cover your nose and stand outside,” he said.
“What for?”
He walked inside. “I’m just going to clean the place; entertain me a little, would you?”
She did as she was told and stood outside. Gusts of wind blow out from inside the small wooden hut, carrying with them what she assumes to be years of accumulated dust. She covers her nose on reflex, but a few sneezes still escape, followed by snorts from inside the hut.
“Don’t laugh!” she yelled.
“Just did. Imagining how red you are makes it even funnier.”
“I’m not blushing!”
“Put your hand on your face,” he said, and she did without thinking much of it.
“How does it feel?” he asked.
Warm. Damn this guy. She could practically see that smug grin on his face inside that hut, and now she could hear that he was laughing, great. Another gust of wind, another dust cloud, another sneeze, and another laugh. She did not want to see the state of her face now. Her throat was getting itchy, and she let out a couple of coughs while covering her mouth. A few minutes later, she saw him exiting the tent with a small frown, his clothes and face covered in dust. He looked as though he had fallen face-first into an old, empty treasure chest, and she laughed at the sight.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, clearly unimpressed.
“You look like a cat that’s been thrown into a garbage bin.”
“Is that really the reason you were laughing? That is low even by your standards.”
She snorted, "Oh, but I just did,” throwing his word back at him.
She saw his eyes widen for just the briefest of moments before a small smile graced his face. “Punk,” he said softly underneath his breath, and she laughed lightly again.
If only she knew how much her laughter meant to him, he thought.
The Wanderer went to the small stream behind the large tree that shades the hut from the scorching sun, washed his face, then took off his hat and scooped some water into the improvised bowl. He went back inside the hut and sprayed it inside the hut to keep the dust down. He went back to the stream, and he saw Sara crouching next to it.
“Do you need help?”
“You said you were tired, right? Why would I ask you to do something? Won’t that defeat the point?”
“Fair enough,” she said as she sat on one of the above-ground roots. She was coughing again; maybe the effect of the dust was still in the air, she thought. He went back to the stream to scoop up some more water to clean the hut. As he does that, Sara’s gaze falls on him, a soul that is so like her in so many ways; both have been hurt by the people around them and themselves to some extent. And yet, here they were, going on adventures together and healing together. She had never felt this peaceful and fulfilled in her time being alive, and all it took was for this person to come into her life. It was as if he was always meant for her, tailored to perfection, and she was grateful. Could things be better for both? Of course, it could have, but no one could change the past, and she had accepted that. He still has trouble with it sometimes, but she is helping him to overcome it, and that is all that matters.
Her eyes were getting drowsy; maybe she was more tired than she was aware of. Hopefully, The Wanderer will finish cleaning the place soon. She coughed into her arms again; it was getting increasingly itchy. She drank some water from the clear stream, which abated it somewhat, but it always came back. She needs to get some rest, she thought.
Thankfully, after a few more minutes, the place was clean enough for them to stay in without sneezing or coughing too much, hopefully. He walked over to her.
“Come, let’s get you to bed and have some rest,” he said.
She got up, and a sudden dizziness swept through her skull. If it were not for him catching her in time, she would have face-planted straight into the forest floor. He flung her arm over his shoulder and, with the aid of his vision, floated just a bit higher to support her better.
"You okay there? You are more exhausted than I thought,” he said while propping her and helping her to walk.
“Haa,” she exhaled, and her throat felt like it was burning. “Me too,” she exhaled out. Each step was agony with the increasing pain in her head. Her stomach was not feeling well either, as waves of nausea were worsening each time. She took a step until she was forced to stop walking entirely and had to cover her mouth to keep her from unloading her lunch there and then. She could see his expression from her side vision: worry.
“Are you okay, Sara?” he asked with a tone so soft she could mistake it for a plea.
“I am,” she reassured him, “this is not something sleep wouldn’t fix."
She was born a tengu, the guardian of the forest; something like this would not hurt her; it could not. Takayuki had drilled that into her ever since she was just a little child. He may have been a traitor, a bad foster father, and even downright narcissistic at times, but surely not everything he said would be bad, would it? She was always strong; she had to be, even if her loyalties were not dictated by the Shogun anymore. But, with The Wanderer helping her to stand when she had to do it all by herself before, she found that her will had waned. To be able to show someone her weak side and not be judged for it was relieving. As if a huge weight had been shared with someone who cared, the weight was not lifted; it would always be there, but with him by her side, that weight never felt so easy to carry.
“Are you listening?”
“Oh,” she said sheepishly, “what were you saying?”
“I asked you if you needed help,” he said.
She tried to take another step—another wave of nausea. She nodded to his request. “Can you carry me inside?” she said, her voice horse and weak.
Without saying a single word, the wanderer slowly put his right arm beneath her legs, his left on her shoulder, and princess carried her. She would have shrieked in embarrassment if she were not so weak and her throat was not so painful. He carried her slowly, careful not to move too quickly lest he trigger nausea in her. Once near the bed, he puts her gently down, as if she would break into a million pieces if he were not careful. Sara welcomed the feeling of lying down in a bed after a few days of tracking through the thick rainforest. No matter how hard this bed is, it feels nicer than any tree branch or patch of ground she has slept on these past few days.
“Do you need something?” he asked, his face still full of concern and worry.
“Just some water, please,” she croaked out.
He nodded and went outside to go to the stream to fetch some more water. Her mind wanders to that moment when they were laughing with and because of each other. In hindsight, she was not only jealous of the Kamisato family clan's ability to have that sort of simple happiness—to laugh with the ones you truly care about—but she secretly longs for it, despite fully believing that strength has always been the answer to a happy and fulfilled life. She had always thought that it was not something she would ever experience. But now she had it—her simple happiness. Sharing it with someone she loves just adds to the intense feelings borne out of simplicity. There are some more heavy coughs here and there as she waits for him, lying on the bed. She could hear anemo hitting the trees; what was he doing?
A few minutes later, he returned with a cup filled with water, a small bucket, and a bowl. So, he crafted some items just in case? She thought it was very thoughtful of him. He poured some of the water into the cup and gave it to her. She sat up slowly and received the cup.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded, and she drank until it was empty and gave the empty cup back to him.
“Get some sleep,” he said, "and I will watch over you like usual.”
“Mhm,” she said with a small nod, and she lay back on the bed to get some much-needed rest, her hand just a breath away from his as he sat down on a chair beside her.
She woke up with chills and an urge to vomit. The Wanderer, quickly noticing this, grabbed the small bucket he made and helped her empty her stomach, even tapping her shoulder a couple of times to help her. It was dark now, and the only thing lighting up the small hut was a candle at the bedside table. His face was obscured by the shadows, but she could feel his hands fidget lightly. Why is that?
He asked her if she wanted to drink, and she nodded. He got up, poured water into the cup, and gave it to her.
“Drink it slowly, please." His voice sounds so fragile; why is that?
After she drank, she gave back the cup to him and, obscured by the shadows, studied his expression. A slight furrow of eyebrows, fidgeting hands, and a softened gaze filled with worry. He is scared. The Wanderer is scared.
"Are you scared?” She asked him, her voice still rough and coarse. The following silence was the only answer she needed.
She sat up straighter and leaned against the wall. His hands were on the edge of the bed, and she only noticed now that the bed was wet. She probably sweats a lot in her sleep. The chills did not make it better either, as she put her trembling hand over his. He took it and intertwined it with his. She could not say much now; her throat would not let her, but she hoped her smile was enough to reassure him that she was going to be all right. It must be his memories of that unnamed child he told her a while back, where the child could not escape his mortality caused by an illness, where he was still naïve as to the way of the mortals, where he experienced the third and final betrayal that left him with nothing. She gestured to him to get closer, and once they did, she touched her warm forehead towards his, closing her eyes, hoping that he would understand that she would always be in his care, in his embrace, and she was not going to leave him—not now, not ever. After they parted, she gestured to him to get her traveling bag; he grabbed it and gave it to her. From it, she pulled out some medicine.
He smiled softly. “Always prepared; how very like you,” he said.
He diluted the medicine in some water as per the instructions and gave it to her. She drank it, and after that, she prepared herself to sleep again. But just before she was able to lie down again, he pulled her towards him and kissed her on her forehead—the action that prompted Sara to be a little bit red again, and he savored every moment of it. He climbed onto the bed and sat beside her on her left, beside the table, her eyes widening.
"You can't," she struggled to say, but he could already guess what she was going to say anyway.
"Can't be this close to you because I’ll get sick?" He scoffs, “I am a divine puppet, Sara. I cannot get sick, even if I want to,” he said.
“Besides,” he lay down softly while fully facing her, his hand still holding hers; she too lay down while facing him, his expression turned solemn. “Can we stay like this for a little while? The thought of you being sick reminds me too much of,” he hesitated, “of you know what. Could you let me hold on to you just for this night? Besides, this will help with your chills, would it not?” It was a plea, and she was in no position to deny him. She pulled him closer, placed a small kiss on his forehead, and hugged him close, nuzzling her nose in his hair. Her little breaths sway his hair and his heart gently as the scent of him lulls her to sleep.
She woke up alone in her bed, greeted with the smell of mushroom soup and the light of the morning sun. She coughed, but at least it was not as painful as it was before. The chills were gone, thankfully. The medicine kit that the Forest Rangers gave her was handy and effective; she should thank them in person, she thought. She tried to sit up slowly, and when she did, she saw The Wanderer cooking the mushroom soup she smelled. She did not realize it, but she was smiling when she looked at him. She tried to get up to help him, but her headache had not gotten any better yet, and a small amount of nausea still settled at the back of her throat. Sighing, she gave up and laid down on the bed again.
Being sick did not bring good memories for the tengu; Takayuki’s insistence on her getting stronger for the clan always took precedence, at the cost of her health and her mentality, although she discovered the latter way later, but thankfully not too late. She remembered the times Takayuki would be harsh on her for the mere fact of getting sick. Be it the mere common cold caused by the changing weather or overexertion because of her training, he would not budge, only saying that if she were stronger, she would not get sick. The only motivation for her to get better back then was to prove to Takayuki that she was indeed stronger than he thought, only adding to the problem. The more she proved she was stronger, the higher his expectations got, and the more toll she took on her body and soul—a vicious cycle born out of the need for a place to belong. She stared at the hut ceiling; she was grateful she was finally able to leave those days behind. Though that expression on his face last night still amazed her, someone was worried about her; he was worried about her, scared, even. Before she met him, the thought of someone getting worried about her was, well, truthfully, something she never thought about. Her life has been all about her devotion to others; she did not concern herself with how others treat her, for the greater good she once thought. It was a mere fantasy. But as she heard his footsteps towards her bed, with an inviting smell of warm soup in his hand, she was grateful that she was living in it now.
“Feeling better now?” he asked while sitting on the chair beside her bed, putting the bowl of warm soup on the bedside table. He put his hand on her forehead; it was still warm.
“A little bit,” she said after a cough, “at least the chills have gone for now.”
He nodded and asked, “Do you want to eat now?”
“I think I need to,” she answered as she slowly got up to a sitting position. She put out her hand, waiting for him to give her the bowl to eat. It never came. She turned to look at him with a puzzled expression on her face.
“What’s that look for?”
“I am waiting for you to give me the bowl.”
“Not going to happen,” he said while scooping some soup into the spoon, “now open wide.”
“I can feed myself!”
“And let you eat it with only five spoonfuls while you’re sick?”
“That’s—!”
“You’re sick, Sara. You have to eat slowly.”
“Who knows, maybe after five spoonfuls I’ll get better quicker.”
He groaned at that. “You just can’t help it, can you?”
“I promise I will eat it slowly,” she said with a small smile. “Now, could you give me that?”
After seeing the stone-faced gene—, former general smile pleadingly at him like that, he relented and gave the bowl to her with a sigh.
“Eat it slowly,” he said, to which she nodded.
With nothing to do, he watched her eat the soup he had made.
"Does it taste good?”
“Yes, it is. Thank you for making this for me.”
It was a simple compliment and a thank you—the simplest one could receive after making someone a meal, really—yet it was reaching every part of his non-existent heart. Maybe the one who said them is what makes the difference, he thought; getting the same compliment from Nahida does not hit the same. He looked at her again, studying her. Her dark indigo hair perfectly frames her features, its softness despite its angles. Her face, which is so often described, even by herself, as stone-like, but the one he grew to love and adore—the noticeable redness that emerged whenever he teased her—is a sight he cherished. Her lips that adorned that face—the lips that showed her embarrassed smiles, her real smiles, her grins, her laughter, her frowns, and her kisses—showed his happiness. Her golden eyes would never fail to captivate him whenever he saw them, and the way they always softened when they met his.
Mortals like humans and simple animals are not very different, not really; it does not take anything grand or groundbreaking to make them happy and fulfilled. They could simply sit by the sunset doing nothing and be happy; they could eat something delicious and be happy; hell, they could even do an exhausting job, and whether it mattered or not in the end, they could still be happy. He once thought he needed something more, a prototype for a God, one that aims for eternity no less and could not entertain those simple pleasures. He needed something more to be happy—a gnosis, a follower, a hold on some sort of power—anything that could give meaning to the purpose of his very existence. But after he lost it years ago, he learned to be content despite it all, despite the anxieties and regrets that will always follow him. He is trying to learn to enjoy the simple pleasures in life: the company of a lover and a good friend, the sounds of the rainforest, the refreshing feeling of a waterfall, the melancholic rain, everything. An Adeptus he met once in his journeys described it best: To exist in the first place is a beautiful thing. The old version of him would probably laugh at that concept; existence is what brings suffering, chaos, and death, where fate is truly arbitrary. But, after he met her, ever since he became closer to her, ever since she became the center of his life, he came to embrace that philosophy. Fate is not cruel; to be cruel, one must first be able to do something willfully and be able to judge good and bad. Fate is not a living thing; he doesn’t think so anyway. Fate is indifferent; it cannot care; it is simply arbitrary. Maybe it is as arbitrary to find hope as it is to lose it; maybe it is as arbitrary to be happy as it is to be sad; maybe it is as arbitrary to love and be loved as it is to grieve and mourn. Simple creatures do not need anything complicated to be happy. He concluded that being a simple creature was not bad in the slightest. Who would reject happiness that came from the simplest of things?
“Is there something on my face?” She asked, breaking his thoughts; he must have been staring at her for quite a while now. He shook his head; the bowl was empty, and he took it from her hand and placed it on the bedside table.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“What is it?”
“The way you looked at me last night,” her voice softens, “are you alright?”
“You’re the one who's sick, and you’re the one that’s asking if I’m alright?”
She chuckled softly, but only for a short moment. She put her hand above his, feeling it and eventually gently intertwining with it. “Does the thought of me being sick still scare you?”
He sighed and looked down at their now-intertwined hands. “It still does; it still reminds me of those times when I had lost everything—my family, my friends, even my will to live. It is a day that I cannot forget, and no matter how long you live as a tengu, you are still a mortal. There will still come a time when you will leave me as they did,” he swallowed. “I just wish I could be with you, by your side, when that day arrives.”
She was silent for a moment, digesting his words, Indeed, she would still die one day; one day she would leave him but
“But I am still here, and that is what matters. Bad things happen, and they will. I do not think there will ever come a time when everything lasts forever and nothing hurts ever again. I will still die one day. But the strength is to accept that and still enjoy what we have now. I am not gone yet,” she said, taking his hand and pressing a kiss ever so gently on it. “I will not be for ages, so enjoy your time with me however you can and live fully in the present with me, together.”
She had changed, he thought. She had changed a lot. There was a time when she could not even enjoy the sight of the fireworks that the Naganoharas always prepared. It is fleeting, she had always said, and fleeting things are nothing compared to the eternity that the shogun promised. But after talking to him and Ei, the traveler, her view of eternity changes little by little. It was tough at first; she is stubborn like that, but after hearing her talk like that to him, to be able to fully live in the present, she looked to be a lot more content. It is the acceptance of what was and a commitment to what is, with no stake in what will be, and she had fully embraced it with the time she spent with him. Maybe if eternity does not mean infinite temporal duration but timelessness, then don’t the people who live in the present live an eternal life? Maybe this is the new kind of eternity that Ei was changing to if he heard the traveler’s story correctly.
“Go and get some rest now; I will watch like usual,” he said.
“I feel gross.”
“You did sweat a lot.”
“One of the disadvantages of being biological, I suppose.”
He chuckled at that. “Do you want to take a bath?”
“It would be preferable.”
“Can you stand up?”
She rotated on the bed and put her feet down on the wooden floor. The Wanderer stood up from his chair, and when she tried to, the headache was still a bit too much, so she was forced to sit back down on the bed. “Damn it,” she mumbled, mostly to herself.
The wanderer gave her a towel and said, “Use this in the meantime; I will heat some water.”
“For what?”
“For cleaning you up and preparing a bath for you, obviously. What else would I use it for?” He could feel a retort coming, so he put up a hand to stop her. “You could barely stand up just a moment ago; just think of this as a payment for the sweet talk, got it?”
She groaned. Whenever he talked about payment for a good deed that she did for him, she would always lose, and now she was in no position to refuse, though when she looked at him, she could not stop herself from smiling a grateful smile. She is truly happy to have him in her life. “Fine, I will be in your care.”