Work Text:
THIS COULD BE A DREAM
Look up at the light
This could be a dream
(Or it could be real)
Dive into my mind
And don't come up for air
(You won't need it here)
—Aurora
—————
As Lucius is stirring the small, dented piece of iron they call a cookpot, steam rising to obscure his face and wet his hair, causing him to tuck those pieces framing his face back behind his ear, Raven realizes quite alarmingly that all this time, he has not truly missed him. During the loneliest months of his life, months he spent keeping his stomach full just to go forth and kill people, then going forth and killing people just to keep his stomach full, months where he knotted his hands in his hair and thought of Lucius with almost blinding pain, he had not missed him. He had not fully comprehended just what, who, it was he left standing next to the ashes of his smoldering childhood home, frantically calling his name.
“Raven?”
He startles, though he hardly moves; life as a mercenary has hardened his already steely exterior. Lucius looks back at him through the steam, wooden spoon dangling in midair. Raven’s gaze floats away, toward the ground. “You’d better concentrate,” he reprimands.
“What? Oh!” The sound of stirring interrupts the hiss of water boiling over the edge of the pot. Knowing their dinner is in no real danger, Raven watches Lucius's harmless panic with a fond feeling fluttering in his chest, thinking about many things at once, all of them Lucius, Lucius, Lucius.
He thinks that Lucius gives too much of himself. He thinks that Lucius is too selfless for his own good, down to the very core of him, bent through the very air he breathes. He thinks that Lucius has no place on this quest of his, no place at his side, pouring himself into Raven’s hands when Raven has nothing to give him in return. He thinks that Lucius is the closest to home he has felt in a long, long time. He thinks that Lucius, were he to ask him, would say the same thing about him. He thinks he could scream.
It’s just not fair. Perfect Lucius, kneeling in the dirt next to a campfire, taking a dingy pot of rice and beans out of the heat, scooping it into a bowl with a spoon. Not too long ago, Lucius had taken the oath of a monk, reflected in the clothing he’s dirtying with dust and ash. Has he given up on his dreams already, just to throw his lot in with Raven?
Through all of this, Raven doesn’t say a word. At some point, his efforts to push Lucius away became efforts to keep him safe during jobs, during night watch, during walks over uneven ground. If Raven were to leave Lucius, if Lucius were to leave him, he would lose a part of himself. As much as he loathes the rest of him, he wants—needs—to keep that precious piece sheltered and clean and warm and…
When Lucius hands him the bowl with his dinner, instead of reaching for it, he reaches up. Barely catching himself in time, his palm hovers an inch away from the corner of Lucius’s jaw, unsteady. “May I?” he asks, his voice gravelly.
“Oh, Raymond,” Lucius says, almost a giggle. Raven might think he was laughing at him if he didn’t nod after he said it, blond bangs bouncing with the strength and speed of it.
So Raven touches him, his sword hand smoothing over his skin. He reads Lucius’s wide eyes like he’s trying to memorize the expression, strokes his cheek like he’s making sure he’s real. “Could you…”
“My lord?”
Just like that, the ugly parts of him, the parts that are him, rear their head. His eyes snap shut, his jaw flinches. “Don’t call me that,” he grumbles. “It is nothing.”
“You seem worried.”
“Because I’m worried about you,” he says, meaning it as a retort, yet the instant he realizes what words have left his mouth he flushes. Pulling his hand back, he is surprised to find his movement stopped by Lucius’s own palm pressing him back into place. “What?” he hisses, as defensive as a cornered animal.
“I told you I would stay with you,” Lucius answers, if that could be called an answer. Eyes fluttering shut, he leans the weight of his head into Raven’s hand. Stunned into silence, Raven lets him, merely watching while Lucius speaks. “No matter what else, I will stay by your side. I trust you to keep me safe… And I am not helpless, you know…”
Gritting his teeth, Raven has to collect himself before he can respond. Yes, yes. “It’s not your fight,” he forces himself to say, the words breaking on his tongue.
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t be here!”
“I am where I want to be.”
Raven has nothing to say to that, so he looks away.
“Look at me.”
Lucius is like a bird. He is fragile, and soft, and sings when things are too quiet. He couldn’t force Raven to do anything no matter how hard he tried. Still, Raven looks up at him and finds him looking back, blue eyes the color of stars.
“You’re hurting,” Lucius breathes, “I am too. Could we not hurt together, instead of working through it alone?”
Inhaling, Raven means to answer, yet finds himself holding his breath. What could he say? He is screaming, screaming, screaming, somewhere Lucius shouldn’t be able to reach. The hurt in him is not meant to be shared. He shuts his eyes, breath releasing in a slow exhale.
As his shoulders slump, Lucius’s arms come around them. They meet in the middle, Lucius scooching forward on his knees and Raven tipping his head into his chest. He places his ear right next to Lucius’s heart, listening to its soothing rhythm for the first time since they were children. When his arms encircle Lucius’s waist, Lucius rests his chin in his hair with a hum. Raven could sing.
They hold each other until their breathing matches, until the rest of the world doesn’t seem quite real, until it could all be a dream, until their dinner cools.