Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

'The blue flame is my soul, my guardian, may it engulf all who oppose me!’ are the first words Scarecrow hears, followed by a feeling of distrust, he had been deceived once, and will not risk being deceived again.

'The blue flame is my soul, my guardian, may it engulf all who oppose me!’ is roared, and a calm sense of safety settles over Scarecrow; he knows despite the ferocity of their enemy, the battle's end is nigh.

'The blue flame is my soul, my guardian, may it engulf all who oppose me’ the words written are ironic, a bitter sadness seeping through them, but no comfort can be given to the writer, the only thing left for Scarecrow to hold is ash.

Chapter Text

Sazantos blinked awake, confused by what had awoken him. He felt no danger, and through the dark he could see Rondo and Hugo sleeping peacefully across from him in their shared inn bed.

There it was- a soft, muffled sound. Sazantos rolled over and blinked in surprise to see the Chosen One with tear tracks shining faintly on his cheeks in the moonlight while he pressed a hand against his mouth, body shaking with suppressed sobs. At the sight of Sazantos staring at him, the Chosen One brought his other hand over his eyes and curled slightly into himself, as if to hide, a wet huff of a sob escaping him as he did.

Sazantos lifted himself up on one elbow, a strange feeling overtaking him as he asked with hesitance, “... Scarecrow?”

Shaking his head violently, Scarecrow curled even tighter, his knees practically at his chin. Sazantos was at a loss, what had come over the Chosen One? And what should he do about it? Without much thought, Sazantos tugged at the blanket on the bed, bringing it over Scarecrow until it covered him completely. 

Immediately, Scarecrow grasped at the blanket, pulling it close so it couldn’t be moved away.

There was a familiar but faded sense of wishing for his own comfort that welled up within Sazantos as he placed a hand where he presumed Scarecrow’s shoulder still to be, letting the warmth of the Flame seep from his skin and into the blanket. He let his hand rest there for a few heartbeats before saying, “I will leave you be.”

No response came from Scarecrow, just a minor shift of movement from him as Sazantos swung himself out of the bed. Stillness accompanied Sazantos as he removed himself from the room, tapping quietly on bare feet through the inn. His plan was to do his morning warm ups, but when he reached the back courtyard he realized had not brought his sword, or anything with which to practice.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Sazantos dropped into the first stance of his warm-up, holding out his hand as if there was an imaginary sword he grasped within it, then slowly began to sweep his arm through sword strikes.

As Sazantos went through the movements of his exercise, gradually increasing their intensity, his mind churned. Normally Sazantos used this time to focus his mind, to either remind himself of his duties as Flameguard, or to ready himself for a more immediate goal, like the incoming clash against Ceraphina. Yet his thoughts wandered off of their own accord, returning to the Chosen One huddled underneath the blankets like a child.

What darkness haunted the Chosen One to leave him in such a state? Would it be what drove his desires into obtaining the godrings? Why did Sazantos have a sense of envy?

When Sazantos was done, he made his way back to the inn room, an extra blanket draped over his shoulder and a glass of water in his other hand, sweat cooling on his skin. Once he was inside the room, Sazantos was confused to see Scarecrow had moved, now a lump of blanket on the side of the bed on which Sazantos had been sleeping.

Still, Sazantos approached the bed, bringing a knee up on the empty side so he could reach with his free hand and rest it against the bundle that was Scarecrow. He felt a shiver from underneath the blanket before Scarecrow seemed to lean into his hand, his weight pressing into Sazantos’ palm, before leaning away again.

Since Scarecrow appeared awake, Sazantos spoke- softly, as not to rouse the others- “You should drink something, you’ll feel better for it.”

Sazantos waited a beat, but there was only stillness from Scarecrow, so he placed the glass he held on the nightstand next to Scarecrow, “There’s a glass here, if you wish it.”

He then shook out the blanket he brought, curling up underneath it since Scarecrow had taken full use of the only blanket, and allowed himself to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Sazantos stared intently at the candle flame whose holder he held cupped in his hands. With his knees bracketing the candle to help ward off any untoward breezes, Sazantos watched its light valiantly fight off the dark, its glow not nearly enough to see the entirety of the space he was in, but it was all he had.

The flame flickered and Sazantos’ heart jumped into his throat, beating quickly at the thought of it going out.

Softly, Scarecrow’s voice spoke from next to him, “How long have you been afraid of the dark?”

Sazantos’ mouth went dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of it, sealing his lips as he glanced up towards Scarecrow.

He wanted to deny, or redirect the inquiry, or even stonily stare at Scarecrow until it was clear the other man was a fool for daring to ask such a question, but found himself caught at Scarecrow’s shadowed figure. The candle’s warm glow illuminated Scarecrow’s expression from below, somehow changing the piercing gaze that Sazantos was used to into into something gentler, something comforting. 

A soft thing made its way up Sazantos’ throat, managing to slide past the lock of his lips into a barely there breath of- 

“Always.”

There was a silence so great the burning of the candle could be heard, then a quiet and disbelieving, “What?”

As if that one word opened the gates, Sazantos found words continued to flow out of him, “I’ve never not been scared of the dark. When I was young, before I could control my Flame, I would need a lamp in my room to fall asleep.”

Sazantos averted his eyes away from Scarecrow, his eyes focusing on the faint blue at the bottom of the candle’s flame, “Then I started to use my Flame for light whenever the darkness became too oppressive, until eventually the knowledge I could call upon it at any time reassured me, and I could go without, though the fear was still there. And now…” Sazantos trailed off

“And now your Flame is gone…” Scarecrow finished, his voice concerned.

Sazantos’ breath caught, and he swallowed the sob that wanted to come out. Would this one candle be enough?

There was rustling, and Sazantos saw and felt Scarecrow’s gloved hand wrap around one of his pressed against the candle holder. “It’ll be alright Sazantos,” Scarecrow reassured, “Someone will find us before the light is gone. Trust me.”

Sazantos risked closing his eyes. Like this he could concentrate better on the Flame burning within Scarecrow, as bright and steady as ever. It may not provide any tangible light, but maybe it would be enough to get Sazantos through this. “I will.”

Chapter Text

Sazantos straddled Scarecrow’s legs as he sat in a chair, hands placed over the other man’s heart. They didn’t need to be so close for what he was about to do, but Sazantos wanted the reassurance of it. To feel the connection, the warmth of Scarecrow’s body underneath his palms, the steady thrum of Scarecrow’s heartbeat, slower than the nervous pace of his own

After some time had passed, Scarecrow gently placed a hand on Sazantos’ arm, saying softly, “It’ll be alright Sazantos.”

Sazantos twitched, lifting his head from blankly staring at his hands to meet Scarecrow’s warm gaze. “It may hurt,” he stated.

“And I still agreed to it,” Scarecrow said. He lifted a hand and brushed back Sazantos’ hair, tucking it behind his ear. “I trust you, now trust yourself.”

Nodding mutely, Sazantos turned his focus back towards his hands, to the Flame underneath them that he could sense burning brightly. With a sharp exhale Sazantos mentally reached out with his spirit and brushed against the warm Flame, Scarecrow humming lightly in response.

Carefully, Sazantos curled his spirit around part of the Flame, tugging on it until it separated and became a smaller fire of its own. He kept pulling until he could feel its warmth underneath his palms, practically hearing it crackling beneath Scarecrow’s skin.

Scarecrow’s breath hitched, his hand on Sazantos’ arm digging in, and Sazantos froze.

“Don’t stop,” Scarecrow said with a grimace, “Keep going.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Sazantos did as told, Scarecrow’s grip growing bruisingly tight as he took the Flame from Scarecrow’s chest and into his hands.

Once he had it, Sazantos let it sit between them, hovering over his palm. For such a small thing, it shone with dazzling luminescence.

“It looks different than yours did,” Scarecrow said with fascination.

Sazantos hummed, “The Flame takes after the person, so that’s not surprising.”

Having Scarecrow’s Flame in his hands, Sazantos hesitated once again, but before he could second-guess himself too long Scarecrow’s hands wrapped around his, insistently pushing against them. Sazantos let Scarecrow guide his hands, until they were pressed flat against his own heart, Scarecrow’s Flame softly sinking in.

An unconscious sigh left Sazantos as the warmth spread through him, filling in the spaces where his own Flame used to rest. Like this, he could feel the difference Scarecrow spoke of, his Flame was so much warmer than Sazantos’ own had been, though still fierce even with its kindness.

Leaning forward, Sazantos wrapped his arms around Scarecrow’s shoulders, and buried his face in Scarecrow’s neck, sighing in satisfaction as Scarecrow brought his arms around his waist, holding Sazantos close. They stayed there like that, Sazantos feeling the love Scarecrow had for him both through his external touch, and his internal Flame, until what little Flame Sazantos had taken slowly dissipated and disappeared.

Chapter Text

Scarecrow stares drowsily into his drink, watching the light play across the liquid as his vision tilts off-kilter.

“Could you be…” A man next to Scarecrow addresses him, “the Chosen One?”

Lifting his head as if moving through molasses, Scarecrow nods.

Scarecrow’s mind drifts off as the man speaks a request, belatedly realizing the other man is wearing a former Scarlet Wing uniform. Then before Scarecrow knows it, he is trudging over a packed-down snow path, following the former Scarlet Wing towards the edge of town. When they stop at an enclosed clearing, the place is quiet, not even the murmur of townsfolk to be heard. A smirk shows from beneath the man’s helmet as he turns back to Scarecrow.

“You’re an even bigger fool than I took you for Chosen One.”

The dagger’s blade skitters off the hardened leather of Scarecrow’s gauntlet, pure instinct having allowed him to block the sudden attack. Scarecrow stumbles back, feeling unsteady on his feet, before feeling someone else grab him. With a rough shove, he manages to push them away, but as he tries to assess the situation, the black forms of his ambushers blur and blend together until he becomes clueless on whether he is facing two or twenty men.

Grimacing, Scarecrow reaches for his hunting knife, breath hitching as he misses- taking a moment of groping until he finally grabs the handle. When he finally pulls it out, arm shaking, there’s a scream and one of the figures bursts into a familiar blue Flame.

Tension bleeds from Scarecrow’s shoulders. Help has arrived.

It feels like between only one blink and the next all of the black-clad Scarlet Wings are dead on the ground and Sazantos stands before him, a perfect picture of calm and poise even to Scarecrow’s unfocused mind. Scarecrow has barely agreed to follow Sazantos to Flamesgrace before the other man is turning away, heading back towards town with the expectation he will be followed.

Except Scarecrow doesn’t follow. He does try to tell his body to move, to stumble after Sazantos if it has to; staying here is a bad idea. But what it does instead is blurt out, “You save my life a lot for someone who looks like he wants to kill me.”

The stillness that falls over Sazantos is unnerving, and he remains silent as he turns around and strides towards Scarecrow. When Sazantos stops before Scarecrow, Sazantos reaches out and grabs him firmly by the collar, yanking him down close enough that his breath fans against Sazantos’ face.

Sazantos stares at him, and Scarecrow stares back. This close, Scarecrow notices flecks of green in Sazantos’ endlessly blue eyes.

“You have very pretty eyes,” Scarecrow states.

Sazantos’ eyebrows jump for a moment, before carefully returning to his neutral expression. Letting go of Scarecrow, Sazantos says, “You’ve been drugged.”

Oh. That explains what’s happening. Unfortunately it doesn’t help Scarecrow feel any less dazed and drowsy.

“We’ll have to wait until you recover before heading for Flamesgrace,” Sazantos says, and Scarecrow wonders if it’s the drugs that make Sazantos sound annoyed. But still Sazantos patiently helps Scarecrow back to his inn room to wait for whatever is in his system to work its way through.

Chapter Text

The hackles on the back of Sazantos’ neck rose, and he instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword at the feeling of sharp eyes watching him. Then he forced himself to relax as he turned his gaze to meet the chosen one’s. 

After investigating the people within Flamesgrace Cathedral to try and find the one moving against the church, the chosen one had settled on the steps leading up to the Sacred Flame’s dais, elbows resting on his knees and hands threaded together thoughtfully in front of his mouth as he observed all those inside.

And now those blue eyes had chosen to focus on him, piercing and strong, a hunter watching its prey. Sazantos frowned, stance shifting as he resolutely returned the gaze, refusing to look away from the chosen one’s eyes. 

He was not prey. He would not be intimidated.

Sazantos waited for the chosen one’s stare to move on, to find someone else to scrutinize, but it remained on him, their eyes locked on each other. In the process of watching him, the chosen one’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Sazantos knew he should look away, that there was no reason for this staring contest. Yet, doing so felt more an admittance of fear, rather than an acknowledgement of innocence. So they remained in stalemate.

“Flameguard sir?” Rondo’s voice questioned from beside him.

Sazantos didn’t acknowledge him, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. He couldn’t break the stare first, not with that gaze waiting for weakness on him.

“Sir?” Rondo repeated. 

Finally, those blue eyes shifted, glancing over to Rondo, before moving on. And Sazantos could breathe, a weight falling off him.

“What is it Rondo?” Sazantos barely held himself back from snapping.

He scarcely paid attention as Rondo gave a report on his personal investigation on the people within the church. A storm of thoughts swirled through his mind at the sense of relief he felt, had he truly been unintimidated by the chosen one’s focus? Or was he actually prey? Too scared to move lest he be spotted by a predator?

His heart too, was pounding, though Sazantos refused to believe it was fear.

Glancing away from Rondo and his endless tirade, Sazantos looked back towards the chancel, seeing that the chosen one had moved. He was now standing next to the pontiff, whispering words back and forth. Sazantos couldn’t hear them, but he recognized his name falling from the chosen one’s lips.

The pontiff called for him then, and Sazantos abandoned Rondo, responding to his beckons. As he neared, Sazantos glanced over at the chosen one, happening to meet his gaze once again. While his blue eyes held none of his earlier deadly focus, a cold premonition swept through Sazantos, making him shiver.

Scarecrow would be the death of him.

Chapter Text

“Ah, Sazantos, there you are,” The Chosen One called out, drawing Sazantos’ attention and bringing him to a stop in the Cathedral hallway. “This is for you,” he explained, holding out a slim rectangular box when he was close enough to Sazantos to do so.

Sazantos stared at the box, he had seen its likeness in all the confectionary stores around town- white, with a simple red ribbon. “What is the purpose of this?”

“Well, it’s White Day,” the Chosen One said simply.

“I do not recall giving you chocolate for Valentine’s.”

The Chosen One shrugged, “I thought if I was giving them out, I might as well. Do me a favor and take it off my hands?”

Sighing, Sazantos did as requested, plucking the box from the Chosen One’s hands. He could always toss the chocolates later.

“Thank you,” the Chosen One said, and Sazantos could see the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips before he was turning away with a goodbye.

Once the Chosen One was around the corner, Sazantos opened the box out of curiosity and blinked at finding not white chocolate, as was customary, but dark chocolate, similar to the ones he had guiltily bought for himself when Valentine’s Day had come around.

Sazantos slammed the box shut so forcefully he almost dropped it, an unfamiliar feeling burning at his cheeks. The Chosen One was truly incorrigible.