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moogle_workshop2011-11-10 09:13 pm
mako-lies.livejournal.com) wrote in moogle_workshop2011-11-10 09:13 pm
Breath and Relics
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mako_lies
Class: White Mage
Title: Breath and Relics
Summary: Lightning can't just let go. End-game spoilers.
Characters: Lightning/Odin, Snow, Hope, Sazh, Dajh, Serah
Word count: 3,948
Rating: R (for dream sex and light kink)
Losing him is the icing on the cake. It’s a loss she experiences mere hours after the first, second, and third losses (Fang, Vanille, and Cocoon) and is the one that leaves her gasping. The pink stone in her hand is cold and lusterless, and she can’t help the thought that nearly destroys her (he’s dead) and she blinks back those same tears she battled earlier.
The others are some ways away, gathered around a makeshift camp, but she’s here, looking at the looming crystal that was once home. Lightning closes her fingers around the stone, bites down hard on her lower lip, and doesn’t cry.
She must be strong - she is the one who must lead the way.
“Odin,” she murmurs, bows her head at loss.
No matter how hard she works, there are always too many hours in a day to dwell. Even Snow and Dajh start noticing there’s something wrong, and she can’t help the way her mouth curls with amusement when she realizes she puts them into the same category.
It’s dark outside when she finds her way home and collapses in the chair at her desk.
All the random paperwork she has is already done and she finds herself casting about for something, anything to do, even as exhaustion tugs at her. She knows herself at least that well - if she tries to sleep now, she’ll wind up staring at the ceiling, wondering if there’s a way to save Fang and Vanille, or she’ll palm Odin’s stone and wonder what happened to him, and thoughts will chase themselves ‘round and ‘round and she doesn’t want to deal with it right now.
Lightning flicks her gunblade out, to sharpen it, to polish it, and she falls into an easy rhythm, hands going through patterns she might be able to do in her sleep -
Except not, because her hand slips, and she cuts her hand deep and swears at herself but not at it, because she was the stupid one, it was just doing its job. She fumbles bleeding for a potion and a rag, and decides to sleep after this. After all, no matter how many brawls she gets into with sleep and thought, she eventually loses anyway.
Snow is actually the first one to ask her about it. “You still got yours?” he asks, holds up the blue stone with the dark line running down the middle.
Shiva.
“Yeah,” she says, doesn’t take Odin out.
There’s a beat, where he takes a cue from her, and then his expression falls a little, no longer a nonchalant grin, but something charged, aching. “Hey, Light?” he asks, the words coming slowly, “You ever miss it?”
She almost laughs, because he says it like it’s a simple thing, a yes or a no, like there’s not any weight to it, and she wants to scream sometimes, because she doesn’t know what to do with herself, because she can’t cry, has to be strong because they need her to be. And then she gives him the honest answer, the answer he wasn’t bargaining for, “I miss them.”
Honestly? He nearly drops the stone and she nearly laughs. Then he’s silent for a few minutes, like he’s trying to find something that won’t damn him like she’s just damned herself, and he looks down at the dead stone in his hands, and then he looks back at her, like he’s trying to figure her out.
“Have you tried blowing on it?”
The question takes her aback, and he grins as her eyebrows rise. She’s about to make demands, because she’s good at those especially when she’s trying to act like he totally didn’t just one up her, when he blows into his stone and it glows blue, briefly. Lightning catches her breath, closes her mouth so fast her teeth audibly clack; Snow grins at her.
“Must be a trick of the light,” she says, because she can’t think of anything better to say, “Wanna spar?”
She can’t think about Odin, can’t think about glowing stones (maybe he’s not dead), but she feels like a bitch when Snow’s expression falls further, and she reaches out to him, clasps his shoulder. “C’mon, tough guy. I need to make sure you can still protect Serah.”
And he grins again, but there’s something a little twisted about it and she understands why a second later.
“Lightning - just wanted to let you know, we miss having you around the house.”
It’s kind of low, but he probably doesn’t realize it. She allows herself a crooked grin, says, “I couldn’t live with you and Serah forever. Trust me; you would’ve gotten tired of it. I would have walked in on you screwing and then I would have castrated you, then Serah’d never talk to me. So,” she shrugs, a little uncomfortably, but he laughs so she figures that’s good enough.
“All right, sis,” he says, pats her on the shoulder, “Let’s spar.”
That night, she stares at the stone in her hand for hours, but can’t seem to work up the courage to mimic Snow.
Hope seems surprised to see her, which makes her wince, because she’s never visited him here. Made a point of it, actually. Because getting him to come to the new school at all was like pulling teeth, because at sixteen he still wanted to trail after her with his boomerang. “Light,” he falters, like it’s been forever since he’s seen her, even though it’s only been a few days sine he came seeking her help on his math homework, “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” she says with a smile.
He shifts and then he grins at her. “So what brings you here?”
“Actually,” she falters, tries to find a way to explain, then figures it’s Hope, he’ll understand, whatever she says, kid knows her too well, “I was wondering if the library had anything on Eidolons.”
There’s a moment where he studies her, and she frowns, because she really doesn’t relish the feeling of being judged, even though she knows he’s not judging her. She blows out a breath and meets his gaze; his smile twists ruefully.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
Lightning almost laughs. His hair is soft when she reaches out to ruffle it; he relaxes at her touch, though she does not miss the color rising in his cheeks. “I’m guessing you talked to Snow?” he asks, and then continues at her sharp nod, “Sazh and Snow actually asked me the same thing, so I did a little research, with what texts we managed to salvage... And - well. There’s no way to bring them back from what I understand.”
He means the Eidolons, she knows he means the Eidolons, but there’s a part of her that thinks Fang and Vanille? Like hell I won’t bring them back, and then she bites the inside of her cheek to bleeding. “The glowing?” she asks, tone measured.
“In some of the older writings, there’s mention of how life is contained in breath. I think that blowing breath - life - into the stones creates a reaction, but, without magic... We can’t free them, Light. So they’re there - we just can’t do anything for them,” he says, half-shrugs helplessly at her.
“Thanks,” she says, fumbles for something to make the situation better, and then smiles, “Seems like you’re doing well at school.”
Hope flushes again, and she leans, kisses him on the cheek, and he goes even redder, and she bites back a laugh. Poor kid. “Alright. C’mon, give me the lay of the land.”
And he beams at her - leads her.
She spends three days with Hope, and then leaves, telling him that he needs to “focus on his school work.”
The following night, after she gets home, she takes a deep breath and blows over Odin’s stone and it flares pink for a moment, then fades, warmth shooting like pins and needles across her palm. But when she does it again, nothing happens, and she almost throws it in frustration.
“Do you dream?” she asks Sazh the next day. “Of her? Brynhildr?”
She’s curled on his couch and allowed him to make her a grilled cheese sandwich, because, sometimes, she likes to pretend that she could ever let someone else take care of her. Besides, Sazh likes to do it. Take care of her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever fathom why.
“Sometimes. Dream of all three of ‘em, actually. And Elisabeth,” he adds the last as an afterthought, and he can see his recoil at that slight to his wife in his eyes.
Lightning catches his wrist in her hand, offers him a smile; he expels a long sigh, and then shakes his head. “What brings this on?”
It’s a question she really should have expected. After all, she’s not one to indulge in idle curiosity and everyone knows it. She sighs, wonders how to approach this without seeming - obsessive? - and then she rolls her shoulders, grins crooked, and says, “Since I tried Snow’s glowing stone trick, I’ve had dreams of Odin that seem -” she chokes on the word real.
“You think he’s visiting you?”
She stops - Sazh has a habit of asking all those important questions she tries not to ask of herself, dammit - and then she shuts her eyes tight, nods once. Sazh clasps her shoulder tight, skin hot but not as hot as when he was a L’Cie.
“Lightning,” he tells her, fine lines around his eyes, and guilt sets her to biting the inside of her cheek again, “They’re gone.”
Everyone tells her that - constantly, repeatedly - and she can’t find it in herself to believe. Maybe she’s more like Snow than she gives herself credit for, but she can’t give up. She can’t let go, and maybe that makes her a fool. Silence echoes for a moment, and then Sazh laughs, though it’s a little sardonic, nearly makes her flinch, and then he tightens his grip on her shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
They tell her that, too, but nothing is ever stupid when you’re doing it for your family.
(She definitely spends too much time around Snow, but maybe believing isn’t such a bad thing. She’ll have to thank him later, and then challenge him to a spar so she can whip his ass.)
“I won’t,” she promises, but neither of them believe her.
Her and Sazh share a grin, then he pulls out the beer.
The first time Odin comes to her in a dream, she doesn’t recognize him. All she knows is she’s in this stone room, decorated with thick tapestries depicting a beautiful woman clothed in blue, and there’s a man in white armor looking out the lone window.
His hair shines fair, golden, and he turns around, and she sucks a breath in, because his eyes are purple, bright and turbulent, and then he smirks, teeth gleaming.
“Claire,” he says, spreads his arms and she stiffens.
Automatically, she reaches down for her gunblade, but it’s not there, and she tenses into a fighting stance. “How do you know my name?” she snarls, clenching her fists, ready.
Then he has the audacity to laugh at her. “So long spent missing me,” he says, smirk widening, “And this is the greeting I receive?”
And he holds up a sword she would know anywhere.
“Odin?” she gasps, takes a step back, eyes wide.
He laughs at her again, but she doesn’t really mind this time. He reaches out for her, tugs a lock of her hair -
And next thing she knows, she’s sitting up, drenched with sweat. Fucking awake.
Lightning has never been one to indulge herself. So when she discovers that the nights she dreams are the nights she makes the stone glow, she limits herself, and justifies it by telling herself that she’s a silly girl who can’t let go.
Three times a week, she tells herself over and over again. The thing she can’t deny is she’s happiest the mornings after she’s seen him.
This time, they’re in a room of his castle she hasn’t seen before (he hasn’t actually told her it’s his castle, but she likes to think that’s what this is, because if it’s not, the only other word she can think is prison, and she figures that’s too close to the mark for her to handle). There are still tapestries of his lover (another assumption she makes, this one wryly) but now there’s a large bed and she feels her face go hot, which makes him smirk.
Smug bastard, she’s far from an untried virgin.
“You keep coming back here,” he muses, turns away from her, and she perches on the edge of his bed, proves she’s not cowed.
“The other dreams I have are far less pleasant,” she says, it isn’t exactly a lie. “And you act like you’re not glad to see me. You can’t have much in the way of entertainment here.”
He barks a laugh, turns to face her and then approaches her. “You think to entertain me?” he asks, and he traces her cheekbone with his index finger, and there’s just a zing of electricity in his touch, and she shivers from that and not from the contact.
Lightning swallows, throat suddenly dry, and murmurs, “Well, I suppose it’s the least I can do.”
It’s a relief he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt she feels for not being able to free him from this cage. When was it you became so fucking noble, Farron? She asks herself, and laughs into a gasp, because she’s always been this way, and his finger traces the contours of her mouth, and she quakes.
Of course Serah chooses to wake her the next morning. Lightning jerks upright, sweating, too-warm, heat pooled between her legs, and she can tell from Serah’s arched eyebrows that her sister knows exactly what sort of dream she was just having. If she wasn’t red already, she’d flush.
“Who’s Odin?” her sister asks and Lightning wants to stick her head under her pillow and go back to sleep.
“Oh, you know,” Lightning says, “Some guy I picked up from a bar a few nights ago.”
Serah doesn’t seem amused. In fact, she says, primly, “First, you promised me you’d stop picking men up from bars,” she pauses, examines Lightning, and Lightning keeps her face schooled, “Second, you never learn their names.”
Okay - so maybe her sister does know her that well. Lightning reaches up, rubs at her temples.
What the hell can she say? Oh, he was my Eidolon and I blow into his stone because the pink is pretty rad, and then I have dreams where we fuck, and it’s pretty hot, actually? Lightning nearly snickers at herself, at this whole situation. Trust Serah to be nosy about her metaphysical sex life. “It was a sex dream, Serah. I don’t think you really want the gorey details.”
Her sister huffs, remarks, “You’ve been acting strange. I thought this might be the root of it. Besides, did you forget? You’re making me breakfast.”
“Right,” Lightning says, manages to get out of bed, winces at how wet she is.
“First,” Serah wrinkles her nose, “Go take a shower.”
Lightning salutes with a grin, and Serah laughs at her. She grabs her towel, is heading to the bathroom when she calls over her shoulder, “He was my Eidolon. Don’t worry - there’s no man in my life you don’t know about.”
“Well, good. It would’ve broken Hope’s heart,” and Lightning has to shake her head.
Poor kid.
Another time, she sits at the edge of the bed and looks up at the tapestry on the ceiling, of the beautiful woman being pulled into a black pit, and Lightning glances back at where Odin is polishing his sword, and her mouth crooks up at the corner.
“Why do you keep coming here, young one?” he asks her after a moment.
The smile falls from her face and she looks down at her hands, clasps them tightly together until her knuckles are white like bone.
“I want to,” she says after a moment, hopes it’s the truth, because otherwise he sees right through her. “I enjoy my time here - I sleep better.”
He barks a laugh. “You harbor regret for what has transpired and think that by coming here you can change it. As always, your choices are dictated by duty and guilt,” he tells her, reaches out to comb fingers through her hair, so gentle that she shuts her eyes, allows herself to enjoy it.
“You cannot save us,” he says, voice thick with sorrow.
Lightning opens her mouth to protest, but wakes to find her face tear-stained.
Dajh comes in just as her tears have really started, just as she has tried to shove her entire fist into her mouth to muffle the sound, and she wonders how he got in, even as he looks up at her with large eyes. “Lightning,” he says, gravely, “Do you want a hug?”
And he says it like her sister had that day their father died, and Lightning almost laughs, except it sounds like a dying animal, and he hops onto her bed without hesitation. “I got in through your back window,” he says quietly, like it’s a secret, and then he pulls at her wrist, tries to make her stop biting herself.
Reluctantly, she allows this, and he pulls her saliva-coated, raw hand to his face, presses his cheek against it, and she bites the inside of her cheek, tries to pull herself together.
“Dajh, what did you need?” she manages finally.
He stays silent, shuts his eyes, holds her hand tighter, and nuzzles his cheek against it. Lightning scrunches her eyes shut, tries to calm herself, but loss rushes over her in waves and she couldn’t save them, can’t free them, can she? There’s nothing she can do?
(Except she doesn’t believe that, because that means they’re never coming back and she can’t -)
“I wanted to say hi,” he says, “So I knocked on your door, but you didn’t answer, so I found another way in.”
Eight years old, and he can already sneak in through windows. She feels a little proud, and she pulls him closer, holds him tight, and rocks him, lets him keep her hand. Dajh settles more comfortably against her. Her breathing evens out and the tears stop and he reaches up with his free hand to brush them away and she laughs.
“You want me to make us some cookies?” she asks suddenly, knows his answer will mean Sazh being cross with her, but she doesn’t care.
He hops excitedly off her lap, proceeds to show her where her own kitchen is. It makes her smile.
Odin likes pinning her hands above her head and smirking at her while she writhes. He’s fucking smug, taunts her for coming back for more, but there’s a fondness in his eyes that makes her feel - better - than she has in a long time.
Even though he’s a fucking tease, and that pisses her off slightly less than the fact he has her enjoying the loss of control.
Still, it relieves her that he does not tell her off for coming back; that he does not mention this is a excursion into a farcical reality. It is even more relieving to realize that this is not all some strange fantasy -
She wakes many mornings to find her hair on end from static.
It’s a crazy idea and she knows it. She shifts, looking at the crystal husk of her old home. Lightning burrows a little deeper into her coat, watching her breath float upwards.
Silly girl, Fang’s voice enters her mind sleepily, What are you doing here?
The sound of Vanille’s giggle, dragging with exhaustion, knocks the air from Lightning’s lungs. Two years, two years and time pulls them away. Every time anyone comes to see them, to speak to them, their voices get quieter, farther away. Recently, there have been times where they don’t say anything at all. The knowledge that someday they’ll sleep and not wake up makes a lump form in Lightning’s throat; she finds she can’t swallow it away.
“I came to say hello,” she says thickly, and Fang’s laugher rings, like a hand bell instead of like Anima’s bells.
Lightning, we’ve made our choice. We haven’t got any regrets about it, Vanille murmurs, then falls silent and Lightning has to blink hard to pretend she’s not tearing up.
And then she tries her grand idea - she blows lightly on the crystal and nothing happens, there’s no glow, no nothing, and Lightning feels silly the second after she does it. Fang laughs - a bit softer than before - darlin’, I don’t have a dick to blow. Thanks for the thought, though.
But it’s lazy, haphazard and her voice fades a moment later.
Lightning bows her head and stands there alone for a time, fingering Odin’s stone in her thigh pack. And then there are footsteps, and she whirls to see a tanned woman clutching a broadsword and the woman meets her gaze for a time, does not sheathe her weapon, and Lightning reaches a hand for her gunblade.
“You are paying homage to your fallen nest?” the woman asks in a thick accent Lightning hasn’t heard before.
Sharply, Lightning shakes her head. “I’m here to visit them.”
“The last Oerbans,” the woman says with a nod, her gaze flicking to Cocoon’s corpse, and then she looks back at Lightning, as though to measure her, “Indeed, I am here to pay homage to them for their sacrifice.”
Lightning flinches at the word; she almost turns back to look at the crystal and then remembers to keep eyes on the woman’s sword. The woman smiles sheepishly, lowers the tip, but does not sheathe her weapon. Her gaze turns to the crystal, to the pillar where Fang and Vanille are, and then she looks back at Lightning. “You wish to visit those who destroyed your nest? But why?”
“They’re my family,” Lightning says, ignores the way her voice cracks as though it will break.
This time, the woman sheathes her blade in a fluid motion that Lightning can certainly respect. The woman watches her with wide eyes for a long moment, and then she looks back up at the crystal, and finally back at Lightning again, and there’s this look on her face that suggests she understands. “You wish to bring them back,” she says, and then pauses, looks up at the sky. “The elders of my Village know many things. Perhaps they can help, if you seek their aid.”
She hardly thinks about it before she says, “Yes.”
And the woman nods, a brief smile crossing her features and she leads the way. Lightning can’t help but smile - because like hell she isn’t going to bring them back.
Odin laughs at her at their next meeting.
“Claire,” he says, picks her up and twirls her around. “The Goddess has sent us a blessing in you.”
She blinks at him and is even more shocked when he kisses her, drawing blood from her lips. “Goddess?” she asks when he allows her to breathe; she is still too surprised to add any note of derision to her voice.
“Etro,” he says, and gestures up at the tapestry of the blue-clad woman in the dark void.
“Etro,” Lightning repeats, tries the word on her tongue, then shakes her head. “I don’t -”
Odin kisses her question away, then answers, “You are a Knight of Etro. But that is not something you understand, yet. But soon,” and then the smug bastard throws her gracelessly on the bed.
But he’s smiling, so she forgives him.
mako_liesClass: White Mage
Title: Breath and Relics
Summary: Lightning can't just let go. End-game spoilers.
Characters: Lightning/Odin, Snow, Hope, Sazh, Dajh, Serah
Word count: 3,948
Rating: R (for dream sex and light kink)
Losing him is the icing on the cake. It’s a loss she experiences mere hours after the first, second, and third losses (Fang, Vanille, and Cocoon) and is the one that leaves her gasping. The pink stone in her hand is cold and lusterless, and she can’t help the thought that nearly destroys her (he’s dead) and she blinks back those same tears she battled earlier.
The others are some ways away, gathered around a makeshift camp, but she’s here, looking at the looming crystal that was once home. Lightning closes her fingers around the stone, bites down hard on her lower lip, and doesn’t cry.
She must be strong - she is the one who must lead the way.
“Odin,” she murmurs, bows her head at loss.
No matter how hard she works, there are always too many hours in a day to dwell. Even Snow and Dajh start noticing there’s something wrong, and she can’t help the way her mouth curls with amusement when she realizes she puts them into the same category.
It’s dark outside when she finds her way home and collapses in the chair at her desk.
All the random paperwork she has is already done and she finds herself casting about for something, anything to do, even as exhaustion tugs at her. She knows herself at least that well - if she tries to sleep now, she’ll wind up staring at the ceiling, wondering if there’s a way to save Fang and Vanille, or she’ll palm Odin’s stone and wonder what happened to him, and thoughts will chase themselves ‘round and ‘round and she doesn’t want to deal with it right now.
Lightning flicks her gunblade out, to sharpen it, to polish it, and she falls into an easy rhythm, hands going through patterns she might be able to do in her sleep -
Except not, because her hand slips, and she cuts her hand deep and swears at herself but not at it, because she was the stupid one, it was just doing its job. She fumbles bleeding for a potion and a rag, and decides to sleep after this. After all, no matter how many brawls she gets into with sleep and thought, she eventually loses anyway.
Snow is actually the first one to ask her about it. “You still got yours?” he asks, holds up the blue stone with the dark line running down the middle.
Shiva.
“Yeah,” she says, doesn’t take Odin out.
There’s a beat, where he takes a cue from her, and then his expression falls a little, no longer a nonchalant grin, but something charged, aching. “Hey, Light?” he asks, the words coming slowly, “You ever miss it?”
She almost laughs, because he says it like it’s a simple thing, a yes or a no, like there’s not any weight to it, and she wants to scream sometimes, because she doesn’t know what to do with herself, because she can’t cry, has to be strong because they need her to be. And then she gives him the honest answer, the answer he wasn’t bargaining for, “I miss them.”
Honestly? He nearly drops the stone and she nearly laughs. Then he’s silent for a few minutes, like he’s trying to find something that won’t damn him like she’s just damned herself, and he looks down at the dead stone in his hands, and then he looks back at her, like he’s trying to figure her out.
“Have you tried blowing on it?”
The question takes her aback, and he grins as her eyebrows rise. She’s about to make demands, because she’s good at those especially when she’s trying to act like he totally didn’t just one up her, when he blows into his stone and it glows blue, briefly. Lightning catches her breath, closes her mouth so fast her teeth audibly clack; Snow grins at her.
“Must be a trick of the light,” she says, because she can’t think of anything better to say, “Wanna spar?”
She can’t think about Odin, can’t think about glowing stones (maybe he’s not dead), but she feels like a bitch when Snow’s expression falls further, and she reaches out to him, clasps his shoulder. “C’mon, tough guy. I need to make sure you can still protect Serah.”
And he grins again, but there’s something a little twisted about it and she understands why a second later.
“Lightning - just wanted to let you know, we miss having you around the house.”
It’s kind of low, but he probably doesn’t realize it. She allows herself a crooked grin, says, “I couldn’t live with you and Serah forever. Trust me; you would’ve gotten tired of it. I would have walked in on you screwing and then I would have castrated you, then Serah’d never talk to me. So,” she shrugs, a little uncomfortably, but he laughs so she figures that’s good enough.
“All right, sis,” he says, pats her on the shoulder, “Let’s spar.”
That night, she stares at the stone in her hand for hours, but can’t seem to work up the courage to mimic Snow.
Hope seems surprised to see her, which makes her wince, because she’s never visited him here. Made a point of it, actually. Because getting him to come to the new school at all was like pulling teeth, because at sixteen he still wanted to trail after her with his boomerang. “Light,” he falters, like it’s been forever since he’s seen her, even though it’s only been a few days sine he came seeking her help on his math homework, “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” she says with a smile.
He shifts and then he grins at her. “So what brings you here?”
“Actually,” she falters, tries to find a way to explain, then figures it’s Hope, he’ll understand, whatever she says, kid knows her too well, “I was wondering if the library had anything on Eidolons.”
There’s a moment where he studies her, and she frowns, because she really doesn’t relish the feeling of being judged, even though she knows he’s not judging her. She blows out a breath and meets his gaze; his smile twists ruefully.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
Lightning almost laughs. His hair is soft when she reaches out to ruffle it; he relaxes at her touch, though she does not miss the color rising in his cheeks. “I’m guessing you talked to Snow?” he asks, and then continues at her sharp nod, “Sazh and Snow actually asked me the same thing, so I did a little research, with what texts we managed to salvage... And - well. There’s no way to bring them back from what I understand.”
He means the Eidolons, she knows he means the Eidolons, but there’s a part of her that thinks Fang and Vanille? Like hell I won’t bring them back, and then she bites the inside of her cheek to bleeding. “The glowing?” she asks, tone measured.
“In some of the older writings, there’s mention of how life is contained in breath. I think that blowing breath - life - into the stones creates a reaction, but, without magic... We can’t free them, Light. So they’re there - we just can’t do anything for them,” he says, half-shrugs helplessly at her.
“Thanks,” she says, fumbles for something to make the situation better, and then smiles, “Seems like you’re doing well at school.”
Hope flushes again, and she leans, kisses him on the cheek, and he goes even redder, and she bites back a laugh. Poor kid. “Alright. C’mon, give me the lay of the land.”
And he beams at her - leads her.
She spends three days with Hope, and then leaves, telling him that he needs to “focus on his school work.”
The following night, after she gets home, she takes a deep breath and blows over Odin’s stone and it flares pink for a moment, then fades, warmth shooting like pins and needles across her palm. But when she does it again, nothing happens, and she almost throws it in frustration.
“Do you dream?” she asks Sazh the next day. “Of her? Brynhildr?”
She’s curled on his couch and allowed him to make her a grilled cheese sandwich, because, sometimes, she likes to pretend that she could ever let someone else take care of her. Besides, Sazh likes to do it. Take care of her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever fathom why.
“Sometimes. Dream of all three of ‘em, actually. And Elisabeth,” he adds the last as an afterthought, and he can see his recoil at that slight to his wife in his eyes.
Lightning catches his wrist in her hand, offers him a smile; he expels a long sigh, and then shakes his head. “What brings this on?”
It’s a question she really should have expected. After all, she’s not one to indulge in idle curiosity and everyone knows it. She sighs, wonders how to approach this without seeming - obsessive? - and then she rolls her shoulders, grins crooked, and says, “Since I tried Snow’s glowing stone trick, I’ve had dreams of Odin that seem -” she chokes on the word real.
“You think he’s visiting you?”
She stops - Sazh has a habit of asking all those important questions she tries not to ask of herself, dammit - and then she shuts her eyes tight, nods once. Sazh clasps her shoulder tight, skin hot but not as hot as when he was a L’Cie.
“Lightning,” he tells her, fine lines around his eyes, and guilt sets her to biting the inside of her cheek again, “They’re gone.”
Everyone tells her that - constantly, repeatedly - and she can’t find it in herself to believe. Maybe she’s more like Snow than she gives herself credit for, but she can’t give up. She can’t let go, and maybe that makes her a fool. Silence echoes for a moment, and then Sazh laughs, though it’s a little sardonic, nearly makes her flinch, and then he tightens his grip on her shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
They tell her that, too, but nothing is ever stupid when you’re doing it for your family.
(She definitely spends too much time around Snow, but maybe believing isn’t such a bad thing. She’ll have to thank him later, and then challenge him to a spar so she can whip his ass.)
“I won’t,” she promises, but neither of them believe her.
Her and Sazh share a grin, then he pulls out the beer.
The first time Odin comes to her in a dream, she doesn’t recognize him. All she knows is she’s in this stone room, decorated with thick tapestries depicting a beautiful woman clothed in blue, and there’s a man in white armor looking out the lone window.
His hair shines fair, golden, and he turns around, and she sucks a breath in, because his eyes are purple, bright and turbulent, and then he smirks, teeth gleaming.
“Claire,” he says, spreads his arms and she stiffens.
Automatically, she reaches down for her gunblade, but it’s not there, and she tenses into a fighting stance. “How do you know my name?” she snarls, clenching her fists, ready.
Then he has the audacity to laugh at her. “So long spent missing me,” he says, smirk widening, “And this is the greeting I receive?”
And he holds up a sword she would know anywhere.
“Odin?” she gasps, takes a step back, eyes wide.
He laughs at her again, but she doesn’t really mind this time. He reaches out for her, tugs a lock of her hair -
And next thing she knows, she’s sitting up, drenched with sweat. Fucking awake.
Lightning has never been one to indulge herself. So when she discovers that the nights she dreams are the nights she makes the stone glow, she limits herself, and justifies it by telling herself that she’s a silly girl who can’t let go.
Three times a week, she tells herself over and over again. The thing she can’t deny is she’s happiest the mornings after she’s seen him.
This time, they’re in a room of his castle she hasn’t seen before (he hasn’t actually told her it’s his castle, but she likes to think that’s what this is, because if it’s not, the only other word she can think is prison, and she figures that’s too close to the mark for her to handle). There are still tapestries of his lover (another assumption she makes, this one wryly) but now there’s a large bed and she feels her face go hot, which makes him smirk.
Smug bastard, she’s far from an untried virgin.
“You keep coming back here,” he muses, turns away from her, and she perches on the edge of his bed, proves she’s not cowed.
“The other dreams I have are far less pleasant,” she says, it isn’t exactly a lie. “And you act like you’re not glad to see me. You can’t have much in the way of entertainment here.”
He barks a laugh, turns to face her and then approaches her. “You think to entertain me?” he asks, and he traces her cheekbone with his index finger, and there’s just a zing of electricity in his touch, and she shivers from that and not from the contact.
Lightning swallows, throat suddenly dry, and murmurs, “Well, I suppose it’s the least I can do.”
It’s a relief he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt she feels for not being able to free him from this cage. When was it you became so fucking noble, Farron? She asks herself, and laughs into a gasp, because she’s always been this way, and his finger traces the contours of her mouth, and she quakes.
Of course Serah chooses to wake her the next morning. Lightning jerks upright, sweating, too-warm, heat pooled between her legs, and she can tell from Serah’s arched eyebrows that her sister knows exactly what sort of dream she was just having. If she wasn’t red already, she’d flush.
“Who’s Odin?” her sister asks and Lightning wants to stick her head under her pillow and go back to sleep.
“Oh, you know,” Lightning says, “Some guy I picked up from a bar a few nights ago.”
Serah doesn’t seem amused. In fact, she says, primly, “First, you promised me you’d stop picking men up from bars,” she pauses, examines Lightning, and Lightning keeps her face schooled, “Second, you never learn their names.”
Okay - so maybe her sister does know her that well. Lightning reaches up, rubs at her temples.
What the hell can she say? Oh, he was my Eidolon and I blow into his stone because the pink is pretty rad, and then I have dreams where we fuck, and it’s pretty hot, actually? Lightning nearly snickers at herself, at this whole situation. Trust Serah to be nosy about her metaphysical sex life. “It was a sex dream, Serah. I don’t think you really want the gorey details.”
Her sister huffs, remarks, “You’ve been acting strange. I thought this might be the root of it. Besides, did you forget? You’re making me breakfast.”
“Right,” Lightning says, manages to get out of bed, winces at how wet she is.
“First,” Serah wrinkles her nose, “Go take a shower.”
Lightning salutes with a grin, and Serah laughs at her. She grabs her towel, is heading to the bathroom when she calls over her shoulder, “He was my Eidolon. Don’t worry - there’s no man in my life you don’t know about.”
“Well, good. It would’ve broken Hope’s heart,” and Lightning has to shake her head.
Poor kid.
Another time, she sits at the edge of the bed and looks up at the tapestry on the ceiling, of the beautiful woman being pulled into a black pit, and Lightning glances back at where Odin is polishing his sword, and her mouth crooks up at the corner.
“Why do you keep coming here, young one?” he asks her after a moment.
The smile falls from her face and she looks down at her hands, clasps them tightly together until her knuckles are white like bone.
“I want to,” she says after a moment, hopes it’s the truth, because otherwise he sees right through her. “I enjoy my time here - I sleep better.”
He barks a laugh. “You harbor regret for what has transpired and think that by coming here you can change it. As always, your choices are dictated by duty and guilt,” he tells her, reaches out to comb fingers through her hair, so gentle that she shuts her eyes, allows herself to enjoy it.
“You cannot save us,” he says, voice thick with sorrow.
Lightning opens her mouth to protest, but wakes to find her face tear-stained.
Dajh comes in just as her tears have really started, just as she has tried to shove her entire fist into her mouth to muffle the sound, and she wonders how he got in, even as he looks up at her with large eyes. “Lightning,” he says, gravely, “Do you want a hug?”
And he says it like her sister had that day their father died, and Lightning almost laughs, except it sounds like a dying animal, and he hops onto her bed without hesitation. “I got in through your back window,” he says quietly, like it’s a secret, and then he pulls at her wrist, tries to make her stop biting herself.
Reluctantly, she allows this, and he pulls her saliva-coated, raw hand to his face, presses his cheek against it, and she bites the inside of her cheek, tries to pull herself together.
“Dajh, what did you need?” she manages finally.
He stays silent, shuts his eyes, holds her hand tighter, and nuzzles his cheek against it. Lightning scrunches her eyes shut, tries to calm herself, but loss rushes over her in waves and she couldn’t save them, can’t free them, can she? There’s nothing she can do?
(Except she doesn’t believe that, because that means they’re never coming back and she can’t -)
“I wanted to say hi,” he says, “So I knocked on your door, but you didn’t answer, so I found another way in.”
Eight years old, and he can already sneak in through windows. She feels a little proud, and she pulls him closer, holds him tight, and rocks him, lets him keep her hand. Dajh settles more comfortably against her. Her breathing evens out and the tears stop and he reaches up with his free hand to brush them away and she laughs.
“You want me to make us some cookies?” she asks suddenly, knows his answer will mean Sazh being cross with her, but she doesn’t care.
He hops excitedly off her lap, proceeds to show her where her own kitchen is. It makes her smile.
Odin likes pinning her hands above her head and smirking at her while she writhes. He’s fucking smug, taunts her for coming back for more, but there’s a fondness in his eyes that makes her feel - better - than she has in a long time.
Even though he’s a fucking tease, and that pisses her off slightly less than the fact he has her enjoying the loss of control.
Still, it relieves her that he does not tell her off for coming back; that he does not mention this is a excursion into a farcical reality. It is even more relieving to realize that this is not all some strange fantasy -
She wakes many mornings to find her hair on end from static.
It’s a crazy idea and she knows it. She shifts, looking at the crystal husk of her old home. Lightning burrows a little deeper into her coat, watching her breath float upwards.
Silly girl, Fang’s voice enters her mind sleepily, What are you doing here?
The sound of Vanille’s giggle, dragging with exhaustion, knocks the air from Lightning’s lungs. Two years, two years and time pulls them away. Every time anyone comes to see them, to speak to them, their voices get quieter, farther away. Recently, there have been times where they don’t say anything at all. The knowledge that someday they’ll sleep and not wake up makes a lump form in Lightning’s throat; she finds she can’t swallow it away.
“I came to say hello,” she says thickly, and Fang’s laugher rings, like a hand bell instead of like Anima’s bells.
Lightning, we’ve made our choice. We haven’t got any regrets about it, Vanille murmurs, then falls silent and Lightning has to blink hard to pretend she’s not tearing up.
And then she tries her grand idea - she blows lightly on the crystal and nothing happens, there’s no glow, no nothing, and Lightning feels silly the second after she does it. Fang laughs - a bit softer than before - darlin’, I don’t have a dick to blow. Thanks for the thought, though.
But it’s lazy, haphazard and her voice fades a moment later.
Lightning bows her head and stands there alone for a time, fingering Odin’s stone in her thigh pack. And then there are footsteps, and she whirls to see a tanned woman clutching a broadsword and the woman meets her gaze for a time, does not sheathe her weapon, and Lightning reaches a hand for her gunblade.
“You are paying homage to your fallen nest?” the woman asks in a thick accent Lightning hasn’t heard before.
Sharply, Lightning shakes her head. “I’m here to visit them.”
“The last Oerbans,” the woman says with a nod, her gaze flicking to Cocoon’s corpse, and then she looks back at Lightning, as though to measure her, “Indeed, I am here to pay homage to them for their sacrifice.”
Lightning flinches at the word; she almost turns back to look at the crystal and then remembers to keep eyes on the woman’s sword. The woman smiles sheepishly, lowers the tip, but does not sheathe her weapon. Her gaze turns to the crystal, to the pillar where Fang and Vanille are, and then she looks back at Lightning. “You wish to visit those who destroyed your nest? But why?”
“They’re my family,” Lightning says, ignores the way her voice cracks as though it will break.
This time, the woman sheathes her blade in a fluid motion that Lightning can certainly respect. The woman watches her with wide eyes for a long moment, and then she looks back up at the crystal, and finally back at Lightning again, and there’s this look on her face that suggests she understands. “You wish to bring them back,” she says, and then pauses, looks up at the sky. “The elders of my Village know many things. Perhaps they can help, if you seek their aid.”
She hardly thinks about it before she says, “Yes.”
And the woman nods, a brief smile crossing her features and she leads the way. Lightning can’t help but smile - because like hell she isn’t going to bring them back.
Odin laughs at her at their next meeting.
“Claire,” he says, picks her up and twirls her around. “The Goddess has sent us a blessing in you.”
She blinks at him and is even more shocked when he kisses her, drawing blood from her lips. “Goddess?” she asks when he allows her to breathe; she is still too surprised to add any note of derision to her voice.
“Etro,” he says, and gestures up at the tapestry of the blue-clad woman in the dark void.
“Etro,” Lightning repeats, tries the word on her tongue, then shakes her head. “I don’t -”
Odin kisses her question away, then answers, “You are a Knight of Etro. But that is not something you understand, yet. But soon,” and then the smug bastard throws her gracelessly on the bed.
But he’s smiling, so she forgives him.
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POINTS
Oh wow, I really loved this fic. I would have never thought of Lightning/Odin before...but you wrote it amazingly well, and I loved how everything else in the story just tied into that whole concept. Lightning's interactions with Odin and all of the other characters are just really fitting for her character and were really neat to see. A really unique and wonderful read. ♥ :D
Re: POINTS