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Twenty

_Does he know how long

I've waited for this love

To come

Does he know I'm holdin' on

And that won't change no matter where he's gone_

Xavis popped the piece of squirrel meat into his mouth. He held up two fingers.

"Two weeks," he said, after he had swallowed.

Orsin nodded, stabbing a piece of meat for himself. He drizzled a little pepper sauce on it, popped it into his mouth. He spoke with his mouth full.

"That's not a lot of time, but it's something. If you come, if you come in Phoenix, when there's no snow, you could probably make it here from Hoelbrak in a day and a half."

"Let's say two days," Xavis rumbled, pausing for a moment to take a drink of cool tap water. "So two there, two back. That's ten days. That's not bad, right?"

"Ten days in a whole year," Orsin said. His expression was rueful, but then he put on a grin. "Well, that's okay. Maybe sometimes you'll be on missions to the Shiverpeaks, and you can, you can write me a letter, and I can meet you nearby."

Xavis put on his kindest and most patient smile. "No, they monitor our mail. They don't say they do, but every Ash knows it. They'd skin me alive if I was tipping off a mission's location."

"Oh," Orsin rumbled, cramming another piece of squirrel meat into his mouth. "Ten days, then," he announced with finality. "Maybe you'll get more than two weeks vacation time once you've, once you've strangled those dragons with your bare hands, huh?"

Xavis chuckled, sinking back against the sofa. "Yeah, maybe. And I'll write you, you know."

"Is, is that okay? Won't they, you know, read them?"

Xavis shrugged. "Scorch 'em. I could write the letter in pink pen and draw little hearts and flowers in the margin, and they wouldn't say a word. They don't care who I'm writing little love letters to if it doesn't interfere with work."

Orsin's tail gave a little flicker-flick. He adjusted his weight, and the chair creaked and groaned under his weight as he did. "And maybe, maybe if I can travel to Hoelbrak, we could get an inn sometimes, maybe."

"Yeah. That's right. I've got enough clearance that I can use the asura gates when I need to. It would be easy for me to get there. So, a night now and then, and then ten days during Phoenix."

"Right," Orsin agreed. It was clear that there was sadness in Orsin's eyes -- Xavis could feel the sadness in his own chest -- but there was relief, too, and some happiness. Ten days are more than zero. "I'm gonna, gonna save myself up all winter for you, you know."

Xavis chuckled, and he grinned. It was easier to grin these days. "Your balls will burst right open."

"Well, okay. I'll just, I'll just think about you when I," the briefest of pauses, "Masturbate, and you do the same for me, okay?"

Xavis felt a helpless chuckle escape his throat. Orsin was such a dork sometimes. It was so obvious now that this was part of what he loved about him. "You're so charming. You know I've been doing all the work, right? Are you sure you even remember how to jerk off?"

"Yeah, it's easy, it's like using a flint and, and tinder, right?" Orsin made a violent gesture of smashing one palm across the other several times. Xavis laughed, and then Orsin laughed, and the room felt warm.

"So, inns in Hoelbrak," Xavis said, sinking back into his chair. "Have you ev--"

Something crashed hard against the outside of the cabin.

Both charr lifted their heads and turned toward the wall near Orsin's room. Xavis picked himself up from his seat. His bare chest rose and fell in a quickening rhythm. He stole a glance toward Orsin, who was perked but sitting. Both charr were shirtless, but each had their leggings on, and Orsin scratched at his waistband as he shook his head.

"Probably a tree," he stated, considered, then nodded. "They fall down in Colossus all the time. I guess the wind is so strong that it blew it right against the house."

Xavis nodded, but he did not seem convinced. He glanced out the back window, spotting the wind. Fierce, but weaker than it had been for over a month. He frowned, nodded, and started to sit down.

Wham.

Eight ears perked up.

Wham.

It was pounding at the front door.

Wham!

"The hell is that?" Xavis hissed through grit teeth, wide eyes turning to Orsin.The big charr was raising to his feet now as quietly as he could, but the creaking noises of the chair gave him away. "Shhh!"

Orsin gave an 'I'm trying!' gesture. He brushed a thumbclaw below his chin. "Could just be the tree," he whispered. "Maybe it's caught on the-"

The door shattered to pieces, sending splintered wood scattering throughout the living room, propelled by gale force winds that howled in the echoing cabin. The charr held their hands up to their faces, shielding from the sharpest spines.

Something big and blue rushed into the room. A cabinet near the door toppled to the floor with a crash of glass and wood, a deafening rush of sound against a backdrop of wind barreling into the little room, filling it with snow and chill.

Long spires of sharp blue ice jutted from the thing's shoulder and forearm. One bestial claw scraped the wood as it picked itself up, beady eyes glowering behind a veil of frost. Its vaguely ursine snout was still, not snarling, not even breathing. The aquamarine of its shimmering fur was unbroken, clumps of snow snagging to the spikes bounding from its body. It was huge, bigger even than Orsin, and its expression bore only hatred, pain, and sorrow.

Orsin reacted first.

"Icebrood!" he bellowed, instinctively taking a step toward Xavis. "It's an Icebrood! Get behind me!"

The disfigured kodan charged, ramming the spikes of its mantle into the underfur of Orsin's belly. The hunter brought his arms up to prevent being disemboweled, and lost only a foot of ground. Muzzle twisting in pain, Orsin brought both forearms up and slammed his elbows down into the creature's back, drawing his own blood. The bearlike monster staggered, and Orsin smashed down on its again, sending it down onto his knees.

Xavis stayed back. He had finishing incanting a mantra, and he struck out with one hand. Two spectral forms vaguely resembling him leapt out, one from behind the sofa, the other from the fireplace. They dogpiled onto the keeling kodan as the mesmer Blinked into Orsin's room, disappearing behind the wall.

The Icebrood ignored the phantasms wailing on his back. He jammed the claws of his hand into Orsin's leatherbound pants and tugged. The big orange charr stood his ground, but gave enough purchase for the kodan to get up to its feet. They lashed at each other, claws lashing out, each one pummeling the other with mighty blows. The kodan's swipes drew blood; Orsin's did not.

Xavis materialized beside Orsin. He wasted no time darting between the two, ducking easily between their big bellies. He pulled the crude sword he had procured from Orsin's room and plunged it into the kodan's chest. He couldn't make more than a couple inches of purchase, but it was enough for the Icebrood to lose its balance. Orsin bashed his fist into the creature's face, and it went stumbling back. Xavis held his ground, and the monster dislodged from the sword without a drop of blood.

The Ash turned and handed the sword to Orsin. The big guy was sweating, puffing, but he still managed to put on one of his big grins. Xavis stared at him, disbelieving that he could smile at a time like this. Then he rolled his eyes, ducked to one side, and let Orsin stomp toward the staggering beast.

But it had already recovered. It lunged from a crouch, and the phantasms on its back fell back and scattered to butterflies. It swept with such speed at Orsin's face that the charr was caught off-guard, and Xavis could see the splatter of blood hit the wall. The Ash took a step forward, and then the world froze.

The kodan had Orsin by the shoulder--

By the forearm--

He was biting--

Tearing the flesh--

A sickening crunch--

Bone and blood exposed--

A deafening roar--

Xavis's body recoiled as his mind gave way to horror. Orsin was howling in pain, the sword clattering to his side. The kodan gave him not an instant to recover. It barreled into him, knocking the charr back against the wall, and tore at his flesh.

Xavis moved without thinking. He dove toward the fray, and on instinct, unconscious, automatic, his hand grabbed the poker sticking out of the fireplace. His bare paws crunched upon shattered glass as he flipped the poker around, grabbing the hilt in both hands.

He leapt into the air and brought the sharp heated rod down upon the small of the Icebrood's back. It sunk in deep, and the creature began to melt. Its claws scraped at Orsin's bleeding chest as it started to fall, to compress, to drip to the ground, tearing long strips of flesh as it raked down the hunter's body.

Xavis stabbed it again, and again, and again as it fell. He stabbed all along its spine, the back of its head, its shoulders. He kicked it over and stabbed its face, its chest, its gut, its groin, its neck, and then he couldn't see, there was sweat or tears or blood or something in his eyes. He threw the poker aside, so scared to look up, so scared that Orsin would be--

He was alive. He was bleeding profusely, and his shoulder was out of joint. The splintered bone was visible, shattered, and redness spilled from the gaping wound. He was pale beneath his orange fur, and his white chest, that beautiful, downy soft chest that Xavis loved to stroke, was torn and dripping crimson.

Orsin's voice was a croak. The creature had landed a powerful gash along his throat.

"We need -- to block -- the door."

"What?" Xavis barked.

"The, the door."

Xavis looked toward the door, and the snow pattered into his face. The shattered remnants of the door had already been covered in white, and the cabin was quickly filling with clumps of white from the outside world.

Xavis gave himself three quarters of a second. That was all he needed.

Remember your training.

He swallowed, steeled himself, and nodded.

"Can you move?" he asked, giving Orsin a stern look. When the charr nodded, Xavis pointed to the Icebrood kodan. "Get it outside. Meet me at the door."

Orsin's movements were sluggish, but he did as he was told. He grabbed the dead Icebrood by its muzzle with his right hand and trudged against the wind toward the door.

Xavis grabbed two blankets from the sofa and stuffed them into his mouth, chomping down hard. He turned, bent, and pulled up on the living room's table, hoisting it onto its side. Chess pieces and cards went scattering to the ground. Grabbing the table by its legs, he hoisted it up onto his back. It was big, unwieldy, but not heavy, and the mesmer caught up to Orsin right as the big orange charr was tossing the dead monster out of the room.

Xavis slammed the edge of the table down near the foot of the door and pushed, ramming the table up against the door frame. It was not easy; the force of the wind was still powerful, and the little charr had to dig his feet into the wood, pushing the glass shards stuck in his flesh deeper into his pads. The very top of the door still howled, letting in erratic sprays of snow, but it was good enough. He yanked the blanket out of his mouth.

"Orsin," Xavis told him. Orsin was spacing out as the loss of blood started to catch up to him, and Xavis, still pushing his body against the underside of the vertical table, had to snap his fingers to wake the big guy back up. "Orsin, listen to me. I need you push against this with your shoulder. Your good shoulder," he added. When Orsin hesitated, Xavis grabbed his right arm and pulled him forward, then pushed him against the vertical table. "Stay," he commanded. "Keep it steady."

"Uh huh," Orsin rumbled, slowly getting the picture. He tried to righten himself and dig his feet into the ground, keeping the table secured against the doorframe. "It, Xavis, it hurts -- it really hurts."

"I know," Xavis said, and he didn't try to mask the real yearning sympathy in his tone. He didn't know what he wanted to do more, to hug the big charr or to fall onto his knees and cry. He did neither. Leaning against the table, he took one of blanket and wrapped it around Orsin's shoulder, tight enough to absorb the blood, but not so tight as to make the injury worse. He only had a few seconds to spare, and it was sloppy work. It would have to do for another few minutes.

"Stay," Xavis repeated to Orsin. Then he dashed for the kitchen, yanked over the cabinet, and pulled out the hammer and the entire box of nails.

And so Xavis went to work, hammering away. His fingers were numb and slick with blood, and he ended up bashing his own paw three times.

Twice, Orsin passed out, still standing, the side of his head pressed against the door. Xavis saw his eyes close, but only spoke when he saw the big charr's legs start to give away. He would stop hammering and gently -- then firmly -- shake the hunter's body until he came to.

"Sorry," he muttered both times. And he kept the table steady until Xavis had crudely slammed thirty nails into the table and bolted it to the door.

Just one last thing to do. "Stay awake, Orsin," he told the charr, almost pleadingly, then ran for the sofa. He snatched up another blanket, and it trailed on the floor behind him as he thumped for the door. The glass shards in his paws were killing him, and he could feel himself leaving bloody prints with every step, but he didn't have time to pull them out. He pushed himself up on his tiptoes and was just barely tall enough to stuff the blanket into the narrow crevice between the table and the top of the doorframe.

There was a crash as Orsin fell to the floor.

Xavis spat out a muffled curse, and this time, he couldn't help the tears that sprang to his eyes. He grabbed Orsin's shoulder and shook him vigorously, saying his name over and over. "Orsin. Orsin, wake up, Orsin, Orsin, I can't -- I can't carry you -- please, I can't -- you have to get up--"

But Orsin was unresponsive. Even passed out, his face was tight with pain. Those cheeks, so often red and flush, were now pale and gaunt, and this made Xavis cry out harder.

The idea came to him quickly enough. He breathed in deep, making sure he had the focus for this.

He could do this.

The claw of his right finger came out, and he sketched a line around Orsin's fallen form. Nothing happened until he came back around to the point in which he had started, at which point a faint pink outline flared up. Then the ground beneath the orange charr was shimmering with pink and purple and red and orange and all the colors inbetween.

Xavis pushed for Orsin's room and pointed at the bed. He drew a sloppy circle over it, and the bed shimmered with color.

Xavis staggered back to the fallen charr. The glass shards were almost entirely in his feet now, he could feel how deep they pushed, but he forced himself to ignore them. He had his priorities. He approached Orsin's form, fell to his knees, and pushed. He pushed down until he felt them both sinking into the ground, and the world was suddenly alight with color, all the colors of the world swirling and spinning dizzyingly around them for one otherworldly, hypnotic second.

Then they were on Orsin's bed. The big charr's body was contorted from the move, a pillow uncomfortably jammed against his lower spine, and Xavis gave himself five seconds to pull his partner's limbs into a semi-comfortable spot. Then he dove for the cabinet, tearing through wood carvings and papers and books and clothes, tossing them aside until at least, he came upon what he was looking for.

A med-kit.

"Scorch, scorch, scorch," he groaned. He wiped the tears from his eyes, then tore open the potion bottle. He didn't have time to do more than glance at the instructions on each bottle, usually only just enough time to be reasonably sure he wouldn't make a bad situation worse. He mopped up the blood with the cloths held withim, and bandaged up what he could.

There's so much blood. How is there so much blood? How can he still be alive? Is he still alive? Check his pulse. Scorch, he's alive, but how can he be? How can he be when there's so much blood? It's everywhere, how does he have any left? How is he still alive? Is he? Check his pulse...

The shoulder was the worst part by far, and it went well beyond Xavis's medical expertise, but he did what he could. He undid the blanket and tried not to grimace at the sudden assault of fresh blood -- not just blood, but insides, of corrosive flesh and marrow -- marrow! He could smell Orsin's blood marrow, and that got his insides roiling. He could feel the bile rising in his throat, and he willed it down.

He went through the whole list of potions, relying on what medical training he could recall. Don't combine potions with the same active ingredients. Don't apply more than one kind of potion every five minutes. Note which potions need to be ingested, which are applied to the wound directly, which are patted onto cloth.

Orsin's breathing was shallow, but he never stopped breathing, and his heart didn't stop beating. Once every few minutes, Xavis would carefully pry open the orange charr's maw, reach in, and make sure he wasn't choking on his own tongue.

Once Xavis felt confident he had done what he could, he sighed, rubbed his head, and pulled his legs up onto the bed. He pulled the tweezers out of the kit, looked at them glumly, then at the soles of his feet.

"Scorch it," he growled, gritted his feet, and began the agonizingly painful process of pulling the glass shards out of his paws.

It was the most physically painful experience of his entire life. Yet he was so distressed, so caught up in internal turmoil, that in some crazy, delusional way, he welcomed the distraction. Physical pain was much easier to endure.

When the shards hadall been pulled and he was cleaning his feet off, Orsin stirred. He let out a loud moan, paused, and then another one, full of agony.

"Ooooogh... uuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh..."

"Orsin, Orsin!" Xavis clambored up onto the bed. He knelt beside the injured charr, looking him up and down.

"Who, who, whooooooogh, uuuugh, it hurts--" Orsin's voice was a whine, piteous and low. The adrenaline had all left his system, and his body thrashed painfully. "Unnngh -- where -- is, where -- who ar -- oh scorch, it hurts -- what hap -- what hap -- why does -- unnngh,why does it hurt so much?"

Xavis squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a new wave of tears force themselves out of his ducts. He let them fall. Then he leaned forward, touched the side of Orsin's head, turned his muzzle toward him, and kissed him.

Orsin was delirious with pain. He didn't kiss back. He didn't even seem to realize Xavis was there. He continued to whimper in his torture, his glassy eyes filled with despair as he peered at the ceiling.

Xavis let out a staggering breath. He swallowed, keeping his hand on Orsin's side. His eyes flashed a low, muted pink, and he turned Orsin's head until the big charr was looking at him. The mesmer magic was stronger than the delirium, and the hunter quieted almost at once. He blinked, swallowed, and stared.

"Orsin, listen to me. When I..." Burn me, don't cry now, just hang on for thirty scalding seconds. "Snap my fingers, you're going to drift to sleep. It'll, it'll be warm, and painless, and restful, and your body, your body's going to recover. You're not going to die. You won't wake up until you feel better. And you will not die, I, I command it."

"Uhh... huh..." Orsin slurred, his eyes growing dim, his body settling.

Snap.

Orsin let out a long, warm sigh, his eyes rolling into his head. His body stilled, and his breathing became just a little louder.

Xavis didn't know if the hypnosis would work like that. He knew the power of the mind to hold on to life could be very strong, but whether commanding a victim to 'not die' would do a damn thing in the end would --

Well, it would remain to be seen. In the worst case scenario, at least Orsin could die without pain.

Die without pain.

Die -- without -- pain.

"Oh... oh, no... no, no, no..."

Xavis put his bloodied hands up to his eyes and finally let himself go.

**********************************************************************************

Twenty One

_This simple thought

Repeating

Over and over again_

The next was the longest, coldest, and loneliest day of his life.

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Twenty Two

_You and I

Will simply disappear

Out of sight

But I'm afraid

Soon there'll be

No light_

The second day was a little better.

Above all else, Xavis had one fear, one fear worse than Orsin's death.

It was Orsin's turning. The nature of how to turn a creature Icebrood was still poorly understood. Many of the norn believed it to be a conscious effort, a willful surrender to Jormag's strength; others maintained that only those with weak wills could be turned; still others believed that your mind had nothing to do with it, that if Jormag wanted you to be an Icebrood, you had no choice.

The logical, rational part of his mind knew that if Orsin turned to one of those icebound creatures, that Xavis would have to drive the fire poker through the charr's heart, killing him lest he be killed.

But the last two days had left him without the strength to fight. He didn't have the will to do that. His knowledge had left him, left him with nothing but hope and faith, things he had dismissed all his life as the crutch of a fool.

He knew if Orsin rose up as some delirious ice zombie and went for his throat, Xavis would let him tear him apart.

This surrender went against every bit of Ash and Legion and Orders training he had ever endured. But he didn't care about those right now. All he cared about was the dying charr on the bed beside him.

When the dawn, or what passed for dawn, came on the second day, Xavis felt confident that Orsin would not turn. He was not as confident that Orsin would live. Infection had spread into the wound -- Xavis had no doubt the Icebrood's teeth had been crawling with disease -- and the room reeked of sickness.

Xavis would clean up Orsin regularly throughout the day. The cabin had been left with bundles of clothing from the previous homeowners, and Xavis used these liberally. He had found some disinfecting sprays and a bundle of lye soap, and so he did what he could to keep the dying charr in a state resembling hygienic.

He would bundle Orsin's waste into cloth bags, and when the bags got too full, he would go to the door, remove the blanket at the top, and squeeze the bags through the crack to get it out of the house.

He took care of him as best he could. He studied what few books on medical training he could find. During the downtime, he would review each of the sides of the potion bottles in detail. No longer havng to rush, he could make more educated decision about which medicines to use, and when.

But the hours went by, and Orsin did not improve.

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Twenty Three

_I'm tired

I'm thirsty

I'm wild-eyed

In my misery_

On the fourth day, the wind stopped.

Xavis had grown so accustomed to the distant, muffled howl of noise outside the cabin that the silence broke straight through his funk. He looked up, turned to the window over Orsin's bed, but he couldn't see anything. The snow had piled up against the pane of the window.

He checked Orsin's pulse, then left the room, going for the kitchenette. He stood on his tiptoes, peering out the window at the world. It was growing light, and the clouds had seemed to part. The snow was too bright to let him see far, but he thought, if he squinted just right, he could barely make out a bit of blue between parting clouds.

A tired smile crossed his face. He felt like he had waited decades for this sight, and now it felt meaningless.

He turned on the sink, cupped some water, and brought it up to splash his face. He didn't want to think the thoughts coming into his mind, but they came nevertheless.

If he dies, I'll set out for Hoelbrak. I'll stop by that hamlet he talked about, and ask around until I find somebody who knew -- here he shivered as pain stabbed into his gut.

Somebody who knew him. I don't need to give them details. If they want to come out and bury him, they can. I'll make my way for Hoelbrak, and then I'll report back to work. Legionnaire first, Lightbringer second. I'll fill them in on the Svanir, give them a brief report of why I was MIA, and then I'll -- I guess I'll --

Xavis bent over the sink and retched, nearly losing his balance. He clung to the side of the sink, dry-heaved, and then threw up the rest of his stomach's contents. He sputtered, coughed, choked up a little more, spat a dozen times, and finally ended the ordeal with a long, sick groan.

He stared at the mess in the sink, closed his eyes, and sighed. He turned the faucet back on and watched it all go down the drain. He brought his hand up to his forehead. He didn't fight the urge to cry, but he didn't have to. His eyes were dry. He had nothing left. The last his body had to give was there, spiraling down the drain, and he watched it go with a forlorn expression.

"This is all so fucked," he muttered. He took some water into his mouth, rinsed, spat. Water, rinse, spit. Water, rinse, spit.

Orsin started coughing in the other room. Xavis turned off the sink, and looked out into the still land through the window. Then he went to go check on him.

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Twenty Four

_You know me, I'm a nomad

I can't feel bad about the way I am

I've been rolling around my whole life

You're my candlebright in the window_

Xavis put a check on the calendar. It had been seven days since the Icebrood attacked.

With Orsin incapacitated, it had fallen upon Xavis to keep track of the dates going by. It wasn't hard. The days were getting longer, and Xavis didn't sleep through any of them. He was hardly able to sleep at all. As soon as the light poured into the little room, he would get up, go to Orsin's side of the bed, and place a checkmark.

Seven days since the attack.

Fifty seven days since the blizzard started.

Orsin had not awoken. Sometimes he would thrash a little, or he would babble in his sleep. One time, he had started crying out in rage and in sorrow, bellowing a word that sounded like a name, Markus. But he always settled back, and he never opened his eyes.

The wind had picked up a little, but it hadn't snowed in days, and the valley cleared day by day. Sometimes, when Xavis would go to the kitchen, he would see patches of grass visible out on the front lawn.

It was such a beautiful valley. He could see that now, without the snowstorm raging outside. This morning, he had heard the chirping of birds for the first time. He didn't know how they had survived the blizzard, or if they had all just known to come back as the winds died down. He had taken the blanket down from the table that was the door, and he let the birdsong fill the cabin.

He had started reading again. Orsin's room was mostly too dark, but with the clouds parting more frequently and the sun streaking in through the window, Xavis could manage a few hours at a time, before the darkness settled back in and he resigned himself to another sad night spent staring at the corner, waiting for a sleep that never came.

Over the course of his time in the cabin, he had gone through all of the books over the shelf. Some were better than others, but his favorite was still the first, the one they had read on one of his earliest nights. The Maiden and the Monster.

He read this one out loud.

He didn't have hope that this would bring snap Orsin out of his coma. Hope had left him days ago. He felt listless, without any greater purpose than to sit on this bed and wait for something to happen.

But he read anyway. He read, because it was the only thing that brought him a modicum of comfort in this dark time.

"You came back," Xavis read out loud, his voice a growl, before softening to the maiden's tone. "And she said to him, 'Of course I came back. Oh, this is all my fault, if only I'd gotten here sooner.' But he looked up at her, and he put his wolf's paw upon the side of her head, and he said, 'Maybe it's better this way.'"

Xavis closed his eyes and breathed deep. When he opened them again, he continued. "'Don't talk like that!' she told him, the tears welling in her eyes. 'You'll be all right. We're together now, and everything's going to be fine. You'll see.' "

"But the old wolf knew. He knew deep inside that these would be their final moments together. And he looked into her eyes, with kindness and love, and he whispered to her, 'But at least I got to see you, one last time.' His arm went slack, and she held his paw to her face, and she started to cry. 'No, no, no, please. Please, please don't leave me. Please.' She fell upon his chest, and she uttered these final words as she heard him breathe his last. 'I love you.'"

Something touched Xavis's tail, and the mesmer looked up with a start. He turned, ready to swat at the first bug of the season, but he froze with his arm reared back.

Orsin's hand was touching his tuft. Xavis looked up, and the big charr's eyes were pooled, crusty, but open. They were open. They were--

"Orsin!" Xavis cried out, and the book clattered to the floor. He clambored up onto the bed and hurried to his side. "Orsin, are you -- can you speak?"

He opened his mouth, and he let out a quiet croaking sound. Xavis frowned, shaking his head. "I don't..."

"Whhhhh... dhhhhh..."

Xavis blinked. But as Orsin's lips moved, understanding dawned. "Right," he said. He reached for the glass of stale water by the bedpost. He slid one hand beneath Orsin's head, gently tipping his neck as he poured trickles of water into the big charr's maw. It hadn't been an easy task previously, with the hunter unconscious, but now Orsin drank greedily, his lips and teeth moving against the rim of the glass as he downed the entire contents, polishing it off with a loud sigh.

"Heyyyy," he murmured sleepily, when Xavis had set the glass back aside. And the corners of his mouth pulled back, showing just the very tips of his frontmost teeth. He was smiling. Smodur's eye, he was smiling. "Guhhhd... morn-eeng."

Xavis threw his hands around the big charr and squeezed him tight, prompting a couple weak chuckles punctuated by quiet "ow"s.

"You're alive," Xavis spoke into the fluff of the big charr's matted chest. He let himself weep openly, because it felt so good to feel again. "Burn my sides, you're alive -- I thought, I didn't think -- I thought you were -- oh, hell, it doesn't matter what I thought, Orsin, you're alive!"

Orsin chuckled again. He lifted his uninjured right arm and set his paw down upon Xavis's back. He let it rest there until Xavis was ready to lift himself back up.

"All right," Xavis sniffed. He wiped his nose and eyes, then took a more authoritative posture. "You've got to be thirsty and hungry, but I need to know one thing first. Don't try to move your left arm, but can you clench your left fingers?"

Orsin took a bleary-eyed look at his shoulder, his brow knitted with concern. He seemed to think about it for a long time. Then he opened his mouth, seeming to recall what happened, and why he was here. "Lessee," he murmured, and the eyes of both charr went down to that big orange paw limp at his side.

At first, there was no movement. Then Orsin grunted, and his middle finger twitched. Then the whole hand clenched slightly, then relaxed. "Hurts," he mumbled.

Xavis nodded, but he seemed relieved. "The snow's stopped. When you think you'll be able to make it, we can get you fixed up at that hamlet. Once you're ready to make the hike. But I don't think you're going to lose the arm."

Orsin peered at him. He blinked again, and the rusty gears in his hand clicked and snapped as he tried to process the Ash's words. His voice was a little stronger now, and he swallowed. "Snow's gone..?"

Xavis nodded, paused, then said, "Well, it's still on the ground. But it hasn't snowed in three days. The wind had pushed a lot of it further into the valley. I haven't left the cabin, but it looks like it's less than a foot or so out."

Orsin frowned, swallowed. He squinted, looking concerned. "You, go," he rumbled. It had started as a question, but ended as a firm statement. "Soon. I'll, I can... You need to go."

Xavis inhaled deep. He looked down at his lap. He turned away from Orsin, setting his legs over the side of the bed. He set his back straight and brought the tips of his claws together over his thighs.

"You remember what I said about me not owing you anything, Orsin?"

Xavis didn't look back. He waited to hear assent from the orange charr, which took about ten seconds. "Uh huh."

Xavis smiled, dropping his head. "Maybe you remember, on one of the first nights, I did say I owed you. I said, flat out, that I owed you my life. I guess I'm a bit of a hypocrite sometimes. Call it the mark of an Ash. Even the best of us can't keep our lies straight all the time."

The pause was a little shorter this time. "You don't... owe me... Xavis."

Xavis nodded at that, his eyes still low. "That's true in a sense, but not in another. I know I seem like I've had it all together, all this time, Orsin. Like I know so much about the world, and I'm coming down from on high to relay all this stuff to you. But I didn't know anything."

No reply. Xavis knew this could wait. But he had to talk. He couldn't stop.

"I don't owe you my life, Orsin. This isn't a matter of me owing you anything. My love for you isn't a debt I need to repay."

His body felt so light.

"It's something I'm giving you. Willingly. I'm willing to give up the world to have that choice, Orsin. I'm willing to let them have the world, healthy or rotten, they can have it. I don't owe you my life, but you've earned it, Orsin. You've earned it, and I've earned yours. And I'll take it, if you're still willing to give."

Now Xavis turned, and Orsin was grinning, that wide, comfortable, perfect grin of his, and Xavis grinned back. The hunter beckoned him over with a soft "C'mere," and they came together. Xavis pushed against him, and Orsin pulled him in, squeezing him so tight the little charr might burst, but he didn't feel any pain. Pain was for the world outside these walls.

Pain was for the world. There was no room for it anymore. There was no room for anything else anymore. Xavis was a small charr. He could only fit so much in. And there was so much that had been inside him, and he just didn't have the room anymore.

Something had to leave, in order to fit the love in.

So he let the pain go, and he never looked back.

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Epilogue

_The ones who walk away

Try to love again_

"C'mon, hurry up!"

"I'm comin', I'm comin'!"

Xavis couldn't wait. The trees reminded him so much of Ascalon. Vibrant splashes of pumpkin and crimson drew tall between arrays of gold and auburn. The wind was chilly, and both charr had bundled up, but it was refreshing after an uncharacteristically long and, for the region, hot season of Phoenix. The mesmer breathed in deep, holding it, and then scurried the rest of the way up the hill.

The view was everything Orsin had told him it would be.

The hilltop stood at the edge of the valley, which stretched for mile upon mile. Countless acres of firs and pines stretched across the quiet land, rising and falling with the hills. They speckled the sides of mountains that hemmed the valley in, great spires of stone that shot proud toward the sky. Dagmar's Tooth, the mightiest among them, peaked among a white snowcap, shining proudly against the sky's backdrop.

The sun fell against the rolling chain of the horizon, splashing a dazzling array of orange and purple, red and yellow, all the colors of the leaves on the changing trees and more, so much more, so many colors that Xavis had never seen, all spilling across the tops of trees in this quiet, lonely valley.

It was so beautiful. He hadn't known anything could be so beautiful.

There was so much he hadn't known. He felt wiser now.

He had learned so much these last few months. But he had taught a few things too. Those, he was just as proud of. When Orsin showed him how to place a trap, Xavis showed him how to bind the rope tighter. As Orsin showed Xavis how to track, so did the smaller charr teach his mate how to move more silently, and how better to cover his tracks. Xavis had even started a little garden out back, growing butternush squash and little raspberries from seeds Orsin had picked up in town. Together, they secured more than enough food and supplies for the coming Colossus season, which was still months off.

Xavis smiled. He was looking forward to it. He didn't often look forward to things anymore, not out of some lack of hope, but out of a desire to live in the moment, simply to exist, and to have faith that each day would be better than the last.

And they were.

Xavis closed his eyes. So much had happened, and it was still easier to reflect than to think of the future.

Twice they had helped with organized raids on Svanir homesteads, and once they had done so as a solitary effort, unbeknownst to any of the hamlets in the region. It was the only way Xavis could reconcile turning his back on the Order, by helping to thwart the draconic influence in what little way he could. Turns out, it had ended up becoming a clever way to make a little coin too.

Xavis always kept his face shrouded on those rare occasions when he went into town, but Orsin, shy, sweet Orsin, was learning how to talk with a little more confidence. He was something of a hero in the closest village. Xavis knew -- and Orsin did as well -- that most of his notoreity came from being one of the only charr willing to live in this landscape. 'Hero' was more a term of endearment than anything else. But he was likeable and jovial, and with Xavis's help, he was becoming more comfortable speaking with them every time he visited. The norn loved him.

But not as much as I do, Xavis thought. He turned, looking over his shoulder at the puffing charr, who was just coming up the hill.

"You've started putting on your winter weight too early," Xavis teased, reaching out and poking him in the leather over his stomach.

He laughed, reaching his arm out and pulling Xavis in. "You're still skinny as a twig, one of us has to, to eat."

Xavis smiled, put his head against the big charr's side, and they watched the sun go down. They stood for long minutes, until Orsin motioned for them to lay out the blanket and to set out the picnic they had prepared.

Moa sandwiches, two thermoses of coffee, some chopped up potatos -- 'honorary meat', Orsin would call them -- and some raspberry tarts, using fruit fresh from their garden. Xavis parceled these out, giving Orsin more than twice his own share. The big charr had gotten over protesting the extra food Xavis shoved his way months ago, and he started to chow down.

An hour passed, and the sky grew dark. The moon began to shine its pale light over the sprawling valley. Xavis could see all the stars of the sky, and he made a mental note to pick up a book on constellations next time they were out. One could never see the stars over the Citadel, not like this.

When Orsin had finished, Xavis crawled over to his side. He leaned in, kissing the big charr on the cheek. "Just one thing left to do," he murmured, sliding his hand along his mate's inner thigh.

Orsin wiped the raspberry from his maw, and he grinned. He grinned that big, familiar grin that Xavis still hadn't grown sick of. He hoped he never would. "Xavis, you remembered," the charr rumbled, seeming just as pleased by the little charr remembering as he was by his touch. "But you know I don't have fantasies no more. I don't need them now that I have you."

"I know."

Orsin started to look around, to ensure they weren't being watched, but Xavis pulled his muzzle toward his own kissed him. Orsin closed his eyes and sank into his mate's maw. He wrapped his arms around him and held him to his body.

They fell upon each other, overlooking the desolate, wild valley that would forever be their home.

** The end**

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Afterword

165 pages is a lot. I knew going in this would be long, but I didn't think it would end this long. It's hard to count exactly how many hours went in to this, so let's just stick with 'many'.

But I don't mind. This is the story I've wanted to write for a long time. I can safely say this has been the most fun I've had writing in many years. This story is something I've had in the back of my head for years now, and some bits and pieces even precede Guild Wars 2.

I've been concerned that the sheer length of this story, which is longer than some novels, will be too much for a lot of readers. Some may skip some of the dialogue in favor of the more, shall we say, climactic moments. That's all right by me. While to me, the parts with clothes on are every bit as important as those without, it's not my place to tell a person how to enjoy what I'm written. All I really hope is that you have enjoyed it, and feel it was worth the time commitment.

I'd like to say thanks to a few people.

First, thank you to Tacitus, without whom I don't think this story would exist. Kasik and Tass are very different than Xavis and Orsin, and their stories are not at all the same, yet there are some unmistakeable parallels and direct inspirations drawn. Taci taught me what love in Tyria means, and while I don't know if he'll ever read this -- some things hit too close to home to be enjoyable, I can appreciate that more than anybody -- I cherish what he's given me more than I can say.

Thank you to Bruno, fellow bear enthusiast and all around good-hearted person. As the cover artists, he has helped bring Xavis and Orsin to life. His character Teddy was also an inspiration for some of the ways in which Orsin acts, and Xavis has more than a little Argan in him too.

Thank you to RamuneDrink, for believing I could finish this even when I got down on myself, or felt despair about how it would be received. He told me that it doesn't matter if it's the story that I want to write, and that made me less afraid.

Thank you to Stephen King, my favorite author, who has taught me the elements of what makes a story good. He drives his stories forward with dialogue and character, trusting his audience to not sweat the small stuff. I've never been one for details; I find it difficult to write flowery prose, and I'm not much for reading it either, and I think King gets that. I don't think he'd have a very high opinion of gay charr banging, but, well, thanks anyway, Stephen.

Thank you to Stevie Nicks. Besides actually sleeping with men, my infatuation with Stevie's music is probably the gayest thing about me. Each of the italicized introductions to each chapter are references to her music. The first ten are lyrics from "Bella Donna" in ascending order; the latter thirteen are from "Trouble in Shangri-La" in descending, with a brief break for "Thrown Down" around what I consider to be the climax of the story. Stevie has been a wonderful influence my entire life. I hope she never, ever finds this story.

And finally, and most importantly, thank you for reading. Of course I do cherish comments, favs, notes, all that good stuff. But when it comes down to it, it's just enough to be heard.

Keep on rocking.

~Sam