A Lucky Reunion

Memories visited Han like dreams. They drifted from the depths of his subconscious to the surface of his mind like bubbles rising through water. They were about a person, once dear to him. Always dear to him. Han received glimpses of their appearance, hints and hazy impressions:

Fond laughter and soothing embraces. Long hair the colour of chestnuts and just as shiny, but softer than the silk found inside their shells. Warm brown skin and warmer eyes, cheeks dusted with freckles. A smile that made Han's heart flutter and a wit that made his heart race. A quick tongue – both in speech and kisses. A skill… A certain skill, a beautiful art… Han couldn't quite remember. 

It was no matter. Their souls called to each other like a plant sought sunlight to grow towards, like birdsong heralded the dawn; Han could feel it. 

Just like the ocean's waves always returned to shore, they would meet again – somehow. Somewhere. 

Han only hoped it was soon. 

——— ☆ ———

Leigh trudged on, resigned but unable to withhold a sigh of discontent. Perhaps he should have been more reserved, more cautious when teasing his commanding officer. But the war veteran made it so easy to come up with quips and jibes, Leigh taking great delight in poking fun in elaborate silver-tongued ways, making his peers laugh. The Commander had been less amused. Which was fair; tensions were running high, their squadron and indeed the whole war was in a precarious position…

Still, Leigh heaved another sigh, hoisting his travelling pack with all his supplies higher up his back. Of all the punishments that Leigh deserved, this was maybe the one Leigh dreaded most. Two hundred push ups and ten laps of the camp? Strenuous and exhausting, but feasible. He'd be sore for the next week but he'd prefer it to this. A week helping out with the cooks, likely relegated to doing the dishes, washing bowl after bowl and scrubbing the huge cooking pots? Tedious work that would ruin his hands that were so precious to his art for magic, but he would heal. Cleaning and polishing everyone's boots? Humiliating and backbreaking, but he could chat and joke with people. Watch guard duty? Painfully boring, but he'd manage. 

But this? Scouting out the area many leagues ahead? Treacherous.

Leigh couldn't be sure he'd make it back alive. 

He was cunning, yes, but misfortune didn't care for cunning. 

He was resourceful, yes, but disaster didn't care for well made plans and honed survival skills and…

The grassland was littered with ruins. Once-grand spires of white stone now laid collapsed and broken amidst the grass, their bases still standing proud above the rubble, jagged rings of brick scraping the sky. Towering archways defied the weight of time, flanked by crumbling walls and guarding overgrown courtyards. What might have been a great city long ago was now only populated by trees. 

Ordinarily, Leigh might be grateful for the cover they afforded. Right now, he only fretted over how they blocked his line of sight. He wasn't exposed, but anything could be lurking around the corner. The setting sun cast long shadows across the ground.

Rather than push on through dusk until the evening, Leigh decided to take the ruins as a boon and use them for shelter. He spent a bit of time selecting the studiest tower, then squeezed through a gap in the wall. Inside, he carefully climbed the rubble of the crumbled staircase, having to throw his travel pack up onto the remains of the upper floor before hoisting himself up onto the ledge. He cautiously edged along the wind-worn stones, testing their stability whilst admiring the faded and broken (but no less beautiful) mosaics that patterned them. Once assured the half-dilapidated floor wasn’t going to collapse under him during the night, Leigh settled down to make a rudimentary camp, spreading out his bedroll and eating some rations.

He settled in for a long night.

——— ☆ ———

A chorus of birdsong roused him, along with sunlight slipping through the cracks in the stonework. Deciding that the sooner he finished this mission the better, Leigh settled for having a light breakfast before packing up camp and setting off.

Most of the day passed uneventfully. Leigh made quick travel, pausing every so often to make notes on his rudimentary map. Any landmark, change of terrain, or anything else of tactical interest was carefully penned down. The grassland gradually gave way to trees whilst the ruins grew sparser, until Leigh was treading through a forest. Checking his compass to ensure he stayed on track, he picked his way between towering trees and roots twisting through the undergrowth. After trudging through dense foliage on the forest floor, skirting around thorns and brambles, he eventually stumbled upon an animal trail. Thank the gods. The natural dirt path through the foliage was thin and winding, but it was better than dragging his feet through plants.

Then he noticed someone had been here before. There were traces of someone’s passing – scuffs in the dirt, a trampled flower here and there, a hair snagged on a branch. The more he looked, the more apparent it became that it was multiple people that had passed through here. At first he thought it was the same person multiple times – perhaps a forest hermit – but the partial imprints of shoe soles had different shapes. Unless the lonely hermit was wearing different footwear for every trip, there was more than one person that had come through here.

That didn’t bode well – both on a larger scale and for him as an individual. This was meant to be neutral territory, inhabited by nothing but wildlife and ancient ruins. It meant the army would have to be careful advancing through this area, and so would he. 

He should probably turn back. However, his commander would likely be disappointed if Leigh returned without intel on this group. And his commander's opinion of him was low enough already. So, perhaps against his better judgement, Leigh went onwards.

He didn’t have to travel much further before he found the camp. Hiding in the foliage, he stayed still and silent, and observed. The camp was set in the shelter of an overgrown ruin, the two walls and slight overhang protecting the bedrolls and firepit from the elements. It seemed to be deserted. Just to be sure, Leigh waited longer, straining his ears for any sound. 

There was only the distant birdsong and rustle of leaves.

Moving slowly, carefully, Leigh picked his way through the underbrush and entered the camp. There were eight bedrolls, he quickly counted. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ignore the feel of cold sweat running down his back. Eight was far too many people to face alone. He had to ascertain who this group was, what their allegiance was, then travel far, far from here.

Hurrying now, he picked through the camp’s items, investigating their belongings. Various cooking equipment was left around the fire, including a pot sat in the firepit. Upon closer inspection, Leigh found the pot was warm and full of simmering stew. The coals were glowing dully underneath the steel pot. Leigh drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

This meant the camp was certainly not deserted. In fact, it probably meant the camp’s occupants weren’t too far away. Leaving food unattended, even atop hot coals, was inviting foxes and wolves to come and have a taste.

Hastened by dread, Leigh dropped to his knees to start digging through one of the travel packs. There was a worn blanket, musty and stained. A wooden mug, some cutlery. Medical supplies. Ah, a bundle of letters. As much as Leigh felt conflicted about snooping through someone’s personal mail – or perhaps even their diary – it could contain the exact information he needed. Then he could get out of here.

The first letter was half-written, presumably a work in progress. Skimming through it, the only details were some day-to-day life of camping in the wilderness. Useless. Leigh pulled the paper off the top of the pile and shuffled it behind the others.

Then dropped them all when a shout rang out. He stuffed the letters back into the bag, his panic getting the better of him. He’d already been discovered, what was the point of hiding his snooping? Scrambling to his feet, he spun around.

His heart sank.

Crashing towards him were the owners of the camp. Not all of them, but it was a hollow mercy – six opponents was still too many for Leigh to face.

The only grace was that Leigh finally had the answers he’d been searching for. The ill-kept armour with tarnished regalia of their allegiance marked them as defected soldiers. Cowards that had abandoned their posts and turned to banditry. 

It seemed that Leigh was their next victim.

He greeted their hostility with a nervous grin and wide arms. “Welcome back! Just thought I’d help stir your stew—”

He broke off as a hulking figure closed in fast, hefting a greatsword at Leigh’s head. Leigh ducked, sidestepped. The bandit’s sword clanged against the stone wall. Leigh didn’t have time to look, the next bandit was upon him. He drew his sword just in time, deflecting the blow. The woman sneered and thrust her sword. Leigh dodged—

Pain seared up his opposite side.

His third opponent, positioned in his blindspot, had Leigh’s blood dripping from their blade. He’d practically darted into it when avoiding the swordthrust. Damnit. He was surrounded.

A whole group versus one man; Leigh really didn’t stand a chance. For all his pride and battle experience, the fight was over humiliatingly fast.

As he laid there broken and bleeding, his attackers loomed over him, arguing.

“He’s probably a scout! There’ll be more like him coming!”

“They won’t march an army through the forest.”

“But their rangers, any hunters – they might come here.”

“We’ll just avoid them—”

“We can’t let him go.”

There was a pause. Even through the fog of pain, Leigh felt the weight of their gazes upon him.

“Aw,” he croaked, managing to grin despite his pain. “Gotten attached to me already?”

“No,” someone agreed. “He has to die.”

Leigh groaned. “Do I have to, though?”

He was kicked in the stomach. Pain lit him up like a supernova, burning through him. His vision whited out.

If Leigh had any strength left in him, he would be trembling. Maybe writhing – the pain was all-encompassing. The only reason he knew he was still alive was because surely death wouldn’t be this agonising. Rest in peace and numbness, right?

Death couldn’t be far, though. Even if his captors decided to leave him alive, he didn’t have much blood left to lose. 

Was this it? Was this all his life had come to? A few years as a nameless soldier, no great feats to be remembered by. A few maps, probably lost and damaged as the war wore on. All his squadron would know of his fate is that he went scouting and never returned. Maybe he’d be remembered as a nuisance and a failure.

His senses filtered back in, the white fading from his vision.

“... what to do.”

“Maybe we should string his body up, leave it out as a warning.”

No.

He might be doomed to death, but he would not allow them the satisfaction of defiling his body and putting it on display.

For once, he held his tongue. Let them keep arguing amongst themselves, distracted from watching him. In one last act of desperation and defiance, Leigh reached for his wound and dipped his fingers in the warm blood gushing out. With hazy vision, he positioned his dripping fingers over the pale stone floor and wrote.

It wasn’t a word, or even a letter. Pain fogged his mind, his heartbeat drowning out any attempt to think.

But still, his fingers smeared crimson in an elegant shape, painting a swooping symbol with his own blood.

Magic burst to life.

He faintly registered the alarmed shout of one of the bandits, then they were gone. So was his blood on the stones and the dense forest. Instead, the crumbling walls of where he’d camped last night enclosed him. Leigh yelped, nearly tumbling over the edge of the broken floor as he materialised. Frantically scrambling backwards, only once his back hit the wall did he collapse, exhausted. His body felt cold. He weakly clutched his wounds, trying to stem the bleeding. His clothes were soaked, sticky. Leigh let his eyes fall shut, chest heaving with the effort of each shallow, laboured breath.

He supposed the only thing left to do was wait for eternal sleep to take him.

——— ☆ ———

There was a ripple in the fabric of the realm. It was faint, but Han felt it. Some kind of spatial disturbance. As an angel, his kind coveted that school of magic and so Han was duty bound to investigate. 

Following the faint threads of remnant magic, Han traced it to its source. The lingering magic was condensed in two places: entry and exit. He teleported to the 'exit'.

Blood. White stones splattered and smeared with it. A slumped figure. Dead? 

No. 

Dying.

And their intertwined souls sang like an elegy.

A flurry of emotions: Han was filled with recognition, relief, comfort, panic. 

Not like this. Not when they had just found each other again.

Please.

Han landed softly, gracefully dropping into a kneel. Without thinking, he sang a wordless tune, quiet and plaintive. 

The man’s breathing immediately eased. His eyes fluttered open and even though their stare was hazy, Han’s heart leapt. Yes, he had known that gaze a thousand times before.

“Hey,” the man rasped, somehow managing to smile despite how he must be in enormous pain. “Good to see you again.”

Han’s singing broke off. “You remember me?” He whispered.

A slight frown creased the brows of the other man, his smile turning sheepish. “Sorry,” he managed. “Who are you…?”

“Han,” the angel answered. “I’m Han, and I’m going to heal you; you’ll be okay.”

The man huffed a weak laugh. “Han,” he echoed. Han never tired of hearing his name on the other’s lips. It felt like its own kind of magic. “I’m Leigh.”

“Hush, Leigh,” Han said, unable to help a fond smile. His love was always so talkative, hm? “Relax; we can talk once I’ve healed you.”

Leigh mumbled something that was probably an expression of acquiescence and Han continued to smile as he resumed singing.

A few bars of melody later and the colour had returned to Leigh’s cheeks, his skin no longer pale from blood loss. A sheen of sweat still slicked his skin, but he was no longer so shaky. His gaze was bright and focused on Han.

The rapt attention was starting to make Han feel shy. It was always like this in the beginning, wasn’t it? Their souls knew each other intimately, yet each reincarnation was an awkward dance of growing familiar with each other yet again. And Han never knew where to start. He had the advantage, of course, knowing Leigh a thousand times over.

But to Leigh, Han was merely a stranger – albeit a kind one.

Han’s last note wavered into silence. After taking a gentle breath to steady himself, he met those eyes that were warm like honeyed embers… and found himself needing to take a second breath to re-ground himself.

“May I check your wounds?” Han asked. “I want to ensure they’re fully healed.”

Leigh huffed, shuffling in place and rolling his shoulders – a restricted attempt at a stretch. “Be my guest,” he said. His eyes never once strayed from Han. Avoiding that burning gaze, Han busied himself with delicately peeling back the man’s clothing. However it soon became apparent that it was of little use being heedful of damaging the clothing, what with it being as torn and blood-soaked as it was. In the end, Han sighed lightly.

“I’m not sure this can be salvaged,” he admitted, gesturing to the ruined tunic.

Leigh grinned. “Figures.”

“Do you mind if I… cut it away?” Han asked, hesitant in case he was crossing some boundary. But instead of recoiling like Han feared, Leigh raised an eyebrow, a breathtaking smirk curling his lips.

“Oh? So forward of you, dear stranger,” he teased. Han flushed bright red. “Here I am, barely recovered and y—”

“For someone who has so recently had a brush with death, your mind is strangely preoccupied by salacious thoughts,” Han snapped, but there was no bite in his voice and a similar smile to mirror Leigh’s played about his lips.

Leigh laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Forgive me, I can’t be sure that this whole” – he gestured vaguely at Han – “thing isn’t just some pre-death hallucination; a pleasant dream before I go.”

Han raised his eyebrows, laughing despite himself. “A pleasant dream, hm?” Working swiftly, he tore Leigh’s tunic (earning a surprised noise from Leigh), using the existing slash to merely pull the fabric apart further. Murmuring a soft melody to cleanse his fingers, he reached into one of his satchels to retrieve a cloth and wiped away some of Leigh’s blood. It wasn’t perfect, but it cleaned away enough of the blood to reveal the raw pink of newly-healed flesh.

Han poked it (gently).

“Ow!” Leigh yelped.

Han grinned. “Still wondering if this is merely a dream?”

Leigh scowled, none too dourly, and covered his side with one hand as if to shield it from any further poking. “Alright, alright, this is real.”

Satisfied, Han sat back on his heels, giving Leigh an innocent smile. “Your wound seems to have closed up nicely. Of course, don’t make any sudden movements that might pull the wound open again, don’t do any heavy lifting, et cetera…”

“Noted,” Leigh said. With a light huff he pushed himself up into a more upright sitting position, waving away Han’s offered help. “So, I’ve been saved by an angel,” Leigh said, regarding Han with naked curiosity. Han pressed a hand to his face to try to hide the blush across his cheeks.

“Yes,” Han said softly. By way of explanation, he added, “I felt the magic of your teleportation and followed it to here.”

“I see,” Leigh mused. “It seems I owe you my life. How can I ever repay you?”

Han smiled. “There is no need—”

“Name your price. I will do my best to fulfil it.”

Han started to say again that he needed no repayment, but after staring into Leigh’s earnest gaze, he had an idea. Moving with a slow grace, Han shifted to be kneeling directly before Leigh, taking hold of both of his hands. He bowed his head over their clasped hands, resisting the urge to press a kiss to that warm brown skin.

“Please, allow me to stay by your side. That is all I ask,” Han said. At Leigh’s sharp intake of breath, he lifted his head to look at Leigh’s face. Leigh’s eyes were wide in amazement.

“Are you sure? There is nothing else you want?”

Han smiled. “Nothing at all.” Seeing Leigh’s continued confusion, Han explained (before Leigh could ask again if he was sure), “I didn’t save you for any reward.”

Leigh frowned. “Then why save me?”

Because I love you, Han wanted to say. Because our souls are bound to each other. Because I have known you in a thousand lifetimes and I want to know you in a thousand more.

Because I have missed you oh so terribly, and I couldn’t bear the thought of waiting another lifetime to meet you because you met your end too soon in this one.

But it was too soon to say those things. So instead, Han smiled enigmatically.

“Maybe someday I’ll tell you, if you allow me to accompany you.”

Leigh laughed. The sound, warm and bright, put a blush on Han’s cheeks and a sweet ache in his chest. Yes, this was what he had been missing. This is what he’d been longing for.

“Very well,” Leigh said, smiling. Han admired the dimples that formed under his scattering of freckles. “You may accompany me.”

Han’s heart sang with joy.

“Thank you.”