i'd give you my lungs so that you could breathe

He'd known, even as he had broached the idea to his husband, that attending the Grand Tourney was one of those decisions he was likely to regret. Mead was far too close to Namarest and the Order for his comfort - despite monthly trips in disguise to deliver supplies and potions to those in need of them - and the chances of being recognized increased drastically in a crowd of people versus the shadowed alleys. He wasn't even particularly fond of places with that many people, it had a tendency to overwhelm him quickly until he felt like he needed to find a dark hole to hide in for several days, but....

There'd been a Grand Tournament in Siregal, when he had been much younger. Young enough that Aristotle had only been an infant, and their mother hadn't yet started to pick and choose her favorites. She'd left Aeris with Chibi to watch - she'd always been more hands-on with them when they were babies, slowly fading from their care once they could walk and talk and train - and brought the twins with her.

(Not alone, of course. They'd had a nanny holding onto their hands as they toddled along behind their mother. There were appearances to maintain, after all, and Ariadne Blackwell couldn't be seen chasing after two rambunctious toddlers - it was undignified.)

He'd been overwhelmed by the crowds and the noise within minutes. There'd been so much to look at that his eyes hadn't been able to focus, and there'd been no time to process anything anyways with how quickly their mother had been walking. The nanny had been distracted by Apostolos pointing at something in the distance, his voice starting to rise above the crowds-

Even as a toddler, he'd been good at disappearing into the background before anyone realized he was gone. It took only a second - she let go of his hand for a brief moment, he couldn't even remember why, and he'd immediately darted back the way they came with his hands over his ears to try and block out all the noise.

He'd gotten lost. He'd only wanted to leave, to go back to where he was certain that their carriage would still be waiting for them, but he couldn't remember where he needed to go. He'd wanted to cry, tears welling up in his eyes, but - crying only made mom angry, he was supposed to be old enough now to know better. So he'd kept his hands over his ears and done his best to bite back the urge to cry, and when he'd spotted a seemingly gigantic doorway propped open he'd immediately darted into the welcoming darkness to hide.

It smelled of horses and leather, strongly enough that it was the first thing he noticed. He hadn’t been able to get into any of the stalls, too short to reach the latches, but there’d been a chestnut horse who’d been perfectly willing to stick its head through the bars in exchange for ear scratches as he’d tried to calm himself down.

They’d found him there eventually, of course, but the quiet and peace of the stables had been soothing, and he often thought back to those moments when he found himself in far busier situations. In hiding, often homesick, something that brought back happier memories was a welcome distraction, if not the smartest one.

The sound of cheering rises from the crowd as the skirmishes are announced, and in the din he misses the names of the fighters set to go next. He's signing to his husband, fingers sure and steady, and then - something, someone, catches his eye down below.

A figure steps onto the field, and for a moment he feels his chest go tight. It's something in the way the fighter walks, he thinks. It pulls up distant memories, ones he'd tried to bury, knowing they would bring nothing but bittersweet nostalgia. He reaches for Luci's hand - holds on more tightly than he truly needs to - and his eyes track the fighter across the field.

The man moves with familiar, cat-like grace. A predator, prowling around his prey, attention fully focused on the opponent before him. He can't quite see the way the man's fingers move, but he recognizes the burst of blue forge-fire that springs from his fingers and heralds the appearance of a sword and shield in previously bare hands, the way he holds them as though they're a part of him, an extension of his body. He's too far away to make out details, but his mind still fills in heterochromatic eyes and a tired smirk beneath the helm.

"Aeris," He tries to breathe out, forgetting for a moment the damage done to his throat, and scarred ligaments scrape against each other like sandpaper, the taste of iron lingering in the back of his mouth in warning. He's only ever known one person whose fire burned so brightly, who could summon weapons from the flame that would sear the flesh of anyone else who tried to touch it.

At his side, Luci's hand tightens protectively on his, and he knows without looking that his husband is watching the fight below just as intently. Had there been time, had he been able to, he knows that Lucifer wouldn't have hesitated to bring his other siblings with them to safety - but in the cloying heat of the flames, black smoke swirling around them, Elysium had been the only sibling they had been able to locate. The others were either trapped inside or already fled by the time they fought their way outside to safety, the fire burning too hungrily for them to go back inside, even as the panic had clawed at his ribs and demanded he *run*.

(He'd dreamt of flames for months after, the manor alight intertwining with the feeling of burning alive, nightmares he'd never truly left behind returning with new and interesting combinations that woke him in blind panic and covered in sweat. He still had nightmares, sometimes, despite the scars long-since healed over, despite the distance he has kept from his homeland. He doesn't think he'll ever not have them.)

“I have to-” He starts to sign against his husband’s palm, trying to tug free of his grip, his eyes never leaving the fight below them.

“I know, love, but the fight isn’t over. You can’t just go charging into the ring.”

“If I don’t get down there, I’ll lose sight of him in the crowd.”

Below, the sound of steel clashing against steel resounds through the arena. It rings through his body, rattling into his teeth, and it only makes him all the more determined to find his brother before the crowd consumes him.

“I’ll meet you back by the stables, okay? I love you.” He presses a kiss to his husband’s cheek before tugging free of his grip and melting away into the stands, weaving between the throngs of people at ground-level as he tries to find the arena entrance.

He’d been only a few feet away when the fog had overtaken the crowd. It had swirled around his boots, tendrils of it creeping up his legs and across his arms, and the last thing he notices is that there are eyes amongst the fog before he hits the ground.

The fire crackles in the hearth, popping every so often when they add another log to ward away the chill in the air. Ikaros and Ganymede sprawl out on the rug in front of the hearth, using the flickering light to study for their upcoming magical theory test - occasionally, he watches one of them reach out and steal a piece of parchment from the other, scribbling down notes in the margins or checking their own notes against the other’s pages. He’ll have to keep an eye on them when he sends them off in the morning, he muses to himself. Ganymede has a much stronger grasp on the subject than his twin, and it wouldn’t be the first time he snuck into Ikaros’ class to take the test for him, much to their professor’s chagrin.

(Sometimes, when he looks at them, he gets the strangest feeling of guilt that drags his heart into his stomach and makes it hard to breathe. There is a sense that they have slipped through his fingers, that he's missed so much of them growing up, and he is confused every time because they are right in front of him.)

He’ll have to go grocery shopping before the weekend comes about. Aeris had sent a letter from where he’s apprenticing near Mead that his mentor - a local blacksmith delighted to work with Forgefire - is giving him the weekend to visit after a particularly grueling commission. Aeris’s magic is powerful, burning hotly enough to melt any metal into a workable state, but it requires a great deal of energy to keep lit. Perhaps some chickens to roast, and some of the pumpkin bread he knows Aeris is fond of to send back with him?

(A flash of Forgefire in a fighter's calloused hands that coalesces into a solid steel blade plays across his mind. Forgefire burns hot enough that it binds Aeris's magical signature into every weapon he smelts, but neither he nor his mentor have been able to find a way to really utilize that knowledge. He certainly hasn't been able to figure out how to summon a weapon out of thin air with it.)

He also needs to stop and drop off payment for Mattie’s weekly mindmage appointments while he’s in town. His brother has come such a long way since Lucian had found him in the hallway outside of Ariadne’s study - clutching a dagger and staring at the blood on his hands as though he barely knew where it had come from - and they’d fled to Namarest in the wake of the flames. It had taken several tries to find someone he trusted to mend the broken pieces of his brother, but eventually they'd found someone who specialized in individuals with Mathias' issues. His brother still has a long road ahead of him, but he’s starting to see an ease in him that he hasn’t seen for years.

(An ache so sharp that it feels like a knife between his ribs, the taste of smoke and ashes on his tongue. An empty hallway with flames licking at his heels, a trail of blood that led in another direction as he was ushered away. They hadn’t found him in time, they hadn’t been able to stop him from lighting the match, and his siblings had slipped away from him like sand through his fingertips as they’d fled into the night.)

The door opens, and he tilts his head up to watch Lucien enter the room. He smells like salt and the ocean breeze - tousled, windswept, but full of life as he playfully bickers with Elysium. The twins join in, eager for an excuse to avoid their studies, and for a moment the living room is boisterous with voices he loves so much, if a bit overwhelming to the senses. A glint on Lucien’s hand catches his eye, and he finds himself staring at a golden band on his ring finger that he’s never seen before.

(They picked them out together, had gone to the tattoo artist afterwards to have the etched designs inked onto their fingers so that even when they couldn’t wear the rings themselves they would still have them. The ceremony had been small and intimate, including only Elysium and another witness, with empty chairs for the rest of his siblings–)

Why would the others not attend his wedding? When had he married Lucien? He’s fond of him, of course, but the other man has never shown so much as a hint of interest in him before.

(The click of a door latching behind him, the sound of a teenage girl’s overly-dramatic sigh from the other side. “I can’t watch the two of you pine for each other any more, I’m not letting you out until you talk to each other.”)

Elysium?

He would have placed money on it being one of the twins, honestly, they’ve always been hopeless romantics.

(They aren’t here.)

Of course they are. They’re right here.

(THEY AREN’T HERE.)

The living room is empty, the hearth cold and silent. There is a shrine on the mantle for the siblings that he hasn’t been able to locate, with offerings for Grace in hopes She would bring them to him one day.

She hasn’t brought them home yet.

He awakes with a gasp, his thoughts muddled except for the certainty that his husband is somewhere in this strange fog, and elsewhere, there is at least one of his siblings within his reach.

With the fighting hidden by the fog, he doesn’t know that there is a half-blind Witchfighter cursing out his partner as he swings his sword at stray eyeballs that go floating past, unable to put a single scratch on the massive skeleton that now haunts the Tourney grounds.

There are bright flashes of Forgefire as Aeris joins the throng of Mage Protectors trying to evacuate the fairgrounds, too far away from him to see in the dense fog of floating eyeballs.

There are twin boys in the stables, waiting for the brother that has taken over raising them to return from his spar, lost in dreams of their own. Eventually, that same brother will find them once the monster has been slain.

He doesn’t find his siblings within the fog, passing them like ships in the night, lost souls unaware of how closely they come to collision.