[P] to be braver

[Orestes]

YOU ARE A GOLDEN THING
IN A HEAVY, HEAVY WORLD

I know who you are. And—I love him.

The confirmation of her love should be what assures him; it should be the thing that seals all his cracks as if with concrete, to prevent the bleeding of his heart, the fissures of his soul. But the affirmation causes his guilt, his sorrow, to well. In a voice thick with emotion, Orestes says,  “Thank you.” There is some comfort in the fact she smells of anything but the desert; but the sea will not leave them, he knows, and in the constant song of the ocean at his flank—he wonders if he has failed his ultimate atonement, which is suffering. Does loving her means he loves the others less? Orestes still knows these things: he had been a guardian, a keeper of souls. They had trusted him, and he had loved them, and Fate had given him an impossible mission; he could not save them and, even knowing that, Orestes still believes he could have. If only he had done something differently—if only he had tried harder…

And now, all of that is gone not only in actuality but in memory. Who was he meant to save? What could he have done differently? Would the forgetting mean he was destined to repeat the same mistakes, only with Solterra to fail this time? 

But Marisol says she knows him.

But Marisol says she loves him.

Even knowing he does not deserve it, Orestes’s relishes the sentiment. He pressed, now, his forehead against her; he inhales her warm scent and after a long moment the tension ebbs from his shoulders. Orestes chooses to accept it; Orestes chooses to believe, quite fragilely, that he deserves this love. Despite everything. Despite what he can remember, or can’t. Despite Solterra. Despite Terrastella. Despite the gods, and magics, and everything that can and does go wrong.

After a long moment, Orestes opens his eyes.   “Thank you,” he repeats, more strongly, and draws away so as to meet her gaze.  “I love you, too.” 

He loves her as one loves salvation; as one loves the raft upon which they cling. Yet Orestes does not admit that; nor does he even, perhaps, realise it.

  “Perhaps—“ he hesitates, before regaining confidence.   “--Let us return to the cliffs above? Maybe we can visit your Court, and—“ he does not say, hope it does not go as poorly as last time. For the first time he allows a delicate, mischievous edge to take over his expression. “Perhaps I can make up for lost times.” 

Meanwhile, Ariel has already begun his journey up the cliffside. In his own emotion, the Sun Lion glows too brightly to look at directly; and through their bond Orestes feels not only his disapproval, but his anger. Orestes's bonded has expressed more than once his disapproval for the relationship; yet there is something, too, like a momentary blockage between them.

Ariel will never admit that while Orestes cannot remember, Ariel does through their bond. Everything Orestes had felt, had known, had transferred to the Sun Lion. But how could Ariel admit he knew, intimately, all of Orestes's past?

It was better left dead; and so the lion leaves and Orestes ignores the tension between them choosing, instead, to smile even as he knows, deeply, and fearfully, just how fragile such happiness is. 

  “speaking" || @Marisol

"SO EDEN SANK TO GRIEF

SO DAWN GOES DOWN TO DAY

NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY"

CREDITS