[IE] The Best of Us

[n_wilkinson]

Title: The Best of Us
Universe: Infinity's End, post-Whispers of Yesterday
Characters: Azriel/Kieran
Rating: K+
Warning: Grief/Mourning, spoilers for Whispers of Yesterday
Description: Azriel comforts Kieran in a time of need.

Though Azriel had protested, he'd been overruled by the majority. Now, he was glad he'd been ignored. Given the confines of the Catacombs, his small, private room was a much welcome luxury. It was barely big enough to house a desk, a chair, and a bed sized for two, but it was more than Azriel needed considering that everyone else was sleeping dormitory style with no privacy.

He was lucky for the privacy he could have now. Gale he trusted to tend to Ione. Another grieving friend would be Azriel's to comfort.

He trudged to his private room in an hour so late it would be considered early, fatigue resting on his shoulders and despair crowding at the back of his mind. The loss of Paragon was a devastating blow, say nothing of the countless lives Grayshire had taken. That he had himself to blame made the guilt all the heavier.

He should not have acted so rashly. He should have listened to Gale and Kieran and Ishmael. He should have ignored the fury and the loathing and the irrational.

This blood was on his hands as much as Grayshire's.

Azriel sighed and rubbed at his forehead. He would have to save his self-recrimination for later. For now, he needed to be strong.

He paused outside his door, taking several calm, steadying breaths. He had to get his aether under his control for the sake of his partner. This was not the time for guilt.

He opened the door, stepping quietly into the darkened room. A single lamp glowed dimly upon the desk, bright enough that Azriel could see around the room without bumping into furniture or tripping on anything. He could also see that the bed was occupied, as he knew it would be.

Azriel stripped of all but his underclothes as it was too cold in the Catacombs to go without any layers and slid into the bed, bumping up next to a warm body. He could hear Kieran breathing, the slow steady breaths of a sleeping man, but he knew Kieran was not asleep.

Azriel knew better than to prompt so he slid an arm across Kieran's side, resting his hand on Kieran's shoulder. His aether unfurled, nudging Kieran's and offering comfort. It was several moments before Kieran's accepted, curling around his in familiar welcome.

“I don't blame you,” Kieran finally said, his voice low and rough in the silence.

Azriel swallowed thickly. “Perhaps you should.”

“That would be counterproductive. You did not order his death. You did not carry it out. And you are not the reason he was chosen as an example.” Kieran inhaled sharply. “That blame is firmly placed on Grayshire, specifically Lord Wyndham.”

“Nevertheless, I still feel responsible. I dragged both of you into this mess and it is only with Kaiyu's blessing that I have been able to repay that favor in aiding Ione,” Azriel replied and he dared inch closer, much relieved when Kieran pressed back against him, warmth to warmth.

Aether frizzed with frustration, buzzing at Azriel but not accusatory. “Believe you me, I know full well who got Souya involved and it was neither of us.” Kieran went tense beneath Azriel's hand, coiled for an anger he could not unleash. “But I can be patient. I will have my revenge.”

“Revenge, my dear, is something that has never worked out well,” Azriel replied. “I understand this all too well. You were there to bear witness. What you seek, what we all need, is justice.”

A violent tremble wracked Kieran's body before he jerked, rolling over to face Azriel, the sheen of his eyes visible in the dim. That he'd been crying came as no surprise. Souya was to Kieran the older brother he never had and his best friend outside of Azriel.

He'd already lost Harper so long ago. And then his mother. Truly, Fate was vicious to keep taking so many of Kieran's precious ones.

“Justice is no warmer comfort,” Kieran snapped, his face pale and his aether a tight ripple against Azriel's own. “I don't want to see him chained and weak. I want to see him dead.”

Azriel had been there himself. He understood Kieran's anger. What spoke now was grief and anger and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Logic would return but for now? It was nowhere to be found.

Azriel slid his hand to Kieran's face, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his lover's eyes. It, too, was damp from tears. “I know,” he said, because he did know and he did understand. “And it may be his fate to meet his end. For now, we must pull together and prepare. Grayshire has forced all of our hands.”

Kieran's eyes closed, his head turning into Azriel's palm just enough to accept the comfort he offered. “He was the best of us,” he whispered, hands gripping at Azriel's undershirt and dragging him closer, burying his face in Azriel's chest. “They must have seen that. Souya was always the best of us.” The last was muffled, but Azriel heard him clearly.

He swallowed over a lump in his throat, pressing his cheek to the crown of Kieran's head and allowing his lover to weep in his arms.

Yes, perhaps Kieran was right. Of their group of friends, gathered so long ago and persisting through time, Souya was the best of them. Yonah Misae still clung to her traditions, her ways. Harper had died, so very long ago, the first of them to leave. Kieran had done things in the name of science that would make men shudder. Azriel had become the leader of a rebellion. Only Lyra could match Souya in integrity.

The both of them were worth more than all the nobles in Grayshire combined. And their children could only be as great. Clearly, Grayshire considered the Tegan family a threat and thought to excise the danger at the root. But killing Souya Tegan would only make them stronger.

Ione would certainly not forget. And Lilah Tegan nee Lyra Dryden was not one to be so easily manipulated.

Between the two of them, Azriel did not think there would be anything left of Lord Wyndham for Kieran to destroy.

“He was,” Azriel agreed. “And we will make sure that his death is not forgotten by anyone.”

Kieran made a noncommittal noise. “I should see to Ione,” he said, his vocals thick with tears and grief. He made no move to rise from the bed.

“Gale will take care of her,” Azriel replied, hand stroking down Kieran's back, feeling the minute shudders in his partner's body. “I am more concerned with the stress they are placing on Lilah.”

Kieran tensed. “How long will we have to wait? How far back does this set us?” A new determination entered his voice. “Lilah is strong, but Grayshire has more leverage to use against her.” Leverage in the form of three children, her three sons, with only Ione safe in the arms of Theravada.

“We were always prepared for the possibility of losing Paragon. If anything, this catapults our plans forward.” Azriel frowned, finding it much easier to focus on that which needed to be done, than the grief that clenched his heart. “I hesitated. I wanted to account for all contingencies. My hesitation may very well be to blame for this. Grayshire ran out of patience before I did.”

A moment of silence passed. Kieran's breathing evened out. His aether pushed against Azriel's in a continued search for comfort, a request Azriel was willing to oblige.

“If you don't stop blaming yourself, I might have to do something drastic,” Kieran finally said, head butting up against Azriel's chin. “There are better ways to expend that energy. Such as plotting the fall of Grayshire.”

Despite himself, Azriel smiled. “I shall endeavor to do so.”

“The sooner, the better.”

“Agreed.”

Grayshire might have made their worst move yet. They sought to demoralize but had only strengthened the Theravada and their allies. They had orchestrated their own demise, Azriel believed. And he would see them fall for that mistake.

***

a/n: More little missing scenes and snippets are sure to come. I hope you enjoyed.

Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.