how it feels

but the wolf is always there, even when i can't see it

Everything has changed, hasn’t it?

First thing is that apparently he’s been gone a lot longer than he originally thought. A few centuries, to be exact. And if that wasn’t enough of a ‘holy shit’ moment, then learning about what occurred to the Grounds and what happened in the war and the fact he’d likely been stuck under a stupid hedge in King’s End for most of that time.

It was a lot to take in.

So he goes to the ruined Spire, because something has drawn him to it — curiosity and maybe some answers therein. He can’t quite bring himself to enter it, though. Stuck on the outside peering in as the last of the sun's rays leave the Grounds.

VARUS

Aamu

A snowstorm blew inside a wolf's eyes
And the frozen tears covered all the mountainsides

He remembers those first few weeks: the ruined Grounds, the unfamiliar faces, and that damn black tower looming over him like a constant reminder. (This was before the pain settled in his heart, before he realized the past is the past and never coming back.) He had avoided it as much as he could, routinely refusing to even look at it, acknowledging it only to use the portals in its base (and rarely even that).

But bit by bit he got used to it. Bit by bit he began to face the fact that this is where he is now, and that's not going to change. The Spire? Just another feature of this new landscape. Insignificant. Nothing, nothing, compared to the loss of everyone he loved.

Likely he's going somewhere, heading up to the obsidian needle, not quite noticing (or caring) that someone else stands in front of it. But as he comes closer he passes into the distance where memory, repeated so many times over, snaps into place—

He stops dead in his tracks, confused and concerned. But it.. can't be? It can't be. He waits for a movement, anything that will betray it as not him, but in the stillness it never comes.

You're delirious. Heartbroken all over again, Aamu contemplates just turning around and leaving, and whatever else he had originally planned on doing be damned.

But then the time got by and the wolf died
And someday that wolf would be I

but the wolf is always there, even when i can't see it

Truthfully, he’s just about to step toward the Spire and check out the inside of it. And yet… He doesn’t. It’s too foreign, too unusual to him. His good hand rises to rest and run along the space of his missing arm, bandaged up just as any soldier would, when the last of the suns rays begin to descend upon the world around them. He can see just fine, though, another silent thanks sent to the Voice after these centuries of silence.

And then, is that movement he hears? A stillness overcoming him that still isn’t quite perfected since his return. He’s old and it’s been a while, alright?

A bright blue gaze, darkened by memories and confusion, slip toward the figure – expecting to not recognize them.

And he stops dead in his tracks. The shock of white against the darkening sky, those bright eyes that were cunning as they were kind, the way there’s nearly recognition within the look that crosses Varus’ face. And he turns. He turns fully to face Aamu, also half expecting him to be a ghost, a figure of the past, his mind playing tricks on him.

But he can’t help but to fall for it. A smile graces his features, something surprisingly gentle compared to the hardened exterior of him nowadays, and he takes a step toward his fellow Ascended. “Is it really you?” He asks, voice just loud enough to skate across the grasses – just as Aamu had taught him all those years ago.

VARUS

Aamu

A snowstorm blew inside a wolf's eyes
And the frozen tears covered all the mountainsides

And if life wasn't complicated enough already, try wanting to hug everyone you meet (regardless of if you know them or not). It's been a strange few weeks of Aamu alternating between avoiding people and struggling not to pounce on them (his success rate has gone up, slightly), trying to figure out the safe distance at which not to trigger this strange, barely containable desire for physical closeness—

He's somewhere just on the line of it. Somewhere in the region of desperately needing to go up to the man and wrap his arms around him while also desperately needing to get the fuck away. It's one thing to know he lost everything, another to see someone with a friend's silhouette and knowing that you can't have them back, ever.

But the stranger turns. Aamu's memories know him. Aamu's murky, slightly silvery eyes know him.

The way he moves. The way he wears his hair. The profile of his face.

His voice.

“Is it really you?” he asks of the white-haired ghost, who simply gurgles inelegantly in response and refuses to question his own sanity. Even if this is just a figment of his imagination he'll take it, and cry about it later—

Everything collapses in him. Why resist when it is your friend, who should be dead? He's already bridging the distance between them, throwing his arms around the other Ascended. (Feels a bit unusual when he's only got one arm. Like there's something missing. Hmm.) Hug first, think later.

But then the time got by and the wolf died
And someday that wolf would be I

but the wolf is always there, even when i can't see it

He certainly can’t be mistaken, not with the pale hair that always stuck out like a sore thumb – the teasing and jokes he’d give Aamu about covering his hair in charcoal if only so he’d blend into the surroundings more. Unless, of course, the Voice made him tall enough that it could be mistaken for moonlight.

But those were old jokes now. They were old now. And Varus hasn’t seen someone familiar to him in what thankfully only feels like a few months, let alone the centuries it’s truly been.

So the smile grows, brightens, as the step is taken toward perhaps his oldest friend now, watching as Aamu bridges the distance, hears the inelegant gurgle that leaves the other Ascended, emitting a surprisingly bright and relieved laugh from Varus, when arms are slung around him.

It’s been so long, and he can only offer half a hug as his one arm wraps around the other Ascended, tightly, hand balled into a fist that presses against his friend’s shoulder as he presses his face into Aamu’s own shoulder. “Aamu.” He breathes it like a prayer, letting the hug linger as long as possible, before that hand balled into a fist rises and falls back against the other Ascended’s shoulder, flattening out in a smack.

It isn’t like any of them would really feel it if it was a hard slap.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore fucking eyes.” He manages through a somewhat choked up laugh, pulling away but keeping his arm around him. “Or is it old eyes?” He manages a playfully crooked smile, relief blooming in the pale blues of his eyes.

VARUS

Aamu

A snowstorm blew inside a wolf's eyes
And the frozen tears covered all the mountainsides

It's him—

(It can't be him)

He hadn't been among those Aamu led back to life, all those relatively recently deceased, and he, he should be dead—

Isn't that kind of true for both of them, though? But Varus is there, solid in his arms, even breathes his name. How? he wants to ask, but he just holds on, afraid he's nothing but a mirage that will dissolve the moment Aamu lets him go.

But he doesn't. He's still there. Absently, Aamu's hands slide off his back to rest on his waist. "You're supposed to be dead," he says bluntly. It's visible in the shock lingering in his eyes, the way he seems to not even notice the attempt at joking away three centuries of stasis. "After King's End—you disappeared—"

Had Aamu been there?

Maybe?

He just recalls receiving news that Varus was among those—left behind. Thinks it wasn't long between that and the fall of the Voice, and his descent into darkness.

Maybe the fight at King's End was what had finally pushed them all the way back to the Grounds.

But then the time got by and the wolf died
And someday that wolf would be I

but the wolf is always there, even when i can't see it

Oh and yet, it is him. They cling to one another, tightly for some time, before Varus is leaning back a fraction, his one hand remaining on Aamu’s shoulder along his back even as he feels the weight of the Ascended’s hands at his waist. “Ah but I’m not dead.” He offers, settling back on his heels as the smile remains on his face. “I can’t remember much but I remember something shredding my arm.” His head angles toward the missing appendage, if only to keep his hand on Aamu, before he continues.

“Rolled under a hedge of Queen’s Gambit, ran low on fluid and couldn’t get out. Then… I woke up, not too long ago. Thought it had only been a couple of weeks, maybe a month.” He offers a small almost fragile smile. “Turns out it’s been more than three hundred years.” He flashes a softer smile with that, a shrug of his shoulders though the effect is somewhat lost with the missing arm.

“Got help coming back to the Grounds and got my arm cut off, though. What a fucking relief that was.” Here a rich laugh leaves him, pushing away the softness and fragility of before for the hardened edge of the soldier Aamu knew him to be.

VARUS