#ethander

AN: this took me… what, like 3 hours? Cool. Enjoy!

Warnings: character death mention, (child) abuse/harm mention, (other) abuse/harm mention, self-hatred, self-consciousness, snooping, cursing, panic attack/panic attack symptoms, drinking mention

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Warnings (detail?): alluding to (hinting at) character death, abuse and/or harm, child abuse and/or harm. Drinking/drunk, hang/hungover mention. Snooping for plot. Self-consciousness (1/10), intimidation (3/10), cursing (4/10), self-hatred (5/10), guilt (7/10).

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Summary: Ethan snoops a bit and finds something that Alex never wanted anyone to find.

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“Alex?” Ethan called into the dark room. No response. He turned on the light and looked around.

“Guess he’s not here,” he murmured to himself, taking a look around the room.

The room was nice. There was a closet in the far right corner and a dresser on the left wall, both colored a dark wood, and a large bed with black sheets. The walls were black, or perhaps a near-black sort of blue, and there were dark curtains on the window. There were few personalized items in the room - a few books on the dresser, another on the nightstand, small gifts on the window sill, odd articles of clothing thrown across a chair - but one item seemed to stand out. On the nightstand, behind the book, was a box - a small chest, really - that looked rather ornate. It was open, the only open thing in the room. Curious, Ethan made his way towards the small chest.

The chest was magical, the air around it a subtle type of heavy from all of its enchantments. (That probably should’ve been his first clue to turn away, really, but he didn’t stop to think about it). The inside of the chest was lined with red velvet, and sitting upon that was a small rectangular object with buttons on one side. Upon picking it up, Ethan realized it was a tape recorder. He hesitated, listening to see if anyone was coming - then he pressed play.

“December 10th, xx43, log 742.” It was Alex’s voice, speaking in Neltimin, the date only eight years ago. “Hey Aria, it’s me. As…always, uh… It’s almost dumb how I’m still doing this, but… Anyways, the girl that I told you about last time - Lacy, remember? - turned out to be - get this - working for my father. Big shocker, right?” He didn’t sound surprised or shocked at all. His tone was more deadpan, than anything. He sighed. “Still wants me to be a part of his ‘business empire’ or whatever the gossip calls it these days. It’s a shame that he always picks girls like her, the pretty ones with little mind of their own who want pretty, rich husbands to help them give them meaning in life. Guess that’s why I liked you so much, you just… weren’t that, weren’t like anyone I’d been around before. You’d probably hate girls like that. You seem like the type to… but then again, you thought similar things to me, and…so I shouldn’t assume what you would or wouldn’t like.” He gave a short laugh. “Assumptions, am I right? They’re why you…” He trailed off, humor gone, and he turned quieter. “Not that you have much of anything right now, but…still…the mindset is what’s important, I guess.” He was silent for a moment. “I don’t know, I’m just - rambling, like always. Not even that you, that you care or anything, you're… I’m just…” He sighed again. “Whatever,” he said, “that’s been done over a thousand times, you don’t need that again. I don’t.” A pause. “Whatever. Log end.”

“January 4th, xx44, log 743.” He sounded regretful, or maybe hungover. “Hey Aria, it’s me - you know when you get really drunk and do something really stupid? At the New Year's party I kind of… well, I think I made out with someone, but it’s kind hard to remember. Ginger keeps teasing me about it but making sure no one hears, so maybe it was them? Or maybe they saw? But I don’t know…-”

Ethan pressed the fast forward button.

“-ne 15th, xx46, log 901.” He sounded tired in this one. “Hey Aria, it's… me. Always is. Just saying sorry, again. I never…” He paused, then groaned in frustration. “No, forget it, you know that. Well, if you listened to these, which I doubt you would even if you could. Just - forget this, it’s stupid, why do I ever -” he growled in frustration then said -“ log end.”

“November 26th, xx46, log 902.” Ethan knew this date. This was the date he- “Aria, hey. Sorry for the absence. Joined a new guild last week and just met my new team a bit ago - well, most of them. One or two were out running errands when I came in, so I guess I’ll meet them later. I’m in my new room right now and it’s - fitting. They say they decorate the room to the color of your aura, did you know that? - you probably did, you were smart like that. Well, after the room is yours, you can do whatever to it - some put up wallpaper or posters or just repaint - but that’s never really been my thing. I don’t even know what I’d change it to, anyways. Reminds me of home, if I’m honest - the blacks, the dark blues, the Henderson blue… the black wood or the dark wood or the oak wood… all it needs are some chandeliers, heads-down servents, the whips, and Father’s disapproving aura and boom, I’m back home.” He gave a small laugh without joy, then fell silent a moment. “I don’t like it,” he said finally, his voice small. “But what would I change it to, anyways? Not like I’ve known anything different…” There was a sound and some muffled talking. A pause. “Looks like I’ve got to go. Dinner, and all. Log end.”

“November 27th, xx46, log 903.” He sounded… shook, for lack of a better term. “Aria? Aria, I - I saw… Are you-? No, I’d know if you were, but… Aria, one of my new team members, one of the ones who were out doing errands last night, I could’ve sworn at first that she was… that she was you. It sounds weird to say that, and maybe even crazy, but Aria, she looks exactly like you do. Or, did. Do? Well, the point stands, she looks like you. I don't… I don’t know… I don’t know why, or how, or what’s even happening. I just… I don’t know. I…” He made sounds like opening and closing his mouth with no words coming out and several distressed noises, but ultimately said nothing for a few moments. Then he paused, sighed, and went on. “…Anyways, just… thought you should know, I guess. Log end.”

“November 30th, xx46, log 904. Aria,” he said bluntly, “I think I’m in love. Ok,” he backtracked, “well, that’s a bit much, more like…” he made a hum of mild distress, “it just sounds so childish to call it a crush, but… I mean I guess?? I don’t know, Aria, but it’s just I heard him - yes, him, I know, it’s a surprise to me, too - laugh and just sephram saints, Aria, I could swear the room was brighter when he did. I’m not kidding, I think the room was literally brighter when he smiled. He might be a light user? I think the file said one of my new teammates was a light user. Is it him?…”

Alexander had had a long day, and just wanted to rest. He’d just left the training deck and was completely exhausted, both physically and mentally - he could really use a shower. And a nap. Both sounded utterly fantastic to his aching muscles, and he headed to his room to do so (he didn’t like using the locker room showers - it was too public and anyone could walk in. Better to do so in the privacy of his own bathroom).

He saw a light from under his door. Rarely did he turn on the lights in his room (given that he was a shadow user, darkness was of no problem with the night vision), much less leave them on. Someone was in his room. Ticked off and annoyed, he walked a bit faster, assuming some political snoop was digging through his things (you’d be surprised at the lengths journalists would go to get a good story). He entered his room and his stomach dropped so suddenly that he thought it’d plummet to the first floor of the building.

“…Aria? Aria I fucked up, I fucked up really bad Aria. I don’t - I don’t know -”

Ethan McCain was sitting on his bed, his back facing the door, listening to the most personal thing he physically owned. Fear and panic built up in his chest, a coil winding around his lungs tighter than a noose, making it hard to breath, hard to think - the words he knows being the only thought echoing in his brain, bouncing like a ball off the walls. He strode - not thinking, not feeling - towards the tape.

Ethan remembered this day - December 1st, three years ago, the day where he declared to himself that he’d hate Alexander Henderson forever, a hatred which lasted until only two months ago when he -

Ethan hadn’t even heard him in the hall, hadn’t seen the overhead light turn off, but had heard the heavy thunk of boots near him and all of the sudden it was dark and getting darker as Alexander Henderson plucked the tape recorder from his hands and slammed it back in the chest. Ethan looked up to see his eyes large and his aura glowing through, colors of red and blue and white and gold among the flurry of black shadowy tendrils. He seemed taller, bigger than usual, fear the main emotion in his large, glowing eyes, and inspiring the emotion quite thoroughly in the observer.

“Get. Out.”

Alexander growled - a deep, rumbling sound, barely even human.

In fact, Alexander didn’t even know if he had actually spoken in the first place. But the healer’s eyes widened, and didn’t need telling twice. He flew from the room, far away from Alexander, and Alexander was left alone.

“-mber that guy I told you about, the one with the smile and the brightness? I don’t know what I did - well, no, I do, I said something stupid and dumb and and mean, but I don’t know how - and oh saints Aria I fucked up, he hates me now, I fucked up Ar-”

Alexander closed the lid on the chest and the recording stopped. The room was silent save for his breathing, growing more panicked by the second. The coil around his chest was tightening, cutting into his lungs, making it hard to breath. He was shaking, shaking, his brain chanting he knows he knows he knows - he put a hand on the bedside table to steady himself, took a breath of air to calm himself… his knees gave out, his vision pulsing and swimming before him, his stomach lurching like he was about to vomit.

Oh joy, said a distant thought in the back of his brain, a panic attack. Just what we need.

AN: hope that phrase is spelled right… anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: death, killing, execution, war, politics, anger ; Disclaimers: talk of execution/killing/death, no actual death/execution

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The man was standing on the platform, his hands tied behind his back, head lowered - the crowd did not see his eyes.

“Any last requests, traitor?” the king asked.

“I do,” came a voice from the crowd.

The crowd hissed and chattered in alarm, then watched in shock as the crown prince walked up to the platform. He approached the traitor with his constant companions of confidence and elegance holding him up high for all to see. He wanted them to see him as they always did, not to cower and hide as he faced them.

As he came close to the traitor the guardsman warned him to stay back, but the prince simply held up a hand; the guard resigned. Within the span of a second the prince had undone the knot tying the traitor’s hand together and took one in his own, then faced the crowd, who gasped in shock and began murmuring furiously.

“If he dies,” the crown prince announced, his voice carrying across the courtyard, “then I die with him.”

The crowd exploded, though none were louder than the king.

“WHAT?!” the king bellowed in rage.

The crown prince faced his father and looked him in the eyes, though they were far apart.

“You heard me, Father,” the crown prince said. “If he dies, then I die with him.”

The crowd began calling out to him, crying out why and how; the guardsman tried to reach out to touch him, to pull him back, to plead wHY with the crowd, but the prince didn’t answer them - he didn’t answer any of them; he simply stared at his father.

The king’s eyes narrowed and he frowned, disbelieving.

“Why?”

The prince shrugged.

“I married the revolution, Father-“ he said simply, as if it were no big deal- “it’s only fair if I die with it.”

The man, still bowing his head, smiled to himself and squeezed the prince’s hand tighter in thanks. The prince’s face never changed, but he gripped the man’s hand tighter in response.

The king was silent as the crowd raged, and the prince knew exactly what was pouring through his father’s mind - should he kill the traitors, and thus his only heir? Should he kill the one traitor, thus causing his son hunt him down in revenge? Should he kill one, giving the other the opportunity to continue the rebellion out of revenge? Should he kill both, thus having his subjects riot in protest? Should he let both live, thus allowing the rebellion to continue and his subjects to riot?

But there was one more thing the king didn’t know.

“Kill me, your highness,” the man finally spoke, his voice rising above the noise of the crowd as he slowly raised his head, “and not only do you kill your son, not only do you further spark the revolution-” his glowing, golden amber eyes and distinct facial markings now betrayed his heritage, clear as day- “but you will also begin a war that I am not sure you will want to start, seeing as my family is just as powerful as yours - not to mention breaking an alliance of marriage is against one of the sacred rules.”

The man was smiling. The two princes stood on the platform, facing the crowd whose noise could rival even a Neltimin war drum, as the king battled with this new information. The crown prince could feel the heat of the king’s anger all across from where he stood and he waited.

Finally, finally - to himself the king growled in frustration, then cried:

“Release them!”

The two princes grinned.

“Looks like the revolution lives,” the golden prince mumbled.

“I told you we would,” the dark prince murmured, his voice so fond and full of joy. The gold prince could hear the smile in his voice and squeezed his hand in response. The dark prince simply gripped his hand tighter and quickly kissed it, not caring for the world that all were watching.

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Worldbuilding Notes:

Neltimur - country

“The country of Neltimur”

Neltimin - person

AN: *throws this trash at you* take it

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And his heart— it hurt, it hurt seeing him like that. He didn’t really know what it meant but it h—

“Alex?” a voice said, placing a hand on his shoulder - soft, confused, concerned. He jumped and quickly turned, looking like a deer in the headlights.

Mia was standing beside him, her expression matching up with her tone. The odd clawing feeling in his heart went away a bit, swiftly and deftly being replaced with embarrassment.

“M-Mi–“ he started - embarrassed, startled, choked up, upset, distressed, they were all that came pouring out in his words - but she cut him off.

“Don’t,” she said softly, strongly. She was like steel, he thought absently. Her large eyes looked at him, swirling with concern and care and other things he was unfamiliar with, and then she turned toward the window he had been watching just moments ago.

“It’s just the way he’s been,” she said, her tone soft and explanatory, with a hardness to it underneath - she was uncomfortable sharing such things with him, didn’t trust him enough for this, but now he knew, and there was no going back. “Well, as long as I’ve known him, at least.” She shrugged. “I try not to ask, and it’s not much of my business anyways. But…”- her brows furrowed, concerned- “…that doesn’t mean I don’t wonder about it, what’s so bad about those dreams that he goes to someone specifically for it… I worry about him,” she finished.

The fact that she was being so open with him now was startling in and of itself, but that it was about Ethan, as well… Maybe she could help him figure out what he’s been feeling? She seems to know him best, after all, so maybe she knows, as it only really happens with things concerning the healer nowadays. Maybe…

Alex was speechless. He really, truly didn’t know what to say. The pain in his heart was back, as well…

He sighed deeply, and he felt the pain ease up just a little bit.

“…I do, too,” he said softly - an aching heart, loneliness, depression, and an inexplicable yet gargantuan tiredness are all of the things his voice betrayed.

Words: 1,019

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POV: Alex

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It had been a month since Ethan’s last letter, six since he had left Coldguard to return to Marilon. The corridors of Vonal Dred seemed colder with him gone, though whether it was from the upcoming winter season or the lack of the foreign sun elf by my side, I was uncertain.

Logically, the former must be true - and yet… I had grown used to the heat that he emitted, warmth that I was unused to here in the north (especially from just a single person), warmth I had begun to find familiar as I showed him around the city and we became close.

His last letter had come three weeks after the one before, which came two weeks before that, which was a week and a half before that, so perhaps I was just spoiled with the frequency of his letters. Perhaps he was growing more busy and hadn’t the time for letters. Either way, it wasn’t my business.

…Either way, I missed him.

His latest letter arrived a month and two weeks after his last. I waited to read it until deep in the evening, after I had finished my work for the day and the flow of his comfortably messy writing could ease me into my nightly routine (funny how quickly he had become a part of it, even from so far away).

Once I was settled, I brought out his letter. The envelope was a bit heavier than usual and slightly bulky; I smiled at the thought of a long letter awaiting me, tracing over how he wrote my name. I flipped it over, grabbing the letter opener with my other hand to break the seal -

A smell hit my nose. It was warm and earthy, not too heavy, like…

I set the letter opener down, brought the envelope to my nose, and inhaled. It smelled like Ethan, like his cologne, like the scent that would cling to my jacket after he grabbed my arm in excitement or cling to my hair if he tucked a stray strand behind my ear or stuck to my skin if I entered his guest room or -

I gently set the letter down and tried to breathe, overwhelmed. I remembered a part in All My Stars by Urlstree Gallael, when Malruthiia and Althidon would send each other love letters sprayed with their own perfume or cologne as a reminder of their time together in Aurillon. Soltrin and Zesstra were found to have done it as well in A Dagger in the Heart by Houne Torarn (it was quite the scandalous revelation), as did Erellin and Zarris in A Mutually-Assured Attachment by Filfdia Kilt'tar, and… Well, a number of books came to mind.

So… it was something that lovers did, didn’t they? Was this Ethan’s way of saying that he… wanted to be…? Saints. Saints, I mean - I know his interest lies in men, he did not hide that from me, and I suppose my interest lies there as well every so often, as Kyorlin (from To Capture A Heart by Urlstree Gallael) helped me figure out… We would - If that was his intent, I would be open to it as he is a wonderful man himself, but it would… have to be secret, of course, seeing as Father would… never approve. If that was what Ethan wanted, I… believe I wanted that, too. Yes.

He had been busy. There was a large festival that he had to partake in, from arranging to settling to the event itself, and then the southwestern side of the city had been hit with a surprise flood and many ruined houses… It all kept him away, and he apologized for the wait. He gave updates on his family and the few books he managed to squeeze into his spare time, as well as gave his thoughts on the developments in said books (I was on the edge of my seat, his analysis only made me more invested in his readings). He missed our conversations, and was looking forward to my next letter. A postscript had been added, apologizing profusely for the fact that Chloé, one of his cats at home, had accidentally knocked over a bottle of his cologne onto the letter before he had been able to send it.

Ah. So it had been an accident. I tried not to feel disappointed, after all it was my own fault for misreading the situation. Besides, he hasn’t read many of the types books that I frequent, so of course I would misread his intent - at least it was clarified before damage had been done and I’d given advances that were unwanted, or presumed intents that were untrue.

In my response, I gave brief updates on events here, though everything was mostly the same as it always was. A new museum had opened up, which I had thought about going to if I had the time, as had a new bookshop if he wanted to go with me the next time he visited. I gave some of my own thoughts on what he had read, and shared my own readings (feeling bold, I even recommended A Dagger in the Heart and, at the end, put a bit of my own cologne on the letter. “It would only be fair,” I explained in the postscript). I, too, had missed our conversations and was glad to be in contact once more. I always looked forward to his letters.