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phantomwarrior12 · 4 months

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War Wrought Reunions (Chapter 6)

She lit up.

There is no other way to describe the straighten of her spine, the raise of her shoulders, the unclench of her fists.

All because she saw him.

Crow balances his blade on the tip of his finger, sunset flickering along her frame and then back to her helmet visor.

Over his shoulder, there is shouting and tension but she doesn't seem to pay it any mind as she stops beside him.

"Not sure I'd go in there if I were you," he quirks a smile and she tilts her head. Her visor drifts back to the commotion and then to him like a silent question.

"You caused quite the ruckus out there, Old Light."

She shrugs and he arches a brow. She doesn't care. Guess she really takes no matter the cost to heart. That shouldn't surprise him about her but still. The alliance is so fragile. Barreling in like that, killing all those Cabal - she's usually more pragmatic, usually so much more aware of circumstances.

Perhaps Savathûn has her wound up as well.

The Witch Queen escaped after the ritual. From what Crow had heard, she dumped Osiris there and vanished. Mara was pissed. Saint, relieved. But the Young Wolf? He can't get a read on her.

So much has happened since the last time he was in the City. Has she really changed all that much?

Come on.

She beckons wordlessly with a jerk of her head, moving toward what very well could be the scolding of a lifetime.

Still, Crow flips his blade once more before sliding it into its sheath, trailing after her. As they approach, his eyes flicker over the various parties; the irritation from Caiatl is palpable but his Hunter doesn't pay her any mind.

She's either brave or very, very foolish.

"Guardian, what fortuitous timing." Zavala straightens when his gaze settles on the Guardian. As she comes to a halt beside Saladin, Crow moves behind her, his eyes flitting from the Commander to the Empress as he settles with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Indeed," Caiatl agrees, a degree of anger in her voice.

Crow snorts softly behind them all, drawing Saladin’s gaze and a stern, reprimanding look at that. The Gunslinger doesn’t react as the Iron Lord turns back, gazing at the Young Wolf expectantly.

And yet, she seems completely at ease. Her hands hang at her sides, her helmet angled up toward the Empress as Caiatl speaks.

“I’m fresh from performing Cabal funeral rites. Care to explain?”

As expected, the Young Wolf defaults to her Ghost answering for her. But as Ghost begins to speak, her gaze shifts abruptly to him, as if surprised or…expectant?

“Our condolences, Empress. Your people fought and died with honor. But they didn’t have to.”

Crow watches the Guardian look back at Caiatl, apprehensive, perhaps, beneath that helmet. She’s always so thorough in veiling her true emotions, certainly more than Crow would like. She’s indecipherable most times when he wishes she were transparent with him.

Now is no different.

Especially not after Savathun’s reveal.

Caiatl’s frustrated growl draws Crow’s focus back to the present, away from gazing at the hood of his - well, of the Guardian.

“We can all prevent future losses if we choose to put the incident on Mars behind us and work together.” Zavala intercedes smoothly, taking a step forward and gestures in an almost placating manner with both hands extended palm-up at his sides. His weight shifts before he draws a holoprojector from his belt. The soft click of the device reveals a visual of - a Hive Knight? But larger, bearing a shield.

Crow’s brow furrows as he leans, shifting his weight to his right hip as he stares at the projection.

Is this what you fought aboard that ship?

“What we discovered there is a threat to both humanity and the Cabal.” Zavala says, gazing up at Caiatl intently.

The Empress angles her head, intrigue flashing across golden eyes. “You want my help.” Less a question, more a statement.

“Want is a strong word.” Saladin interjects, both Hunters’ focus shifting to him and then back to the Empress.

The Guardian has begun to grow restless, her fingers tapping lightly against her holster along her right hip. Crow’s eyes are drawn to the barely detectable disturbance. She wants to leave. To get back to the fight before things worsen.

But she needs an answer. To know whether or not she can rely on Caiatl and her forces in the coming fight. To know if she will have to kill more Cabal.

Caiatl’s chin lifts, a degree of smugness in her voice as she answers the Iron Lord’s correction. “You need my help.”

The Commander speaks up before Saladin can respond, “I don’t know how the Hive came into possession of the Light. Ikora will find out. But in the meantime…” His eyes lift to Caiatl.

“Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack.” Her hand clenches into a fist on the final word.

“Sun Tzu?” Saladin’s gaze lifts in barely contained surprise.

“I’ve read your texts.” The Empress returns cooly before her eyes moves back to the projected Lucent Knight, “You want us to hit them.”

“I need us to hit them. Hard.” Zavala corrects, deactivating the projection and clenches it in his fist. Caiatl meets his gaze steadily before she chuckles softly.

The decision is made, seemingly in a single glance between leaders.

“Then hit them, we shall.” She says, gesturing to her Psions and they turn, preparing for her departure.

The Commander and Saladin move past the Young Wolf, each giving her their own form of an expectant, chiding look before heading back toward the Courtyard.

The Guardian turns to leave as well but not before Crow steps forward, uncrossing his arms so he can catch hold of her forearm. His voice lowers as her head turns toward him curiously.

"Rooftop?" He asks and she straightens, giving a firm nod.

"See you there," he squeezes her gauntlet gently before letting her pass.

—

The sound of her boots alert Crow of his Guardian's approach. He tears his eyes away from the Traveler, pivoting to face her.

"It's good to see you again," he manages softly, taking a few steps toward her.

She almost lunges forward, he can read her well enough to note the restraint in her movements. Instead of an embrace, she gives him a nod, holding a few feet short of him.

Keeping her distance. Prepared for the worst.

He's the one who closes the distance, much to her surprise. He's the one who lifts her hood off and gently removes her helmet. Traveler, she looks exhausted. There's no spark in her eyes, but there are bags beneath them.

She looks ready to drop.

"You look like you've had a hell of a day."

"You try getting thrown out of a Throne World." Her head sags forward, resting on his shoulder as Crow chuckles softly.

The fact she’s so willing to ease into whatever form of contact Crow will allow is a good sign. It means their last parting wasn’t as…damaging as Crow believed it was.

"I'm sure the scolding you got didn't help matters." He teases gently, laying his hands on her waist. It's as if all the tension drains from her frame beneath his touch. They stay there for a long moment, basking in silence and a comfort both have been denied for a long time. But she doesn’t reach for him. Her hands hang at her sides, fingers partially curled as they simply stand there. When she starts to keel forward into him, his grip tightens to steady her. Her hands snap up, curling around the front of his shirt, "Whoa, easy." He adjusts his stance, "You sure you're alright?"

"Mhm," she mumbles, pressing into the crook of his neck. She seems to have caught herself but the exhaustion must be catching up to her.

"You should probably get some sleep," he adjusts his grip, scooping the Hunter up in his arms.

"I'm fine," she protests even as he sits with her in his lap.

Stubborn. Always so damned stubborn on everything.

"Yeah, fine isn't the word I'd use. How long has it been since you've gotten any sleep?"

"...next question." Her arms loop up around his neck and she makes herself comfortable. Her breath against the side of his neck is damned distracting when he’s trying to reprimand her.

"Guardian," he scolds lowly.

She squeezes him in response, outright ignoring the tone of his voice in favor of kissing the side of his neck innocently.

To hell with it. He doesn't have the heart to argue right now anyway.

"I missed you," he manages after a few minutes of silence.

Her answer that follows isn't verbal. She presses another light kiss to the side of his neck before snuggling into him. It's confirmation that he'd been missed as well - sometimes he wishes she'd just say it.

She’s left so much unsaid between them but then again, so has he. He needs to broach Uldren's death. Her role. The memories - but she's so warm. Solid and comfortable and soothing tucked against him. He can swear he can make out a soft snore after a while.

The Guardian fell asleep.

His eyes drop to her, tucking a few strands of hair back away from her face before tilting her head up.

Traveler, he has missed her.

He's still angry, at least, to some degree. But his need to be near her outweighs that resentment churning in the pit of his stomach - at least right now.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. The tension around her eyes ebbs in her sleep even as the rigidity in her shoulders falters. She almost melts against him.

His thumb traces that familiar scar over her brow, taking his time with each marred inch. How many new scars? How many sleepless nights?

How much has his Guardian changed?

—

He can’t…how could any of them be okay with this?

Lucent Hive are a threat, yes. But they don’t deserve this. To be trapped in their minds while a Psion pushes and prods and seeks the answers they require.

Perhaps it reminds him too much of Savathûn's efforts in months past. The prodding questions. The uncomfortably insightful observations. The games she played with all of their heads.

With Crow, she was fairly straightforward after her Osiris guise was dropped.

But how much had she toyed with the Queen of the Reef?

How much did she drudge from the Guardian’s past to sew discourse and stagger Earth's champion?

How much damage did she do to the Vanguard's strongest warriors?

Regardless, their efforts and essential compromise of the Vanguard's morality is not something Crow can stand for. They're better than this, why would they stoop so low?

Crow doesn't care about the answer, only that he puts an end to this.

And there's only one woman he can rely on that for. But it isn’t easy to catch the Young Wolf before she departs each time. She’s usually in and out in a matter of minutes.

Thankfully, this time she’s waiting for whatever intel the Psion pulls and Crow has a chance to talk to her.

He moves up alongside her, bumping his shoulder into hers and her head lifts.

Traveler, you look just as tired as you did the day I returned.

“Long time, no see, Guardian.” He says warmly.

She doesn’t have a direct say in any of this but…she does have the Commander’s ear. If she agrees with Crow, she can talk to him, maybe get him to put an end to this.

It’s inhumane and…the Vanguard shouldn’t stand for this.

Her head angles toward him, her arms uncross and the Guardian rests the back of her hand against Crow’s.

He's grateful she's returned to initiating points of contact. With the way things have been between them, he feared she'd keep her distance. That he would have to approach her each time and be the first to broach that invisible barrier.

He smiles over at her, turning his wrist so he can slot his fingers between hers. Her head tilts in surprise and he smiles softly.

You're always so…sweet about things like this. Like you don't expect it.

She surprises him by curling her hand around his and pressing into him. Her head rests on his shoulder and she breathes a weighted sigh though she feels as though she relaxes. As if his touch had brought her a respite from the weight on her shoulders.

Can he really add one more thing to her list of burdens?

No. It wouldn't be right. She is fighting a war on two fronts…Crow will deal with this his way.

For now, he holds her hand tightly and he waits with her. He savors these fleeting moments alone with her while she clings to his touch and no doubt, reminds herself what humanity feels like between stints of being the only weapon Earth has that can consistently slay gods.

Lord Saladin emerges from the chamber probably closer to a half hour later but it feels so much shorter. A matter of minutes.

The Young Wolf lifts her head, straightens up but she does not pull her hand from Crow’s. If anything, she holds it tighter while her mentor addresses her.

His briefing is succinct.

She has her next target. Another Light-recovery op. Another fireteam that never reported in.

The Iron Lord departs and Crow looks over at her.

She looks distracted, no doubt already going through logistics and potential strategies.

He loves watching her mind work but for now…for now he has to reason out his own strategy to handle this…delicately. But he's not about to let her leave without a proper goodbye.

Crow steps closer, drawing her gaze from the floor and she summons a dazed sort of smile. Her eyes are still distant but the moment he touches her cheek, they clear.

Emerald sparks and searches his feature. Her fingers curl tight around his and her smile is warmer as she inclines her head into his touch.

"One of these days, we'll have that chat you promised me."

The promise she'd made in a note she left for him during the Dawning. A vow to talk things through, mend whatever they have in - hopefully - its entirely.

"When the Witch Queen is dead." She squeezes his hand, "When we're safe."

There will be something else that rises from her ashes. Some other hellish nightmare they must endure while she tries to find a solution.

Crow knows this and yet, he gives her a smile and a nod.

"Gonna hold you to it, Old Light."

She leans in, resting her forehead against his and he can't breathe. She's - she's rarely that close. Close enough that a simple tilt of his head would allow him to do the one thing he's ached to do since the day they met.

And yet, he holds steady. He closes his eyes and enjoys her proximity - soft, warm breaths against his skin. Her Light dancing on the edge of his senses.

"Be careful out there," he manages at last; a breathless whisper against her lips.

"I'll see you soon, my Little Light." She lifts her hand, stroking her thumb over his cheek three fleeting times before she forces herself to withdraw. Before the only point of contact is firm grip on his fingers that all too quickly falters as she moves past.

Until he can no longer hear her footsteps and his palm feels oddly cold and heavy. Until he opens his eyes and he is alone save for the soft beeps echoing from the room before him.

Crow’s eyes drift to the door before him before he turns and moves toward the Psion chamber. He knows what he must do now. What the Vanguard needs to do.

This hell ends here and now.

—

It all went so wrong.

The Psion - he hadn’t meant to–

The Guardian had arrived in the aftermath. Saladin tearing the Gunslinger a new one over his actions with sparks dancing around them. The smell of death had begun to settle over steel paneling, fluids coating the floor.

It was awful.

And when all was said and done? When Saladin left and it was just the two of them?

Crow looked to his Guardian and there was no way to tell how she reacted. She stood there, steadily holding her weapon, taking in the carnage.

She never looked at him once.

He couldn’t stomach facing her - he couldn’t stand to see that hurt in her eyes again. So, he left. He planned to face Caiatl and make whatever amends he must to pay for what he’s done.

Crow never expected Saladin to offer himself up. To take the fall and leave with the Empress.

Zavala’s anger was tangible but here and now? With his Guardian a mere few feet away? The Guardian is silent and, to some degree, an unpredictable factor. She had been close to Saladin. He was her mentor, her friend, her confidant after Cayde’s passing.

And now Crow has taken Saladin from her, too.

“You’re angry with me too, aren’t you?” Crow keeps ample distance between himself and the Guardian.

Her eyes are locked on the axe leaning on the console, her fingers tracing along the pendant so slowly that it unsettles the Hunter.

“Say something.” He pleads, taking another step closer. Her head turns slightly in his direction with an abruptness that forces him to retreat again.

“These are for you,” she says at last, her hand falling away from the pendant as she steps away. He watches her cautiously - he can’t get a read on her. Usually there’s something; a twinge in her voice, a shift in her body that tells him exactly what she’s thinking but now? Now it’s impossible to decipher.

She’s standing off to the side, allowing him a path toward the items Saladin had left him but her head is still turned toward them. He thought she and Saladin didn’t get along - or perhaps it was the sort of friendship where she could get away with the pranks her Ghost described because Saladin allowed it. He knows her Young Wolf nickname stemmed from the Iron Lord - perhaps they were closer than he thought.

His feet carry him to the axe and he tentatively reaches out, fingertips grazing the cool metal. “I don’t deserve these.”

“He thinks you do.”

“Do you?” Sunset flickers to her visor.

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” She returns calmly but he can hear the resentment sparking on the edge of her voice.

“Guardian–”

She holds up a hand to silence him and his jaw clamps shut.

“Don’t do him the dishonor of refusing him this, Crow. He made a sacrifice for you. Don’t lament over it. Don’t…waste it.” Her head tilts toward the axe again, “Be the Guardian he believes you can be.”

She moves past him and his hand snaps out before he can think better of it. He grips her forearm, halting her but she does not meet his gaze.

“You used to have that kind of faith in me.”

She doesn’t answer, her head turning away a bit more so all that he can see is her hood.

“Do you really hate me that much? Have I fallen that far out of your favor?” He takes a step closer and her shoulders square.

“I need to–”

“Guardian,” he cuts in gently and her shoulders sag. Another step and his chest is inches from her pauldron. “Talk to me.”

“You won’t like what I have to say, Little Light.” She returns stiffly, lifting her head to meet his gaze.

“Is it that cruel?”

“It’s not kind.” She pulls her arm free of his grasp, “We’ll discuss this later.” She takes a step away, “For now…make it count, Crow. Saladin would want it that way.”

She’s gone a moment later.

---

A week later…

She won’t look at him.

The Young Wolf is at the war table, going over god knows what but when Crow took a place just off to her right, her head didn’t lift. Her helmet remained a steadfast veil of her emotion yet Crow can sense the tension from here.

He went to take a step toward her and she turned away, starting toward the vault on the other side of the room. Crow follows but he can read the warning - her shoulders drawn back, her chin lifted; don’t touch me is clear yet the Hunter follows.

She’s at the console and he stops beside her, “Guardian?”

Silence, yet her helmet angles toward him a fraction while she continues sifting through the vault contents.

“How long are you going to be angry with me?” He asks softly.

Her fingers still against the panel and his eyes dart from her visor to her hand. He has her attention, perhaps that’s a good thing. His weight shifts as he looks back to her visor, “I didn’t–”

“Think.” She interrupts, lifting her head to meet his gaze for the first time, “You didn’t think, Crow. You were impulsive. Careless,” she turns to face him squarely and Crow’s shoulders draw back. “Selfish. There were other ways, other options but you thought you could handle it yourself.” She steps closer and Crow’s eyes drop; they’re inches apart and it’s not like any other time she’s ever been this close.

Solar sparks against his senses, a dangerous flare of her temper manifesting far too close to him. But he doesn’t retreat. He doesn’t dare. Because if he does, she’ll withdraw and Traveler only knows when he’ll see her again.

“And Saladin paid the price,” her voice is low and holds an edge he’s never heard from her before. It sets his nerves on edge - for the first time, he feels something akin to fear of the Young Wolf. A flare of memories from the Citadel - the last time these emotions had surfaced and Crow reaches for her instinctively as he always does when the memories flare.

But this time, this time she doesn’t hold him. This time, the Young Wolf pushes him back against the wall beside the vault panel, holding him there with a forearm over his chest and panic wells in his throat.

“Guardian–” He whispers, a desperate plea as his hands hang uselessly at his side.

She must see the fear in his eyes because her arm withdraws and she retreats a step. Her head diverts immediately, “I need time, Crow. I’ll see you again when I’m ready.”

Her hand comes down hard on the button to retrieve a weapon and it transmats into her hands. She slings it up along her shoulders and turns to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Crow chokes out, stumbling half a step away from the wall, willing himself through the panic.

Her head turns toward him for a moment before she nods and vanishes in a transmat.

He can’t breathe.

Crow sinks to a crouched position against the wall, sucking in an unsteady inhalation as his head falls into his hands.

I’m sorry, please–

The Young Wolf won’t return to the H.E.L.M. for weeks and when she does, Crow wishes it were under better circumstances.

—

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farmergilesofham · 11 months

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The Vanguard Swimsuit Fic Part 5: Taming the Wolf

Oh help oh no it's the gruff-- oh hello

Caiatl's flagship was not a quiet place even at the best of times, but thanks to some modular walls and three layers of soundproofing, Saladin's bedchamber was about as quiet as the heart of an Earth forest, or indeed the old hall of Felwinter Peak. The only discernible sound was the low hum of the ship's engines, or rather the vibration of every flat metal surface connected to the walls, ceiling, or floors.

Saladin's bed was little more than a stacked accoutrement of blankets and furs, into which the old wolf could sink after a long day of manoeuvering around the Cabal Empress and her subordinates' laws and customs. It was not particularly difficult work, per se, but his advisory position was physically and mentally draining nonetheless.

At that moment, Forge was stripped down to the waist, working his way through the forms of the various martial arts he had been impressing upon young Cabal warriors over the past three months. They were good, certainly, but their size lended itself to different movements, and such had been the focus of the Iron Lord's teaching this past week. Now, as then, he was slick with sweat, dark skin shining in the orange light of the room's faux-candles as the old warrior slid smoothly into his next stance, low to the ground and ready for grappling. The quiet ping! of his communicator intruded upon the stoic silence, and the low gong of his doorbell shattered it completely.

Sighing, he toweled off his face and strode over to the door, expecting Ta'raun, the latest recruit to request a private lesson in technique. What he did not expect was the squeal of shock from a fellow Guardian, standing a little shorter than him, followed by an entirely unconvincing coughing fit. Once they were done, Saladin could finally take a look at them, and stared with mounting shock at the face of the Young Wolf themselves, cheeks so red they looked like an elseworlds Awoken, barring of course the glowing eyes.

"Uhm. Uh. Er, hummm..." the Guardian's eyes were locked on Saladin's chest, and their hand - clearly unconsciously - began rising to touch his scarred skin. Palm pressed against the Valus' chest, the Young Wolf's voice petered out into nothing, just staring.

By this point, Saladin had regained his composure, and laid a deceptively gentle hand on the Guardian's wrist, pulling their arm away and stepping back. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Guardian?" he rumbled, affecting ignorance of the situation.

It took a moment for the Guardian to realise he had spoken, and another few moments for them to figure out what had been said. Finally, though, they swallowed and stepped in, still blushing furiously, and mumbled something about having more privacy.

Saladin pressed the door's biometric key, locking them in the room.

"Is this private enough, Young Wolf? Now, what do you want?" his voice was like earth moving over stone, or perhaps silk sliding over iron. The Guardian was in no state to decide exactly which.

"Uhm. Well, I wanted to ask... uh, uhm. Well, uhh - can I see what you wear whenever you go swimming in a lake?"

Saladin stood there for a moment, considering. "Is that all?"

"Uhm, no. I've got something to ask as well, but I want to see your bathing suit first..."

Well, what can you do thought the Old Wolf, untying his leather belt and letting the rest of his clothing drop to the floor.

"AHHH NO THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT-!" the Young Wolf's yelp was almost a scream, and their red blush was now so deep it was almost purple, heat rising visibly along the base of their neck as well.

"Are you alright? Your neck-"

"NO MY NECK IS FINE, THANK YOU" hurriedly, the Guardian clapped a hand over their eyes, shielding their vision from the sight of Saladin in naught but his skin. Well, perhaps not so hurriedly, but certainly with a loud slap of hand against face.

Saladin was quite simply confused. One second he's asked to strip down, the next second he's told that's not what they'd meant? Ridiculous. All these New Age guardians, barely approaching 30, and their new-fangled ways of speaking, got on his nerves. One should say what one means, and be done with it.

"You said you wanted to see how I bathe, yes? Well, you don't exactly bathe fully clothed, do you."

From behind covered eyes came the response: "Granted, but I asked for your swimsuit. Not your bare..." they paused a second, swallowing "...body." The Young Wolf was visibly trembling, blushing, and trying very very hard not to look at the Iron Lord before them. Which was somewhat difficult, seeing as they kept peeking between their fingers and lightly yelping. And made even more difficult by the fact that Saladin made no move to cover up, only folding his arms and leaning back against the nearby seat.

"So. Uhm. Would- Hhhh. Let me... let me try again."

"Take your time."

It was was great difficulty that the Slayer of Gods schooled their face to stillness, closing their eyes for the moment it took to let their hand drop and, finally, opened their eyes to look at Saladin. The blush was back in a heartbeat, but at least this time they didn't squeal.

"Right. Would. You. Like. To. Help. Raise. Funds. For. The. Eliskni. Quarter." Every word was bitten off, the syllables exactly enunciated, as their speaker began to sweat with effort.

"What's this got to do with a swimsuit?"

"A Calendar. Photos. Of you. And others. Sold on earth. And NeoMuna."

Saladin sat on the chair he'd been leaning on, considering.

On the one hand, Saladin was not one to disparage attempts at helping humanity's new allies, whatever that attempt may entail. On the other hand, he did not relish the thought of distracting the denizens of the Last Cities with lewd perspectives on their current leaders, especially where this could easily slide into insubordination.

"No."

"What?!" The Guardian sounded genuinely surprised, as if expecting a different answer. The flusterment was mostly gone, now replaced with disbelief, and no small amount of annoyance.

"Saladin, this is for the Eliksni Quarter! You know how well this would sell among Guardians!" they exclaimed, now upset.

"Yes. That's precisely why I won't be doing it."

With an angry huff, the Young Wolf stalked over, flipped the end of a scarf around the Iron Lord's shoulders, and pulled him in for a hard stare.

"Now you listen here, you big naked oaf - these people bloody well need money, and a single photograph in a calendar is bloody well worth the trouble of getting them some! What, you think people'll stop listening to you just because they've seen you naked! Get over yourself!"

All through this tirade, Saladin's face grew ever stormier until at last he cut in:

"You'd have to do one hell of a job to convince me, Young Wolf." He bit off those last words, turning the title of honour into something close to an insult, bringing forth a completely different flush on the Guardian's face.

"Oh I'll bloody well convince you, you- you... argh! Bloody old bastard!"

Pulling hard on the scarf brought both Lightbearers toppling to the floor, right onto the stacked bed-pelts and furred blankets, muffling the next string of insults in the sound of shifting furs.

~~~~~~~

Saladin lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He'd never been wrestled to the ground before, and he'd never been beaten so soundly as to be out of breath. His joints ached, his back hurt, and his legs felt like water. The Young Wolf sat on the room's single chair, massaging their wrists and sipping on a glass of water, looking down at him in triumph.

And triumph it was - distracting though Saladin's lack of clothing had been, it hadn't made any difference in the fight. Point proven, the Guardian simply waited for an answer, staring pointedly at the Old Wolf.

"Hmph. Fine."

"You'll do it?" they instantly brightened up, jumping out of their seat.

"I'll think about it."

It was about as close to an admission as Saladin was willing to get, knowing full well that he was likely being quite unreasonable in his assumptions. Age did not always bely wisdom, as had so very often been proven to the both of them.

"Great! I'll see you there!" the Guardian beamed, face split by a sunny grin, before prancing off to the door, only to be blocked by the biometric lock.

"Allow me." Saladin rolled out of the bedded furs, standing up in a single smooth motion, before making his way over to the Guardian. The tension was palpable, but only for as long as it took for the door to unlock. Then, the Young Wolf stepped out briskly, and set off for the corridor - only to stop suddenly. Turning around, a wicked smile on their face, they whispered:

"Shaxx is bigger than you~"

And sprinted off down the hall before Saladin could make his reply.

"What the f-" he was interrupted, again, but this time by the short ping! of his communicator going off again. Two messages. One from Shaxx, the other from Caiatl.

He opened the one from Shaxx first.

<Make sure Germaine goes to the beach as well> was all it read.

Saladin stood there a long time, not moving until a passing Psion yelped, Sending the image of a midwinter oak. The Valus blinked, turned around, closed his door again, and sat down to think.

xxxxxxxxxx

And that's that for chapter 5!

Goodness gracious, I need to lie down.

That was hella tough to write

See y'all next time!

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny titan #destiny guardians #destiny 2 lightfall #destiny fanfiction #destiny exo #the vanguard swimsuit fic #bungie #the big bad destiny calendar fic #young wolf #saladin forge #lord shaxx #saladin x guardian??#empress caiatl

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fiirecracker · 11 months

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LORD SALADIN

callsign ; old wolf species ; human pronouns ; he/him/his gender ; trans man sexuality ; bisexual class & subclass ; titan, sunbreaker; of his own code ghost ; isirah (she/her) faceclaim ; giancarlo esposito

light abilities ; lord saladin is a sunbreaker at his core; his solar fire burns bright enough to scorch the earth, purify it in flames. though he wields arc with the heart of a tempest, there is no denying how strong his axe glows; how hot his fire burns. the only stranger to him is the void, which shies away from his heat.

recent history ; so far, saladin's story on this blog continues with the canon story of destiny; he is part of caiatl's war council, haven given himself to settle crow's debt. he has adapted to the cabal way of life, starting the iron war beasts and growing close to caiatl. perhaps even protective, if such a thing can be said of an old man and his empress.

#character info.#the lone sentry ( lord saladin. )#I NEED TO MAKE HIM A GENERAL SHIP TAG EVENTUALLY

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asklordfelwinter · 1 year

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The wind howls over Felwinter Peak. Occasionally, the noise is joined in concert by the wolves, mingling into a cacophonous harmony that might drive any other man out of his mind. Any man save for this one, perhaps. Lord Felwinter had forgotten how much he missed the sound.

He stands at the edge of the courtyard, looking down across the Plaguelands. While the mountaintop is blanketed in a layer of snow that reaches nearly to his knees, the abandoned structures far below have no such cover. Though it isn’t visible from here, it doesn’t need to be for him to imagine how SIVA has twisted and mangled the place. He can hardly remember what it looked like before their death march.

His mind is not on such grim matters, of course, though perhaps it should be. No, today he has sworn off the thoughts of ruin, or of what his dear creator—father, some might say—Rasputin has planned when he is rebuilt. Today, just for today, his mind is on the Dawning.

They never celebrated the winter holidays in the days of the Iron Lords. At least, he hadn’t. It was trouble enough just surviving from year to year, and living for as long as he had meant that the years quickly lost their meaning. With time came greater security for the surviving folk, though, and with that came holidays. Celebrations of life, of one another. He had been told a great deal about the decorations that adorned the Guardians’ Tower, though he had yet to pay a visit himself to see them. It kept their morale high, Saladin had said. He could appreciate that at a time like this.

“They’re waiting for you inside, you know.”

Felspring’s voice cuts through the roaring wind almost as if it wasn’t there at all. Felwinter hardly flinches. He’s used to it.

“I told them that they do not need to.”

The Ghost’s exasperation is evident even without her making a sound. Soon after, she emits a mechanical trill.

“Isirah insists.”

Lord Felwinter sighs, an act that had become second nature even despite his lack of breathing functions. There is no ill intent behind it, of course. He had expected as much. Isirah is as stubborn as her partner, if not more.

He turns, then, allowing the wind to finally find purchase in his robes and catch them like a sail as he walks back toward the temple. Several of the wolves stand and follow along, seeking the warmth of the great braziers within. The flamekeeper has done well in keeping them lit after all this time.

Nearly as soon as he steps foot inside, the warmth in the air rises to meet him. He treads the narrow hall quietly, soon coming to the heart of the temple where his comrades await. Each one is seated around the fire, and each one looks more vibrant and full of life than he has seen them in… well, centuries. The Young Wolf has taken to singing some horribly off-key rendition of an old holiday tune, accompanied by the Flamekeeper—when they were able to remember any of the words. Lord Saladin tends to the chunk of meat roasting in the flames, though he spares a glance when his fellow Lord approaches.

“Glad you could join us. Wasn’t sure if you had frozen stiff out there or not.”

“I would not miss it for anything.”

As Felwinter takes his seat across from the Titan, he soon finds that he cannot help himself. The others’ cheer is infectious on a day like today. And though no other person in the room is able to see it, for the first time since he is able to remember, a smile spreads across his face.

#destiny #destiny 2 #lord felwinter #writing #season of the seraph #I had to stop and think for a second what the name of the season was #Felwinter is trying to keep his distance from things because he doesn’t want to get tangled up in Rasputin’s mess #if he had a Dawning cookie it would be SIVA Licorice cookies

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orbdotexe · 1 year

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Talking about Wolf!Cayde and Dread Wolf

Cayde would probably be known as the Young Wolf due to Dread taking him under their wing. Teaching him how to be a damn good hunter. As well as teaching how to troll

Also, Cayde meets Osiris for the whole saving Saint thing. And Cayde just won’t. shut. Up.

Osiris is thinking

“This is the idiot foretold to be our savior? Traveler help us.”

"Go, do a crime" -the last thing Saladin hears before his old student drops Cayde on him

Saladin, probably: Wolf, what the fuck is this. I don't want this (he says, before Cayde gets the New Kitten With Dad treatment [either that, or the Crow treatment. Probably the Crow treatment. get thrown, idiot])

Anyway! How Wolf sees Cayde: just a little guy. Just a young pup. Look at the boy go! So proud of him.

How the Vanguard sees Cayde: hellspawn.

Honestly, I think Cayde objects to being called Young Wolf, solely because its derived from him being Dread Wolf's student and them calling him Little Wolf. Everyone calls him it anyway

Osiris should've been expecting this when he heard Wolf had taken up a more personal approach to training a specific Hunter. He really should have. But nothing could've prepared him for This.

Saint thinks its funny. Osiris very, very much does not.

Also, idea: they're called Dread Wolf because their Void Light gives off a very distinct feeling of dread? and maybe they used to be a Warlord-Warlord, pre-Iron Lord stuff? hmm.

#i am a great believer in Void Hunter YW supremacy LMAO #it just. works to me. At least my interpretations of Wolf #since the Void is strongest when you’re *empty* - starving. thoughtless. drained. All of it empowers the Void #and I mean... just LOOK at Wolf alright #Constantly busy 24/7. people have to force them into taking care of themself. never stopping for themself #I settle my case #orb rambles

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flowers-of-io · 1 year

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Read on Ao3

Arrha knew where he put things. Especially his boss’ things. Especially the things his boss wouldn’t hesitate to dock all four of his arms if he misplaced.

Now, however, part of the freshest shipment from one of the hidden caches on Iris was gone, and Arrha had rummaged through the entire storage room three times over and still could not locate it. Cold sweat was dripping down his back. Oh, the Spider is going to be furious. He could already imagine the string of curses he’d be treated with the moment he’d open his mouth to deliver the news, and the beating that would ensue, possibly involving Arc spears.

That thought gave him pause, however. Would the Spider be allowed to give him a beating, here in the Last City? This was not the Reef. This wasn’t the Tangled Shore, where the baron held dominion as its only law, and all who did not oppose him were invariably under him. This place had other laws and other masters as well, and the Spider was but one of many vectors influencing the delicate balance of power. Arrha exhaled slowly, and then drew in a long, shaky breath from his air mask. Even Ether tasted differently here—fresher, crisper. He took another breath, held it for a moment, then graced the storage room with a final look and begrudgingly retreated towards the hidden passage leading to the back of the Ether Tank.

After three carefully measured minutes, something rustled in the rafters.

Ór lowered herself gently onto one of the shipment boxes and put the bundle of yellowish rags back in its place, propping it against an empty Ether canister. Before Arrha returned to the room she would be long gone, a bit of dust shaken off the pipes under the ceiling the only evidence of her presence.

----*----

“I heard Spider’s been pissed more than usual,” Drifter drawled, lifting the bottle of cheap Cabal alcohol to his mouth. “Someone helped themselves to a part of his last shipment and he’s putting half of Botza on lockdown tryin’ to figure out who it was.”

“Oh?” Ór blinked innocently, “What went missing?”

“Well, word on the wind is he’d got his hands on quite a decent chunk of House Devils’ possessions when Eramis went all buddy-buddy with the Witness,” he put the bottle down onto the tabletop with a soft thump, “including stuff they’d snatched from the Iron Tomb back in the day.”

Ór was examining her own bottle, reading into the fine print on the label with a sudden and all-consuming interest. “Oh.”

“Y’know—Iron Axes, pieces of armour, the original Felwinter’s Helm no one’s been able to locate for years…”

“Yeah.”

“Mm.” He regarded her over the rim of his bottle. “You were saying something ‘bout paying the old Wolf a visit, by the way?”

“I suppose,” Ór was pointedly not looking at the satchel hanging on the back of her chair, a sliver of yellow fabric peering out through the half-closed zipper. “Caiatl asked me to check in, and I’d get the chance to see Saladin while I’m there.”

“Mhm.”

Ór took a quick swing of her drink and choked, erupting into a coughing fit and spilling a mouthful across the table.

----*----

The Felwinter’s Helm Arrha was holding in his lower hands had overall stats of 54, and a tennis ball jammed into the socket on the back, where the frantically twitching Ghost core should be.

#i have in fact been committing word crimes #my fics #arrha #ór #sad man from the basement #oc #destiny 2 fics

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finalshaper · 8 months

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Thinking abt my fic again and the worldbuilding I’m doing for it. and while it’s a short post w/o much elaboration rn.

The Cream Wolves in my fic are instead replaced with the Wolf Riders, which are in turn derived from the older Eagle Riders. These Wolf Riders in turn derive much of their inspiration from Destiny’s Iron Lords, with my selected voice for Crunchy Chip being that of Saladin’s rather than his canon voice.

Unlike their inspirations though, the Wolf Riders are quite sizeable and have not been victim and entirely almost lost to a virus, much less a virus in the form of tiny nanobots. They are thriving well and serve the Kingdom of Dark Cacao exceptionally well.

The story of the origins of the Wolf Riders can be traced back to the Eagle Riders — the first militia force of the Dark Cacao Kingdom after its establishment, consisting of prestigious, decorated warriors who are each given a giant eagle companion to train with and bond with, usually after raising them from an egg.

How they were able to enlist the eagles’ help though comes from a story involving the great King of Dark Cacao and his conversation with the Eagle King after splitting the Black and White dragons, where, indebted that the Great Warlord had stopped the dragons from fighting in the Eagle King’s domain of the sky, offered his assistance in any possible way he could. The Eagle King is connected to the constellation Aquila.

The Eagle Riders were gradually replaced by the Wolf Riders not due to any bad blood between Dark Cacao and the Eagle King, but rather because their air superiority was being preferred less and less and it was becoming harder and harder to maintain sturdy breeds of war eagle. There are other stories but this is the most logical answer of them all.

The Wolf Riders consisted at first mostly of old Eagle Riders who lost their bird companions, and were given a dire wolf companion instead from an alliance between the Wolf King (the constellation Lupus) and Dark Cacao after an exchange of favours.

To the present day (in the fic’s timeline) the Eagle Riders are nothing more than a seemingly impossible legend (even for a world inhabited by all sorts of magical monsters and beasties) while the Wolf Riders are often shut away in their mountain temples unless called on for duty — that is when you know something is serious or requires major attention.

So yeah!! Wanted to talk abt this before I fell asleep. Super excited to work on my fics involving them and the rest of the world of my fanverse! Feel free to ask questions 💜

#caydeposting #cayde fic posting tag pending #cookie run #cookie run kingdom

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gay-nidoking · 2 years

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Blame the Sky

Rating: E

Relationship: Crow/Male Guardian

Warnings: Trauma, Explicit Sexual Content

Summary: After Crow's mistake with the Psion (the second one,) it's decided that time away from the City might be the best thing for him, to allow him and the Cabal time to cool off. He is sent to spend a period of time doing "recon" in a remote location outside the City. The Guardian is his escort. The time away proves far more fruitful than he could have guessed.

Takes place, nebulously, sometime in between Season of the Risen and Season of the Haunted.

Word Count: 26,080

Notes: My Young Wolf x Crow fic is (technically) done! All that’s left is an epilogue, which is on the back burner until I get other fics in this series posted. Featuring a selectively mute/stammering Guardian (due to anxiety/trauma) and way less plot than the word count would suggest.

Full on AO3

It was only a few days after Saladin’s departure to Caitl’s war council that Crow received a message from the Guardian.

HAVE BEEN RE-ASSIGNED. THREE MONTHS. RF AND I WILL ESCORT. MEET W ZAVALA TMRW 0800.

Short, curt, no sense of affection or softness. No inside jokes or witty farewells. Crow was used to seeing in remote messages what Chrysanthos didn’t reveal in words: the friendliness and wit that he hid beneath his armor and silence.

But now, he was angry. Had been for weeks, actually. It was obvious in the increasing stiffness with which he responded to Crow now, and this curt message only punctuated it.

Crow struggled to keep himself from responding to his friend’s displeasure with defensiveness. His last conversation with Saladin was replaying in his head over and over again, and he knew that his friend, an Iron Lord in his own right, would have just as much patience for his self-righteous moping.

Crow could hardly blame him. It was only recently that he’d learned the true meaning and weight behind the sigil engraved in Chrysanthos’s armor, and the wolves on his shoulders. He could only imagine being in Chrysanthos’s shoes, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to forgive easily.

“This could be fun!” Glint said from over his shoulder. Could he sense Crow’s thoughts starting to spiral? “Like a getaway!”

“This isn’t supposed to be fun,” he pointed out. “It’s a mission.”

Still…it would be nice to get out of the City.

He was to meet Zavala and the Guardian at the H.E.L.M. to receive the specifics of his new assignment, according to a less reticent but no more enlightening message he received from the Vanguard commander shortly afterwards.

He spent the night packing what little he needed, and the morning hours trying to keep his mind quiet. That had become a difficult task of late, with the memories both ancient and recent rolling around in his brain.

When he entered the H.E.L.M. war room, Crow saw Chrysanthos immediately. Glint still teased him for how quickly he could pick out his Old Light in a room. He didn’t have the words to defend himself anymore, and usually had to try and put his foot down to cut the teasing out before the object of the conversation could hear him.

This time, the small rush of happiness that he usually felt didn’t come. With all that had happened recently, very little brought that rush anymore.

“Oh…he is angry,” Glint said softly, not helping Crow’s foul mood.

Chrysanthos was at the end of the room against the curved window, speaking with his own Ghost, Rainfall. He was fully armored, per the usual.

They were too far away to make out words, but it seemed that the Young Wolf was… arguing with his Ghost. This immediately struck Crow as cause for concern, and all he’d done this morning to fight his nerves went out the window. He had never seen Chrysanthos out of sync with his Ghost, and even the few times they’d disagreed they’d never gone so far as to argue, at least not where anyone could see them.

The conversation ended when Crow entered and Rainfall noticed him. He said one final word to his Guardian, and then headed their way.

Rainfall greeted Crow with a jubilant spin of his shell. Glint leaned forward, mirroring the other Ghost in their odd little greeting dance.

“Great to see you!” Rainfall greeted the two of them. “I take it you received our message.”

“It read more like an order, but yes.” Crow kept the sharpest edge out of his voice.

“We don’t have the authority to order you,” Rainfall said, but didn’t deny the strong wording of the message he’d received this morning. “This came from Ikora, and Zavala, of course. At our suggestion, though. We thought this would be a good assignment for you.”

“You picked this assignment for me?” Crow was surprised, and didn’t bother trying to hide it. Just when he thought it

“Suggested it. A while ago, actually, but looks like they finally gave in to us,” Rainfall corrected him. “Right, Chrys?”

Chrysanthos joined the conversation, physically at least. He nodded in response to Rainfall’s prompt, before taking up a stiff stance with his arms crossed low on his stomach. He was a man of few words, choosing to let Rainfall speak for him most of the time.

He looked resplendent and imposing in his gold-and-orange despite his short stature. Another defensive tactic, Crow had learned, along with his reticence. When no one heard his voice, or saw his face, it was easy for him to learn everything he needed to learn, and hide everything he needed to hide.

Even behind all those walls, it was easy to see he was upset. Crow knew him well enough now that he could pretty easily read his body language. He was standing with his feet planted like he was bracing for a hit, arms crossed and fingers wrapped tightly around his elbows. He had his head turned towards their chattering Ghosts, but he wasn’t responding to their banter with his usual shrugs or nods. He was standing still like a statue, and Crow could picture his jaw tight beneath his helmet.

#destiny #destiny 2 #destiny 2 fanfiction #the crow destiny #yw x crow #the guardian x crow #kirby gets creative

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chosendestiny · 2 years

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Hello! This is Hunting-Destiny!

Could you introduce me to your guardian(s)? What's their names, what classes are they, what are they like :0 !!

I have quite a few ocs, so I'll just mention four of em :)

I have Red, Rogue-8, Athena-7, & Matthews-5

Red is an Awoken Hunter, the youngest out of the four. She can be very cheerful and curious — Red likes to discover new things, and travel around the solar system. She was once a Gunslinger for a couple of years, then she became a Nightstalker. She tends to switch her subclass, but solar and void are her top two. She's the Young Wolf in the bunch. She's the typical workaholic. She's either doing bounties or playing Crucible. Whenever she needs to get away from everything, she cuts off communications with everyone and just travel around the solar system — Sometimes, it's to one of her hideouts, and other times it's to find new places. Red is Cayde's adopted daughter, so she tends to pick up on stuff he did. She's a terrible cook, so she brings meal packets that are easy to make or some ramen that is from the shop.

Athena is an Exo Hunter. She's an Iron Lady, and a Nightstalker who's a pretty chill gal — she likes to mess around and gamble around causing trouble for Cayde. She likes sparrow racing in her spare time, and she's an old rival of Rogue's during the Dark Ages when Warlords & Iron Lords/Ladies were at war against each other (if I have my lore correct), but now they're in the same fireteam. Sometimes she visits Saladin to check on him every now n then for his mental health.

Rogue is an Exo Titan. He's a Warlord, a striker, and the "father" of the group. Scary man. During the Dark Ages, Rogue has most of it killing the fallen as revenge for murdering his wife and newborn kid, but thanks to Shaxx, he's learned to stop and move on. Rogue is loyal to the Vanguard since the day it was formed. When the Vanguard doesn't have a mission for him, he usually spends most of his time with Shaxx, watching the Crucible matches and sometimes judging how people did whenever Shaxx gives him the chance to do so. It's hard for people to get him to open up or even talk to him, but Matthews managed to do it (after many many tries), and now they're friends. More info on him here

Matthews is an Exo Warlock. He is the most extroverted in the group, he is well known in the Tower cause he tends to make a lot of friends with everyone, light-bearers, and non light-bearers alike. He was one of the first guardians to befriend Red after accidentally killing her with his faulty sparrow. He's a very friendly fellow who loves to make people smile during serious situations, and likes lighting up the mood. He's also a pupil of Ikora, he adores her and chose to be a Warlock just after seeing her (he didn't even let his ghost finish telling him the other vanguards)

#I have more ocs but I don't wanna make the post longer than it is :')#destiny 2 #fireteam Neptune #there's more members to team Neptune but I just did these fours #destiny ocs

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phantomwarrior12 · 2 years

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Restrained?

“Getting too old for this, Shaxx?”

That certainly isn’t a remark she’s ever tossed his way during a match. Never anything targeted or snippy. Never anything snide.

Something is up tonight.

The Young Wolf is twirling an Arc staff, the weapon’s energies bouncing and ricocheting sporadically around them. His shield is active, a means of rapid deflection but as she paces closer, he prepares himself.

She bolts toward him, he extends the shield as her staff slams against the Void barrier. He counters, swinging to force her back and the blow lands. She stumbles a bit, trying to get her footing as the staff dissipates between her fingers.

He push the advantage, her super is gone, after all. But none of this feels right. None of this is her.

He knows she noticed the way he let his own super dissipate, the gradual shift to something more upright and less defensive. Her helmet tilts, shifting subtly from his arm to his helmet and back.

There is no uncertainty when she charges, prepared for a hand to hand battle but Shaxx wants this over with. He needs to end this before things get out of hand.

So, he calls upon a fighting style he hasn’t used in years. Overwhelming the Young Wolf in a matter of minutes with blows and counters that drive her back.

Then her spine meets the wall and Shaxx pins her hands above her head, holding her taut against him with a harshness he doesn't relish. She’s been particularly vicious tonight; aggressive in not only her blows but there’s been an uncharacteristically frequent amount of taunts and provocations.

She’s in a mood. One he can’t decipher, but a mood nonetheless.

They stay there for a moment, both seeming to process the situation and just how close they are before the Young Wolf lets out a soft giggle.

There should be nothing funny about this but still, the Warlord smiles, "What's so funny?"

"You've never manhandled me before," she titles her head, a laugh on the edges of her voice.

"And?"

"Kind of like it."

Shaxx scoffs, shaking his head as he eases his hold. Her back relaxes against the wall, her body no longer bound against his but her hands are still held above her head. A precaution - she’s unpredictable tonight. A wild card in more than one sense and although Lord Shaxx enjoys a challenge, her unpredictably isn’t one of them.

Not when she's like this.

"You're not supposed to like it, dearest. You're supposed to struggle." He lowers his head a fraction, resting his helmet against hers. Her head angles forward, playfully wriggling her wrists against his palms but they both know it’s not enough to break his vice grip.

"Would you like me to struggle, Lord Shaxx?"

Her mood has shifted, again. It may be safe to let her loose, grant her a chance to make a next move to progress the match but - there is no tension left in her frame. He suspects, if he could see her eyes, he’d find a playfulness there. The sort she only summons when she’s prepared a prank for Saladin or Zavala and is eager to see the fall out.

Still, Shaxx sighs and releases her but only for a moment. Only just long enough to haul her up by the backs of her thighs and try to give himself some leverage that way. It also provides a distraction that she’ll capitalize on, but for now, he’ll take it.

Anything to settle her tonight.

Anything to see that unpredictably ebb and his Hunter will resume her usual, mischievous, but affectionate self. Anything to soothe the venom from her lips and resume the comfortable banter they usually engage in.

Something brought this on. Something dredged up a hell she’s trying to fight by way of lashing out. Something he doesn’t hold against her.

The Guardian winds her arms around his neck and giggles softly again. Shaxx’s shoulders sag, readjusting his hold on her thighs.

"This was a sparring match."

She hums a sound of confirmation, leaning her head back against the wall behind her.

"Then why aren't you taking it seriously?” He squeezes her thigh gently, smoothing his thumb against the fabric as he gazes down at her.

She seems careless, relaxed but her relentless trace over the leather bound around his neck alerts him there is something more.

"I am." She returns flippantly.

"The giggling argues otherwise." He tries to tease. Tries to coax a calmness from her.

She, to her credit, does try to look sheepish but he knows she is grinning beneath that helmet.

“Would you rather call it an evening? The ramen shop is open and I–”

Her head snaps up quicker than could be comfortable and Shaxx's brow furrows.

Ah. So that’s what this is about.

If he recalls correctly, Cayde often took her there after missions. To tell her stories, to talk and joke. Shaxx is sure the Guardian picked up those mischievous tendencies from the Hunter Vanguard which is why it doesn’t bother him but she does miss Cayde. Some days are worse than others and it seems tonight…tonight is one of those extremes.

…the anniversary is coming up, isn't it?

Shaxx gently adjusts his hold so he can guide her closer, so he can step away from the wall without dropping her.

The Young Wolf’s arms tighten around his neck, her helmet dropping against his shoulder.

“Well, that explains your barbs,” he remarks softly, carrying her over to a larger stone and takes a seat. He clutches her close as his chin rests atop her shoulder.

“I--" a shiver tears alone her frame and she presses closer, "I'm sorry." the Hunter murmurs, her voice wavering.

His chest clenches and he squeezes her, “I forgive you.” She crumbles against him, a shaky inhale against his shoulder before she buries her visor against the side of his neck.

They stay there for a time. The Young Wolf clinging to him as if he were life itself and he tries, so desperately, to console her.

At last, he finds his voice. "If you like, I can go with you. He wouldn't want you to go alone."

The Young Wolf presses closer, smoothing her hand over the fur around his neck, following it down the binding of his necklace until her fingers trace the pendant.

It feels like an eternity before she speaks. Even then, it's soft. Barely discernible despite their proximity.

"I'd like that."

"Good," he shifts his hand, curling it around her own against his chest. "But tonight…tonight, I think we should get your mind off of things."

He swears he hears a scoff from the Hunter in his arms.

"You never drink."

"Not in public," he chuckles softly. He hooks a finger beneath her chin and tilts her head up to meet his gaze. "But tonight, I think I can make an exception."

"...does it have to be in public?" She murmurs, leaning into his touch.

"I don't believe there's anything strong left at home, dearest."

A pointed tilt of his head and this time, she does look sheepish.

Lord Shaxx does not often drink to the point of delirium. Neither of them do. But the last time they both did - well, neither of them remembered much of the evening and they woke up cuddled up on the floor.

Without clothes.

And scorch marks littered their bedroom.

"So…public is our only option at this hour." Her shoulders sag.

"I'm afraid so." Shaxx traces a finger along her neck, "But I'm sure we can find somewhere quiet."

She hugs him then. Tightly, bordering on suffocating but he doesn't think she has the strength tonight. Whether it was the fight or the weight on her heart, he isn't sure.

But she's tired.

When he tries to disentangle, his Hunter is less than willing to allow it. Somehow, it devolves into a wrestling match - one the Young Wolf does not win purely because Shaxx brute forces a pin by way of his strength.

This time, she does struggle. She kicks at his thigh to try and shatter his balance but has no success. He pins her leg beneath his knee and she huffs.

But not in exasperation. Not in any manner that evenly remotely mimics her earlier behavior. She huffs because there is, rarely, an instance where she can evade his pin like this.

It's clear. She's tired, yes. But not without her fighting spirit. That is a relief.

Their position mirrors the earlier pin - her wrists bound above her head, visor to visor as chests heave. But this time, her fists unfurl and she relaxes beneath him. This time her head tilts back and he knows she is smiling a resigned smile.

There is no trace of aggression or tension.

It's just the two of them.

As it always is.

"If I let you up," Shaxx begins slowly, lowering his frame a fraction and she does tense then.

But in a playful manner, as if assuming he'd crush her. As if there were any world in which her Warlord would deliberately harm her.

"Jumpy," he chuckles softly.

Her head lifts, nuzzling her helmet against his but she doesn't answer verbally. She strains just enough against his hold before her helmet vanishes in a transmat and she smiles up at him.

He knows - by the tilt of her head, the plea in her eyes - he knows what she's asking of him.

He repostions her wrists, binding them in one hand before he pries his helmet off. Before it settles off to the side and she forcefully captures his lips in a firm kiss despite his hold.

He smiles into the caress before his head tilts and the kiss deepens. Before she tries to pull a hand free to touch him and groans her disapproval when he will not relent. Before he traces a hand along her side and she hums her approval. Before he lifts his head just enough to see her and smiles.

“Better?”

She nods, blinking up at him lazily. Her exhaustion more evident than anything else.

He finally releases her hands and he finds them cradling his face an instant later.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“You needn’t thank me.” He murmurs, working his arm beneath her form to draw her close. Her fingers move, sliding up until her arms bind around his neck and Shaxx hugs her.

Her hold is steadfast when he slowly sits back on his heels, her form damn near glued to his own for a time. Silence surrounds them and it’s only the tender trace of his hand over the fabric of her cloak that disturbs it.

Lord Shaxx waits until her hold eases and her head readjusts before he speaks. Even so, her breath is warm against the side of his neck and he wills a sense of composure into place.

“Are you ready to go?” His voice softer than it had been and she nods slightly.

The Warlord gently guides her arms from around his neck, his hands curling around her own before he lifts them, pressing a kiss to each gloved knuckle. His eyes lift to the Guardian’s features and there’s a touched sort of warmth in her eyes.

Thank you.

It’s in every inch of her features and although he longs to reassure her a second time that it isn’t necessary, he can’t bring himself to. Not when she looks at him this way.

“You’re welcome,” he caves at last, offering a smile that melts her posture a fraction.

Perhaps drinking is off the table. She may just need to be held for the night. In any case, he’ll be there. Keeping her close, soothing away the pain that lingers because she is not meant to shoulder this grief alone.

Cayde wouldn’t want her to either.

As the two get to their feet and helmets are replaced, Shaxx gathers their weapons before he slips his hand into the Guardian’s. Her grip is tight and desperate as they walk toward the portal that will take them back to the Tower - back to reality.

“Guardian–”

She looks up at him.

“...you know you can rely on me, yes? Not just for this, but–” he isn’t sure how to continue. How does one tell humanity’s savior that she does not have to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders?

But she seems to understand. Her hand squeezes around his, her frame tucking a little closer to his massive form.

I know.

“Good,” he nods, pulling them both to a stop just shy of the portal. “In the event you’ve somehow forgotten this,” his head lowers, his other hand lifting to cup the edge of her helmet.

“I love you.”

Her fingers bind tighter around his own, her free hand lifting to cradle his against her helmet.

“I love you, too.”

Hearing it from her lips is like hearing it for the first time, every time.

“Let’s go home, dearest.”

The Young Wolf gives a nod just before Lord Shaxx smiles and stoops to pick her up. Her arms wind around his neck, her head settling against his shoulder as he carries her through the portal toward home.

Brave, Guardian. Very brave.

-------------

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