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Chapter Text

Sanson came back to consciousness slowly, like wading through quagmire back to safe shores. Every part of his body felt heavy. His skin tingled, like it was being pricked by thousands of needles, and his joints ached. A flurry of indecipherable sounds came towards him slowly, as if they were traveling across a great expanse to reach him. There was something soft and warm wrapped around him. 

Warm. Sanson had thought he would never be warm again. Why had he thought that? He couldn’t remember now, his mind unable to grasp anything. His memories slipped through his fingers like sand, cascading away from him no matter how hard he tried to grasp on to them. His head throbbed. 

It would be easier to just slip back into blissful nothing, but instead he struggled to pry his heavy eyelids open. The world was a blur of color at first, spinning around him. He closed his eyes for a moment and moaned softly, feeling nauseated. 

“Shhh,” an unfamiliar, soothing voice said. “It’s alright. You’re safe now.”

Sanson opened his eyes again, the room coming into better focus. White walls, dim lighting. A blue curtain on his left separating his bed from the others and a round window to his right that was allowing faint sunlight to stream through. A hyur woman stood by his bed, her hand held above him and glowing with the telltale sign of conjury. 

“You’re safe,” she said again, offering him a small, exhausted smile. “You’re on board the Carpathia. We rescued you. ” 

He blinked at her slowly. The Carpathia ? No, he was supposed to be on a different ship. What ship…

“You were severely hypothermic from being in the water for so long,” she continued softly. “We’ve been working all night to bring your body temperature back to a safe level.”

Water? Sanson was so confused. The woman’s words weren’t making any sense. Why had he been in the water? 

He closed his eyes and saw flashes of memory. A mountain of ice, a wave of water crashing towards him. Fear as he was swept away and dragged under, the water choking him. The cold that had stabbed through his skin and settled into his bones until he was sure he would die from it. He had never been so cold in his life. 

Sanson shuttered and moaned again, opening his eyes again. The woman was studying his face carefully, her free hand reaching forward to press against his cheek. 

“You should try and get more rest,” she said. “You’re not quite out of the woods yet, but you’re going to be alright. I promise.” 

A promise. He had promised someone something. What was it? Who was it to?

His eyelids grew heavy as he looked towards the window at the bright blue sky. I need to find someone, he thought blurrily, eyelids drifting close. Guydelot. The name came to him suddenly, a burst of color against the fog clouding his mind. Guydelot, with his devilish grin and a wicked wit that belied a kind heart full of love for music and life and all the people in it. Guydelot, who loved him and had saved him in every way a person could be saved.

I have to find him, Sanson thought, struggling to keep his eyes open. Exhaustion was pulling him back under. I need to know he’s safe.

He tried to ask the nurse about Guydelot, but all that came out was a garbled groan. She shushed him gently and said, “Get some rest.” 

Sanson tried to ask again, but he was quickly losing the battle against sleep. He closed his eyes and slipped back into unconsciousness, Guydelot’s name on his lips. 

*****

When Sanson awoke some time later, night had fallen, black sky visible through his window. He was laying in a bed on his side with thick, warm blankets pulled up to his chin. He blinked slowly, the confusion that had plagued his mind earlier dissipating, leaving the memories of what had happened sharp and clear. 

Titanic had sank. It felt surreal, to know that a ship of its size and majesty was gone. But it was, Sanson had experienced the nightmare himself as the ship slipped away beneath him, plunging below the icy waters of the Northern Empty. He remembered the painful stab of cold water biting at his bones as he and Guydelot had struggled to survive in the water. He wasn’t cold now, but the memory of it lingered in his sore, aching body. 

The last thing he remembered was leaving Guydelot on the floating wooden wall when he had gone to find the whistle. He had blown into that whistle until he was light-headed from lack of oxygen and even then, had continued his desperate call for rescue. Surely, they found him too, Sanson thought. A nervous anxiety was seeping into his heart. If the lifeboat had rescued Guydelot as well, then where was he? 

Sanson sat up slowly, his body screaming in protest. He was so sore, but he needed to find out where Guydelot was. Looking around, he realized he was in some kind of hospital ward on the ship that had rescued them. The name Carpathia sprung into his mind. A smaller ship that must have answered Titanic’ s distress calls. There was a curtain separating his bed from the others, and he could hear movement beyond it. 

“Guydelot?” he called out tentatively. No response. After a moment, he tried again, forcing his voice louder. “Guydelot?” 

He heard steps approaching his bed and his heart started pounding in anticipation. But when the steps arrived at his bedside, it wasn’t Guydelot but the kind woman from earlier who had tended to him. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said with a tired smile. 

“Is Guydelot here?” Sanson blurted out. The woman’s smile dropped, replaced by one of confusion. 

“I’m sorry, I haven’t met anyone with that name,” she replied. “What does he look like?”

Panic crept up Sanson’s spine, but he tried to stay calm. “He’s a tall elezen man,” Sanson said. “He has brown hair with teal highlights in it.”

The woman gave Sanson a sympathetic look and said, “I haven’t seen anyone who looks like that I’m afraid. But we’ve rescued a lot of people. Perhaps he’s on a different part of the ship?” 

“He…” Sanson started and then stopped, taking a shaky breath. “He was with me in the water. He should have been rescued when I was.” 

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she continued. “You were the only hypothermic passenger they brought me.” 

Sanson stared at her, his blood running cold. She had to be wrong. They had to have found and rescued Guydelot. They had to…

He jumped when the woman’s hand landed gently on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked up at her with wide eyes, and she gave him another kind smile as she said, “Try to get some more rest. Tomorrow, you can go find your friend.” 

She squeezed his shoulder and walked away, presumably to tend to her other patients. Sanson watched her go with his heart hammering in his chest, fear making him feel ill. He shook his head and tried to think rationally. This was a much smaller ship than Titanic had been. Even with a fraction of Titanic’s passengers, it made sense that they wouldn’t have been able to put everyone who needed care in the same room. Guydelot had likely just been taken to a different area of the ship for treatment, which meant Sanson just needed to look for him. 

He took a deep breath and swung his legs off the bed, planting his feet on the floor. He paused, feeling grateful for the way the horizontal floor beneath his feet, then stood on wobbly legs. He was going to go find Guydelot. He wouldn’t be able to rest again until he did. 

Someone had swapped his cold, wet clothes with a soft cotton shirt and matching pants. He had no shoes but he didn’t care and didn't want to waste time looking for any. He grabbed a small throw blanket that was at the end of his bed to wrap around his shoulders, then took a few tentative steps into the rest of the room. 

Peering around his curtain, he saw eight other beds lining the walls, each separated by a curtain between them. Sanson moved slowly, peering at the occupant of each bed as he passed just in case the nurse was wrong. But none of the other occupants huddled in this ward were Guydelot, so he shuffled towards the door that led to the main hall. 

Here he found several people sitting against the wall, huddled together for comfort. Most of them were women and children, all of them sharing the same haunted, exhausted expressions. By the look of their clothes, most of them were from second and third class. First class would have been put in a different area of the ship. If he wasn’t so focused on his mission, it would have made Sanson feel sick. Even in the face of tragedy, those people wouldn’t have deigned to be near the less fortunate. 

He moved slowly down the hall and looked into the next few wards, eyes scanning over each bed. He saw mothers comforting small children and women crying softly by themselves. Very few of the beds contained men. Most were sleeping, but those who weren’t were staring at nothing with hollow, haunted eyes. Every face he saw had exhaustion and sorrow etched deeply into it. None of the beds contained Guydelot. 

Sanson continued on, moving from the small halls and recovery wards into a large dining area containing many more people. All the tables that would have normally been set out for meals had been moved off to the side, the large open area in the middle instead filled with blankets laid out on the floor for the huddled passengers. Again, Sanson scanned the crowd, mostly seeing women and children. Whenever he caught sight of pointed ears or brown hair, his heart rate would pick up, but when he would look closer, it was never Guydelot. 

Tears pricked at his eyes and panic built like bile in his gut, but Sanson held it back, determined to continue onwards. He went around the large room twice, checked every male face he saw, before moving on. He wandered to a different dining hall that had been repurposed in the same way and began the ritual again, his eyes roving desperately from face to face. Still, Guydelot didn’t appear amongst the crowd. 

Sanson jumped as a finger tapped against his shoulder, whipping around to see a miqo’te man dressed in the ship’s uniform behind him. The man was clutching a notepad and pen in his hands. 

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” he said. “We’re just trying to get a list of everyone we picked up. Can I get your name please?”

Sanson stared at the other man, his heart pounding. “You have a list of everyone on board?” 

“Well, we’re trying to,” the man replied. “We haven’t had a chance to talk to everyone just yet, but I am nearly done with third class at least.”

“Is there someone named Guydelot Thildonnet on your list?” Sanson asked, both anxious and terrified to hear the answer. “He would have been in third class.” 

“Let me see,” the man said, flipping through his list. Sanson watched as his eyes roved over the names, feeling nauseous as the man flipped through page after page. When he got to the end of his list, he flipped back to the front and started again, going through the whole thing until he looked up at Sanson with apologetic eyes and said, “I’m sorry sir, I don’t seem to have anyone on here by that name.” 

“Oh,” was all Sanson could muster up in reply. A heavy weight was crushing down on him, pushing him towards despair. Guydelot wasn’t on the list. He wasn’t on the ship. That meant…

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man said gently. “Like I said, I still haven’t gotten to everyone. There’s always the chance he’ll turn up.”

Tears were forming in his eyes. If he blinked, they would spill over, and Sanson didn’t think they would ever stop. 

“Can I have your name and class please, sir,” the man continued in a soft voice. “In case your people come looking for you.”

Sanson opened his mouth, ready to deliver his name out of reflex. He paused though, the man’s words piercing through the fog of despair that threatened to drown him. In case your people come looking for you.

He had been so focused on trying to find Guydelot that he had forgotten all about Nourval. The man would be combing the ship for him soon if he wasn’t already, eager to either win him back or finish trying to kill him, depending on what mood he was in. Even the sinking of a ship wouldn’t have been enough for him to let Sanson go. 

“Thildonnet,” Sanson said suddenly. “Sanson Thildonnet. Third class.”

The miqo’te man jotted his lie down and then gave him a sympathetic smile. “Thank you, sir. I pray you find who you’re looking for.” 

Sanson watched him move on to a different person, before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. He hadn’t meant to say Guydelot’s name but it felt right. Let Sanson Smyth have died on the Titanic before he ever had the chance to marry Nourval Lhorulgois. In this way too, he felt as if Guydelot was saving him. 

He continued his search in a daze, looking through more hallways and more rooms. No matter where he looked, however many beds he peered into and faces he examined, Guydelot failed to appear. A numb pain began to settle in his gut, a void left behind as hope faded away. How could Guydelot not be here? He has to be here, Sanson thought . The alternative was unthinkable. 

Eventually, Sanson wandered out onto the ship’s main deck, the cold night air biting at his cheeks. He pulled his blanket tighter around him, pushing away thoughts about what had happened the last time he had been on a ship deck in the cold of night, and continued his search. There weren’t very many people on the deck, though, mostly the Carpathia’ s crewmembers and a few of Titanic ’s who had escaped the disaster. The survivors leaned against railings and sat hunched over on benches, none of them speaking with each other. All of them wore the same haunted expressions that Sanson had seen below deck. He was certain that if he were to look into a mirror, he would see that same look etched into his own face as well.   

Still, no sign of Guydelot. The last frayed strands of hope slipped away, leaving nothing but despair in its wake. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He had been too late and now Guydelot was gone. He should have switched places with Guydelot on the wooden wall sooner, or tried harder to let his rescuers know where Guydelot was. He should have tried harder, done something more, but he hadn’t and now Guydelot was gone. 

Tears burned at his eyes and when he blinked, he felt them rolling down his cheeks. He let them, moving as if in a trance until he reached the ship’s stern. He approached the railing slowly, his hair blowing gently around his face as he reached out a hand to grip the top rung. 

How had it only been five days since he had stood on the other side of Titanic’ s stern, ready to throw himself to the mercy of the waves, only for Guydelot to appear and pull him back over? It felt like a lifetime had passed since then. The mark Guydelot had made on his life in such a short period of time was monumental. He had helped him find himself again after so long, had given him the strength to fight for himself and his own happiness. 

And now he was gone. A man with so much love for life, so much talent and heart. Gone, torn cruelly from the world in the blink of an eye. 

I didn’t even tell him I loved him, Sanson thought suddenly and it was this realization that finally broke him, made the loss of Guydelot real. An agonizing sob tore from his lungs as tears burned hot down his cheeks. Sanson sobbed, gasping as his body shook from the force of it. He fell to his knees, hand slipping away from the railing to wrap around himself, hugging himself as if that small comfort might ease the pain tearing through his heart. 

I didn’t tell him I loved him, he thought again. And now it’s too late. Even at the end of things, Guydelot had been trying to keep him safe, to keep his spirits up. He had put Sanson’s well-being before his own and Sanson hadn’t even told him how much he loved him back. The regret ate at him, intensifying the pain and pulling him deeper into the maelstrom of agony that had replaced his heart. 

Sanson exhaled sharply, turning his tear-stained face skyward to stare at the stars. They were just as numerous and beautiful as they had been the night before, the last time he had seen Guydelot alive. When he had made Guydelot a promise. 

Promise me, Sanson. No matter what happens to me. No matter how hopeless it seems. Promise me that you’ll survive this. That you won’t give up.

It seemed like an insurmountable task now, the prospect of a life without Guydelot. He had been prepared to die in the sinking with him, but not to live in a world without him. But now it would seem he had no choice. He had promised Guydelot he wouldn’t give up, that he would survive no matter what. 

The pain in his heart was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He finally understood what Estinien had meant. He had finally known what it was like to know the love of another and to feel worthy of that love. To lose that love so soon after finding it, to have it torn from him in the most cruel way imaginable...Sanson wasn’t sure how he was meant to keep his promise. 

He stared up at the sky, trying to calm his breathing by taking slow, shaky breaths. He scanned the night sky for a shooting star but none came, just the wide expanse of glimmering lights gazing back down on him. Sanson closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the ocean and feeling the cold wind cool the tears on his face. There may not be a shooting star, but he could still make a wish. 

I wish I had told you that I love you, he thought, heart squeezing painfully. I wish I had thanked you for helping me find myself again, for making me see what I was worth. I wish we could have done all the things and gone to all the places we said we would. I wish you were still here.

“Sanson?” a soft voice said behind him, breaking through his thoughts. He froze, his heart skipping a beat. He recognized that voice. 

“Sanson,” the voice said again, tired, but with the slightest teasing tone to it. “Sanson, we have to stop meeting at the end of ships like this.” 

He prayed he wasn’t hallucinating. That grief wasn’t making him hear something that wasn’t real. Slowly, he turned his head to look over his shoulder, heart ready to burst out of his chest as his eyes landed on the person standing a few fulms behind him. 

It was Guydelot. Tall, handsome, infuriating Guydelot. He was wearing the same soft hospital clothes Sanson was and he looked as exhausted as Sanson felt. But he was there and he was real, smiling softly at him with relief evident in his eyes. 

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he started to say when Sanson cut him off with a wail, leaping to his feet and launching himself into Guydelot’s arms. Guydelot huffed slightly at the impact but stood his ground, arms quickly coming up to wrap around Sanson’s body as he sobbed into his chest. 

“I-I thought you were dead!” Sanson stuttered out, gasping for air. “I’m so sorry!”

Guydelot pulled back and lifted Sanson’s chin to look him in the eyes, brows furrowed. “What in the Matron’s name do you have to be sorry about?”

“I didn’t tell you,” Sanson paused, trying to collect himself. “I didn’t tell you that I love you! I love you too, Guydelot, and I’m so sorry I didn’t say it back to you before.” 

“Oh, that’s enough of that,” he replied, pulling Sanson back into his arms. He pressed a hard kiss against the top of his head and said, “It’s alright. I knew.” 

Sanson cried against Guydelot’s shoulder, squeezing him as tightly as he could. He pulled back again and looked up into Guydelot’s face, reaching his hands up to cup the other man’s cheeks. Guydelot smiled at him and Sanson could see the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes as well. 

“You’re here,” Sanson said in awe. “I looked all over for you, and I couldn’t find you.” 

“I was looking all over for you!” Guydelot replied, squeezing his upper arms and shaking him slightly. “We must have kept missing each other.” 

Sanson gave a croaky chuckle, tears still streaking his face. Guydelot reached his hands up to gently cup his cheeks and Sanson’s hands came to rest on his chest. One of Guydelot’s thumbs rubbed the skin right under Sanson’s eye, brushing his tears away. Sanson smiled up at him, feeling overwhelmed. 

“Kiss me,” Sanson commanded and Guydelot obeyed, swooping down to press his trembling lips against Sanson’s. 

“Gods, I love you,” Guydelot whispered against his lips, kissing them again. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you,” Sanson whispered back, chasing Guydelot’s lips when he tried to pull away, pressing into them once more. “I love you.” 

Guydelot released a shuddering breath, pulling Sanson against him. He rested his cheek against the top of Sanson’s head and wrapped his long arms around him, keeping him warm. Sanson closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, pressing his ear against Guydelot’s chest so he could listen to the strong, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He felt safe.

“I woke up, and you weren’t there,” Guydelot finally said, voice shaking slightly. “I was so scared that you hadn’t made it. As soon as I could, I went looking for you.”

“I did the same thing,” Sanson whispered, eyes still closed. The steady thumping of Guydelot’s heart calmed him, kept him grounded. “I kept thinking of the last time I saw you, in the water. You were…so cold. So still. I…I couldn’t find your pulse. I pulled you up onto that board and used that whistle to call for help when I saw a lifeboat. I thought…I thought I hadn’t made it in time.”

Guydelot swore softly and said, “I’m so sorry. The last thing I remember was being so cold and you singing. I remember thinking that you actually had a really nice voice, all things considered."

Sanson snorted despite himself, rubbing at the tears that had dried on his face. “You’re saying my singing put you to sleep,” he tried to joke. 

“It made me feel safe,” Guydelot replied, smiling softly at him. “And warm. Thank you for that.” 

“I just kept thinking about how much I didn’t want you to die,” Sanson said, finally looking up at him. “We made a promise, right? You jump, I jump? You can’t leave me now.”

Guydelot chuckled, the sound of his voice filling Sanson with warmth. “Aye, that we did. And I have every intention of keeping that promise, seein’ as we both somehow came out of this ordeal alive.”

“The Matron must have been watching over us,” Sanson said, taking Guydelot’s hands in both of his so he could kiss the back of them. After a moment, he said softly, “I hope the others are alright.”

Now that he knew Guydelot was safe, Sanson's thoughts turned to everyone else who had been on the ship with them. What had become of Tahla and Stephanivien after he had ensured they were on a boat? Where were Hilda and Leih? What had become of Jehantel, Guydelot’s mentor who had treated Sanson with so much kindness in the short time they had known each other? 

In a flash, Sanson recalled Cid and Nero waiting for the end in the drawing room. Their decision to stay behind and give Sanson and Guydelot their life jackets had without a question saved their lives. He thought of Lord Aymeric and Ser Estinien, who had chosen to face the end together rather than be separated. The people who had gathered around the priest, the man praying to Halone on the steps, the woman who had used her last moments to comfort another. So much death, so many lives gone in an instant. Tears welled in Sanson’s eyes, his heart aching at the thought of all of them. 

He thought of the last time he had seen Ywain, when he had chased Sanson and Guydelot down to the ship's lower decks. Sanson could still see his pale face as he had approached them, gun held loose in his hand. The desperate look in his eyes as he had pointed the gun at them, so different from the stern protector Sanson had known in his youth. 

Guydelot had pulled him away as the water had come crashing through the door behind them, leaving Ywain to face the onslaught alone. He would have been too far from the hall they escaped down and from the stairs they had descended. There would have been no escape for him. He was dead. 

The realization hit Sanson like a tonze of bricks, knocking the air from his lungs. His knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground with a gasp, an alarmed Guydelot following him. Sanson placed a hand on his heart and bent over, unable to stop himself from trembling. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a pained sob. 

“Sanson?” Guydelot asked, panic in his voice as he gripped Sanson’s upper arms. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

“No, I just…I just realized. That Ywain is probably dead,” Sanson gasped, tears spilling from his eyes once again. Guydelot pulled Sanson into his arms and held him closely as he shook, rocking him gently. 

“I’m sorry, Sanson,” Guydelot said, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. “That man ain’t worth your tears as far as I’m concerned, but I truly am sorry.” 

“He wasn’t always awful like that,” Sanson replied quietly. “I do think he once cared, in his own way.” 

Sanson took a moment to mourn the man he once knew, rather than the man Ywain had become. A man who had taken in his friend’s orphaned child out of the kindness of his heart, who had passed a love for the lance to his young charge. Fear and desperation had twisted him into a shadow of the man he had once been. His greed had hurt Sanson deeper than anyone else ever had, but his heart still ached to know that the man he once cared for was gone.

“You have a good heart, Sanson,” Guydelot said softly, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “I pray that the Matron watches over his soul.”

Sanson squeezed his hand, feeling grateful that Guydelot at least was there to buoy him. The coming days wouldn’t be easy but with Guydelot by his side, he knew that things would eventually be alright. He leaned his head against Guydelot’s shoulder as he looked up at the stars, wiping the last of the tears from his eyes. 

Goodbye Ywain, he thought. I’m sorry about the man you became. I hope you rest easy. 

All his energy was quickly draining from his body, and Sanson felt the exhaustion hitting him again, settling into his weary bones. He sighed, taking Guydelot’s hand in his and lacing their fingers together. Guydelot squeezed his hand lightly. 

“Let’s get out of this cold,” Guydelot said. He looked as exhausted as Sanson felt. “Twelve knows I’ve had more than enough of it to last a lifetime.” 

He stood and reached down to help pull Sanson to his feet, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as they slowly headed back towards the inside of the ship. They moved in silence for a few moments, then Guydelot said, “You know, I actually had figured out that you were alive before I found you.” 

Sanson furrowed his brow, looking up at him. “How?” he asked. 

“A lad came up asking me for my name for his list,” Guydelot said, keeping his voice purposefully light. He glanced down at Sanson with a small smirk. “When I told him, he said there was someone else with that name looking for me. I figured he had to be mistaken, but lo and behold, he flipped the paper over and there it was. Sanson Thildonnet.” 

In any other circumstance, Sanson would have gone flush with embarrassment at being caught. But he was too tired, too weary, to do anything more than offer Guydelot a small smile. “Not exactly subtle, I’ll admit,” he said. “But I was thinking that I didn’t want to make it easy for Nourval to find me and yours was the first name to pop into my head.” 

“Ah,” Guydelot said. “You know, for a minute there, I had forgotten all about that craven bastard.” 

“I wish I could,” Sanson said softly. “But hopefully we can avoid him until the ship docks at least. Let him and everyone else believe that Sanson Smyth died with the Titanic .”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Guydelot grinned. “For the record though, it’s perfectly fine with me if you want to keep using my name after we get to Old Sharlayan.” 

Sanson rolled his eyes but leaned his head against Guydelot’s shoulder all the same, smiling softly. “Let’s get some rest,” he said. “And when we wake up, we’ll go find our friends.”

*****

When Guydelot woke, it was to faint morning sun slowly lighting up the sky through the window. The ship was quiet, just the sound of the ocean outside and people sleeping around them. His body was still sore and aching, with cuts and bruises covering his body. But he at least felt somewhat better rested. He and Sanson had returned to Sanson’s room, collapsing into the small bed together and quickly falling asleep. His sleep had been calm and dreamless, blissful compared to the panic he had awoken in before. 

Sanson laid curled in his arms, back pressed against Guydelot’s chest. He was still locked in slumber, his cheek pillowed against one hand and his eyelids fluttering lightly as he dreamed. Guydelot squeezed him closer, burying his face in Sanson’s hair. He rested his hand against Sanson’s chest for a moment, relishing in the steady rhythm of his heart. He was alive. They were alive. 

He still couldn’t quite believe it. When he had first come to the night before, he was certain he had awoken in the afterlife, his mind unable to comprehend where he was. He had been warm, so warm – he had thought he’d never be warm again. He had accepted that he was going to die in that water and had been happy to do so if it had meant that Sanson had a chance to live. The possibility that he might survive hadn’t even occurred to him.

Guydelot remembered floating in the water, the way his body had gone numb and his eyelids had grown heavier and heavier. He hadn’t felt anything except for the overwhelming cold, the pain as his body slowly froze. He knew the dangers of closing his eyes, but he hadn’t been able to fight it off, the dark creeping in and swallowing him. 

That should have been the end of him and yet here he was, mercifully alive when so many others were not. How was it possible? Guydelot laced his fingers through Sanson’s, squeezing his hand. Sanson made a small sound, squeezing his hand back, but otherwise staying asleep. 

With a shudder, he thought back to that moment in the water, when he should have succumbed to the cold. He remembered the icy water, the black of the night, the faint sensation of Sanson’s hand wrapped in his. The screams had begun to die down and in their place, soft and quiet, had been the sound of Sanson singing. 

Why don’t we sing for a little bit? Try to keep us warm, was what Guydelot had said. And so they had, singing a song about Nophica, the same one they had sung together so many times before. Guydelot’s voice had faded after a few minutes, the cold sapping him of the energy to do what he loved most. But Sanson had continued on, his quiet voice reaching him even as the darkness had begun to take hold. When he had closed his eyes, he had imagined himself at home in the Twelveswood with Sanson safe at his side. The thought had filled his heart with its own kind of warmth, a content ease washing over him as he had slipped away into the blackness. 

Guydelot’s eyes widened, the pieces clicking together. Jehantel had always told them there was more to music and song than just creating pretty notes on an instrument. He had taught them that true bards infused their songs with power, a power born from the sincere desire to aid their comrades. Sanson claimed to have no gift for verse, but Guydelot had read his journal and had seen the notes he had taken on music. To read his words, one would think he was the bard, not Guydelot. Perhaps…

Guydelot shook Sanson awake gently. Now that thought had been planted, he needed to know if it was true. Sanson mumbled and rolled over, slowly blinking sleep out of his eyes. He gazed at Guydelot, squinting slightly, and Guydelot felt an overflow of love blooming in his chest at the sight of him. 

“You’re alive,” Sanson mumbled. “You’re here.” 

“Aye, that I am,” Guydelot said in hushed tones, mindful of those sleeping around them. “I have to ask you something.” 

Sanson blinked a few more times at him, looking more awake. “What is it?” he asked.

“When we were in the water, we were singing Nophica’s song,” Guydelot said. “What were you thinking about?”

Sanson frowned at him for a moment, seemingly confused by his question. After a moment, he said, “I just kept thinking about how much I wanted you to live. About all the places we would go and the things we would see together. I kept praying and praying with all my heart that you would live, because it sounded like you were saying goodbye, and that terrified me. Why?” 

Guydelot’s heart was pounding as he took both of Sanson’s hands in his, unable to stop the smile that was spreading across his face. “Don’t you see Sanson?” he said. “Your song is what saved me.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?” Sanson asked, confusion clear on his face.  

Guydelot couldn’t stop smiling at him, the love in his heart making his chest feel tight. “It’s simple. A bard’s song gets its power from our fervent desire to aid our comrades.”

“But I’m not a bard,” Sanson interrupted him, eyebrows furrowed together. 

“You don’t have to be!” Guydelot rushed to say. “You just have to sincerely want to help your comrades and pour that desire into your song. That’s what you did when you were singing to me in the water. I should have died, but your song, the one you filled with your sincere desire for me to survive, kept me alive long enough to be rescued. You saved me, Sanson.” 

Sanson stared at him, a look of disbelief on his face. “Are…are you certain?” he asked. 

“More certain than I’ve ever been of anything in my life,” Guydelot replied, cupping Sanson’s face and swooping in to steal a kiss. He pulled away and brushed his thumb slowly across Sanson’s cheek. “Thank you, Sanson. I wouldn’t be here with you.”

Sanson gave a shaky inhale, then reached up to cup Guydelot’s cheek. “You jump, I jump, right?” he said. “We take care of each other.”

Guydelot grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it softly. “Aye, that we do. You’re stuck with me now, I’m afraid. But I’ve got your back, Chief. You can always count on me.” 

Sanson smiled, leaning in to kiss Guydelot’s lips softly. Their kiss was broken by Sanson pulling away to yawn, reaching his hand up to cover his mouth. He tucked himself against Guydelot’s chest, eyes falling shut again. Guydelot ran his finger gently up his cheek, just under the dark circles that were under Sanson’s eyes. 

“I’m so tired still,” Sanson mumbled. “Sing for me?” 

Guydelot smiled softly and began to sing a soft lullaby, quiet enough that only Sanson would be able to hear. As he gently carded his fingers through Sanson’s hair, he could feel his breathing evening out against his neck as Sanson slipped back into slumber. Guydelot sang a while longer, letting his love for Sanson fill his heart before he too drifted back to sleep. 

He was awoken a few bells later by Sanson shuffling around beside him, the light pouring through their window brighter now. Sanson sat up and stretched, his shirt lifting slightly to reveal the bruises that peppered his torso. Guydelot could see them on his arms too, evidence of the ordeal they had both been through. Sanson turned and looked down at him, his gentle smile replaced with a more serious look. 

“As much as I would love to keep laying in bed with you, it’s past time we went to find the others,” Sanson said. “And try to find out everything that’s happened.”

Guydelot nodded in agreement and stood from the bed, stretching slowly. He hadn’t forgotten about Leih and was desperate to be reunited with her. When he had searched for Sanson the previous night, he had scanned for her face amongst the crowds as well, but she hadn’t appeared. He had no reason to believe that she wasn’t safe after escaping on the lifeboat, but he wouldn’t be at ease until he saw her again. 

He was also dreading having to tell her that he had gotten separated from Jehantel and didn’t know what had become of their beloved mentor. The guilt of not knowing what had become of Jehantel was weighing heavy on his heart, while a voice in the back of his mind whispered that he had left the old man to face the end alone. He kept pushing it back, telling himself that Jehantel must have escaped, even though he too failed to appear when Guydelot was searching for Sanson the previous night. 

Guydelot was interrupted from his musings by the arrival of a kind-looking hyur woman, carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. She smiled warmly at the pair of them and said, “Oh good, you’re both awake! I checked on you earlier, but I didn’t want to wake you. Twelve knows you need the rest after all you’ve been through.”

Sanson smiled at her and said, “Thank you so much for looking after me. No doubt your care saved my life. I don’t know how I can ever express my gratitude.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing you need to worry about, dear,” the woman said. “I’m just relieved to see you’re doing so much better. Now, I have your clothes here, we washed them for you and left the coat out to dry.” 

She handed Sanson his clothes and turned to Guydelot. “I’m afraid I don’t have your things, sir, but they should have been left wherever you were originally.” 

“Thank you,” Guydelot said with a smile. She smiled back and then left, leaving Sanson and Guydelot alone again. He turned to Sanson and said, “I’ll go toss my clothes back on and meet you back here. I won’t be long, I promise.” 

Sanson looked like he wanted to protest for a moment, but then nodded. “Be quick,” he said. “Or I’ll come looking for you again.” 

Guydelot grinned, swooping down to place a lingering kiss against Sanson’s lips. When he pulled away, Sanson was smiling up at him, a light blush dusting his cheeks. Guydelot smiled as he scooted around the curtain and hurried back down the hall to where he had woken the night before. 

The ward he had been in was slowly waking, some people sitting up in their beds while others laid on their side with haunted expressions in their eyes. Guydelot did his best not to look at them, beelining to the bed he had been in. Sure enough, his clothes were folded neatly on top of the blankets, the coat laid out beside it. Guydelot quickly changed back into his own clothes, then paused as he reached for the coat. 

After a moment, he picked it up gingerly, stroking a hand down the front of it. It had been Nero’s, and without it Guydelot would have succumbed to the cold well before he was rescued. He felt a numb ache in his heart as he remembered the last time he had seen Cid and Nero. They had been prepared to go down with the ship they had designed together. Cid had been so kind every time Guydelot had spoken with him and his banter with Nero had always been delightful. And now they were both gone. A lump settled into his throat as he shrugged the coat back on. 

Thank you for saving us, he thought. May the Matron guide both your souls onto the aetherial sea. 

He didn’t linger, hurrying back into the hall and towards Sanson’s room, eager to return to his side. As he rounded the corner, he spotted the man himself leaning against the wall, dressed in the same clothes he had worn when the ship went down, with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. Guydelot smiled as Sanson turned to face him, his eyes going wide. 

“There you are!” Sanson huffed, pushing away from the wall. 

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Guydelot said, reaching a hand out to lace his fingers between Sanson’s. 

“I know,” Sanson admitted as they started walking down the hall together, hand in hand. “I just…didn’t like not knowing where you were.” 

“Aye, I understand,” Guydelot said softly. “I’m back now though, so let’s find Leih.” 

They wandered through the halls again together, checking rooms and the large dining halls again. They were just wondering if they should try searching outside for her when a loud voice called his name out from across the hall. 

“Guydelot, you bastard!” 

Guydelot turned and spotted Leih barreling towards him as fast as she could. He let go of Sanson’s hand just in time to catch her as she threw herself into his arms. 

“You bastard!” she said again, voice muffled against his neck. He could feel her tears wetting his shirt from where her face was pressed against it. “I was so worried about you!”

“Hey now,” Gudyelot said, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her close. “It’ll take more than a ship sinking to free you from the likes of me.” 

Leih snorted and pulled away, rubbing her eyes with one hand as she shoved him with the other. “You gave me a proper heart attack, don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she said. 

“Right, right, I’ll make sure to avoid sinking ships in the future,” Guydelot snarked, heart warming at the sight of her. Other than the tears streaking her face, she seemed perfectly fine. 

Leih turned to Sanson, who was standing awkwardly off to the side watching them. “And you!” she started, making the poor man jump. “You’re insane, you know that? Jumping back onto a sinking ship; you fools really are meant for each other, aren’t you?”

Sanson stared at her wide-eyed, seemingly at a complete loss for words. Leih didn’t give him a chance to reply, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly. Sanson looked at Guydelot in alarm as he hugged her back and Guydelot let out a loud snort at the sight of him. 

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Leih said as she pulled back, looking Sanson right in the face. “I would have felt just as awful if something had happened to you as well.” 

“I…Thank you, Leih,” Sanson said, face softening. “I’m glad you’re safe too.” 

She beamed at him for a moment and then turned back to Guydelot. “I was looking all over this bloody boat for you,” she said. “Have you seen Jehantel?” 

Hearing Jehantel’s name hit Guydelot like a blow to the chest. All the light-hearted joy he had felt at his reunion with Leih disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him with a hollow feeling in his chest. 

“No, he…Well, I…” Guydelot swallowed, looking down at the ground as he tried to figure out what to say. Sanson came over and slipped his hand into his.

“After I jumped back on the ship, we were chased below deck by my ex-fiancé,” Sanson said softly. “He was trying to kill us. We managed to escape from him, but by the time we made it back to the Boat Deck, there was no time to find him.”

“I don’t know what happened to him,” Guydelot said in a tight voice. “He was with me when I put you lot on the boat but after that, I…I didn’t see him again.” 

Leih was quiet for a moment, then took a shaky breath and said, “Well, there’s always a chance that he’ll turn up right? Let’s not give up hope just yet. I think they’re still trying to get everyone’s sorted out and such.”  

“Do you…know how many people were rescued?” Sanson asked hesitantly.

“Well, I haven’t heard an official number yet,” Leih said, “But Stephy said this morning that he heard they rescued just over seven hundred people.”

Seven hundred people. It sat like a block of ice in Guydelot’s belly. Seven hundred out of over two thousand. So much death, so many lives lost. They stood in silence, each of them contemplating the enormity of the tragedy they had all somehow survived. 

“Wait a minute,” Guydelot said. “Did you say Stephy?” 

“Oh yeah!” Leih replied, face lighting up. “Lord Stephanivien from Ishgard. Me and Hilda have been staying with him. Him and Hilda were actually part of the group who pulled you two out of the water. I was properly losing it when they came back, you were both so cold and still.” 

“Oh,” Sanson said suddenly. “I didn’t realize it was them.” 

“It sure was!” Leih replied. “Hilda said you were basically delirious when they got to you, babbling away until you passed out. But you managed to tell them that Guydelot was nearby. Hilda recognized him and they were able to get you onto a boat.” 

Guydelot felt a lump forming in his throat and his eyes itched with unshed tears. Sanson, Hilda, Stepanivien, Nero. He owed his life to so many people. It was only thanks to them that he was here at all. 

“Come on,” Leih said. “Let’s go back to Stephanivien’s room. He can explain more of what happened.”

They followed her out of the dining hall and up a flight of stairs, navigating through a set of halls that were more elegantly decorated than the ones below. Leih explained that Carpathia had given many of Titanic’ s first-class passengers what suites they had available, trying to keep them separated from second and third class for easier reunification. At the mention of first-class passengers, Guydelot felt Sanson stiffen beside him, squeezing his hand hard. Guydelot rubbed his thumb gently against the back of his hand, trying to reassure him. If they ran into Nourval, Guydelot wouldn’t give him a chance to say a word before knocking him flat. 

Leih brought them to a non-descript door, knocking twice before throwing it wide open. “Stephy!” she called out. “I found them!” 

They entered into a quaint sitting room, one that didn’t come close to the opulence that Guydelot had seen on Titanic, but was cozy nonetheless . After a moment, Stephanivien came bustling out of one of the side rooms, his face lighting up when he saw them. 

“Praise the Twelve, you both pulled through!” he exclaimed, pulling first Sanson, and then Guydelot into a tight bear hug. 

“By some god’s mercy, we’re alive,” Guydelot said wearily. “Leih says you were the one who rescued us. You have my thanks for that.” 

“Aye, Hilda and I joined the group that went searching for survivors,” Stephanivien said. “Take a seat and I’ll call for some soup. I’m sure the pair of you are starving. And then I want to hear everything that happened.”

Guydelot hadn’t thought about food until Stephanivien mentioned it, but the moment he did the hunger hit him, making his stomach grumble. They hung their coats up and took a seat while Leih explained that Hilda and Sanson’s maid Tahla, who was also staying with Stephanivien, had gone off to assess the situation on the ship. 

Stephanivien returned shortly, bearing a tray with warm soup and bread on it. “Here, this should set you right,” he said as he placed a bowl before each of them. “Now, Sanson, tell me everything that happened between when we said goodbye and me finding you half dead in the water.”

Guydelot ate his soup in silence as Sanson launched into his tale, describing how he had tracked down Guydelot and broken him free using a lance he had found, all while the water rose around them. How they had reunited with Leih, Hilda, and Jehantel and escaped from below deck. How Nourval had given his spot on a lifeboat to Sanson. His voice became strained as he described Guydelot placing him on the lifeboat and how he had jumped back on, unable to bear the thought of being separated from him. 

Hearing Sanson’s voice wavering, Guydelot chose then to jump in and continue the tale. He described how their reunion was interrupted as Nourval came after them with a gun. How they had nearly drowned below deck as the water had come rushing towards them. Leih and Stephanivien were staring at him in horror but he kept going, detailing how they had emerged from below deck to the full horror of the ship sinking. He described how they had struggled to the ship’s stern and clung there together until at last Titanic had slipped below the icy cold water, leaving them stranded in the open sea. 

“Twelve forfend,” Leih said after Guydelot explained how they had found a piece of wood drifting in the water to cling to. “It’s truly a miracle that either of you survived. The gods were watching out for you.” 

“We only pulled six people out of the water,” Stephanivien said solemnly. “By the time we got the lifeboats organized and returned, it was too late. The majority died of exposure to the elements. For a mercy, most of them likely went quickly.”

Guydelot’s stomach rolled at the thought. Beside him, Sanson’s face had gone pale as Stephanivien continued, “We wrapped you and the other survivors in blankets and used fire crystals to try and warm you both up. It was pretty touch and go until Carpathia showed up. To be frank, I didn’t think you two would make it. Once we were loaded on this ship, you were both taken to be tended to by chirurgeons and we hadn’t heard about you since.” 

The four of them sat together in silence once again. Guydelot stared down at his soup, slowly swirling his spoon around in it. If only seven hundred people had been rescued from the lifeboats, that meant fifteen hundred people went into the water when Titanic sank. And of that fifteen hundred, only six had been rescued, himself and Sanson included. There had been twenty lifeboats floating nearby and yet only one had come back. One. 

He wanted to be angry, but instead all he felt was a hollow numbness in his chest. It seemed incomprehensible to him that so many lives could be snuffed out so quickly. Why had he been spared when so many others had lost their lives that night? He suspected he would never have a satisfying answer to the question, but he was grateful all the same. He thought of Jehantel again and gripped his spoon tight enough to hurt.  

After a moment, Stephanivien leaned back in his chair with a sigh and said, “We should be arriving in Old Sharlayan tonight. You’re more than welcome to stay here for the rest of the journey, and you’re welcome to stay with me in Old Sharlayan until you’ve decided your next move.” 

“That would be much appreciated,” Sanson replied. “I’d like to do what I can to avoid Nourval until we arrive.” 

There was a tense silence suddenly. Guydelot looked up from his soup to see Stephanivien staring at Sanson, his mouth pressed into a firm line. 

“Sanson,” Stephanivien said slowly. “Nourval didn’t make it.” 

The room was so silent, Guydelot could hear the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. He looked at Sanson and watched as the other man’s eyes got wide, his mouth slowly falling open. His spoon fell from his hand and clattered back into his bowl. 

“What?” Sanson said. “Are you…are you certain?” 

“Aye, positive,” Stephanivien replied. “It’s all the talk of the first-class passengers, all the people who didn’t make it. They took all our names as soon as we were on board. He’s not on the ship, Sanson, which means he must have perished on the Titanic. ”

“Oh,” Sanson said in a small voice, looking down at his soup. Guydelot’s hand twitched. He wanted to reach out for him, to hold his hand again, but he stayed still. 

“Are you alright?” Guydelot asked gently. 

“It’s strange,” Sanson said. “Despite everything, I still assumed he would have found his way out of it. He always did before. It’s strange to think that he’s gone.”

Sanson looked up at him and Guydelot was relieved to see that there were no tears in those deep blue eyes. Nourval deserved Sanson’s tears even less than Ywain did as far as Guydelot was concerned but he held his tongue, waiting to follow Sanson’s lead. 

“Well, I suppose that’s what he gets for trying to separate the two of you,” Leih interjected. Guydelot glared at her and she threw her hands up. “It’s true!” 

“I won’t miss him,” Sanson said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “But I am deeply sorry to know he passed that way. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even him. I hope his soul can find peace.” 

Too good, Sanson was too good by far. The people who had made his life so miserable were dead and gone due to nothing but their own greed. And yet Sanson still found it in his heart to mourn for them. Guydelot reached over and took Sanson’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. 

“When we get to Old Sharlayan, we’ll get a bouquet of Nymeian lilies to lay somewhere in remembrance of him and Ywain,” Guydelot told him gently. Sanson smiled softly, squeezing his hand in return. 

“I’d like that,” he said. “Thank you, Guydelot.” 

Guydelot smiled, lifting Sanson’s hand to place a kiss against the back of it. Leih coughed next to him, but he ignored her, eyes fixated on Sanson’s smile. Before he could say anything else though, the door swung open and Hilda came striding in with Sanson’s maid, Tahla, following behind her. 

“Sanson!” Tahla exclaimed, her face lighting up at the sight of him.

“Tahla!” Sanson replied, leaping from his chair and rushing over to hug her. “I’m so glad you’re okay!” 

“Me!” she said, “You’re the one they pulled half dead out of the water. Thank the Twelve you’re safe!” 

Guydelot smiled as he watched their exchange, only looking away when a hand clapped onto his shoulder. 

“Glad to see you’re still kickin’, Thildonnet,” Hilda said, smirking down at him. “You owe me a drink for fishing your arse out of water.” 

“Good to see you too, Mistress Ware,” Guydelot snarked back, shrugging her hand off him. “I’ll buy you two drinks when we get on land for that.” 

She barked a laugh at that, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. Guydelot watched her carefully; he could tell she was working herself up to say something. 

“So,” Hilda started, looking between Guydelot and Leih. “Tahla and I were going around the decks, asking about Jehantel.”

“Did you find anything out?” Leih asked, sitting up in her chair. Guydelot didn’t take his eyes off Hilda. He didn’t like the remorseful look in her eyes. 

“No one knew him by name,” Hilda said. “But a few folks who escaped on the last boats recalled seeing a man who matched his description helping a young girl into a lifeboat. I ran into Sid when I went down to check on Rielle – that au ra fella somehow managed to escape on that overturned lifeboat. Anyways, he said he saw Jehantel playing with the main band as the ship was going down, right before that boat he was clinging to got swept out to sea. Folks are claiming he led them in playing a requiem for the fallen, right until the ship began to break apart.” 

Guydelot sat in stunned silence, her words crashing over him like an icy wave. He couldn’t deny it any longer, couldn’t cling to the futile hope that Jehantel somehow escaped. No, this is exactly what Jehantel would have done. Tried to save as many people as he could and then try to ease the suffering of the rest through song. There was no doubt it was him. 

“Oh, Jehantel,” Leih said in a wavering voice. Guydelot couldn’t bring himself to look at her; he didn’t want to see the same pain he was feeling played out on her face. 

“I’m so sorry,” Hilda said gently. “He was a good man. I’m honored to have known him for the short amount of time I did.”

Guydelot scrubbed at his eyes, fighting back tears. “It’s how he would have wanted to go,” he finally said, his voice thick with grief. “Playing music and helping people…it’s what he was all about.” 

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Stephanivien said quietly. “If you’d like some privacy, you’re more than welcome to the spare bedrooms.” 

Leih rose without a word and rushed to one of the rooms, the door slamming shut behind her. Guydelot remained frozen in his chair, hand covering his eyes as he tried to process and accept his new reality, the one where Jehantel was no longer there among the living. He heard Sanson approaching him and shuddered slightly when he placed a gentle hand on his arm. 

“Come on,” Sanson said softly. “Let’s go lay down for a bit.” 

He tugged Guydelot up and led him to a different room, shutting the door softly behind them. Sanson turned and without a word, opened his arms for him. That was all it took for Guydelot to finally break down, collapsing against Sanson as the waves of grief crashed against his body. He clung to Sanson’s shirt and wept against his shoulder, shaking as Sanson gently ran a hand through his hair. 

“I’m sorry, Guydelot,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

Guydelot couldn’t bring himself to speak, his heart aching for the man who had been more like a father to him than a mentor. The man who had taught him so much about life, about music, who had made him into the man he was today. Jehantel had saved him from his unfulfilling life and helped him find purpose. It was because of Jehantel that Guydelot had fallen in love with song to begin with. He didn’t know how he was going to continue on without him. 

Sanson pulled Guydelot over to the bed, crawling into it and tugging Guydelot down to join him. He rested Guydelot’s head against his chest and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. Guydelot clung back in kind, wrapping his body around Sanson’s like he was the only thing keeping him afloat. With his head pressed against Sanson’s chest, he could hear the steady beating of his heart. It acted as a lifeline, keeping him from sinking completely into his grief. 

*****

They stayed in the spare bedroom for several bells, Guydelot eventually slipping into a fitful sleep. Sanson stayed awake though, running his fingers through Guydelot’s hair. He stared out the window, watching as the sky outside gradually got darker as he mulled over everything that had happened. All the lives lost, all the families broken. His heart ached for Guydelot and Leih’s loss, for the kind man who he had known only briefly but whose warm spirit had brought him so much joy. 

He didn’t know what was going to happen when they finally docked in Old Sharlayan. Nourval was gone, Ywain was gone. For the first time in a long time, his future was completely unknown to him. Where would he go and what would he do? He had no idea, except that he wanted to stay by Guydelot’s side. 

The sky outside the window got cloudier as the bells went by. Guydelot eventually stirred awake, blinking up at Sanson with blurry eyes. 

“Hi,” Guydelot said, voice thick with sleep.

“Hi,” Sanson said softly. “How are you feeling? 

“Tired,” Guydelot replied. “Sad. Will you hold me?” 

“Of course,” Sanson said. Guydelot turned so he was laying on his side with his back to him. Sanson rolled over as well, wrapping his arm around Guydelot’s waist and pulling him closer. Guydelot’s hand came up to wrap around his and Sanson placed a gentle kiss against his shoulder. He pressed his head against Guydelot’s back and curled around him, exhaling slowly. 

Somehow, Sanson managed to drift off to sleep, lulled by the sound of Guydelot’s soft breaths and steady heartbeat. When he woke a few hours later, the sun had set outside, replaced with the sound of gentle rain. The few lamps around the room had been lit, the light illuminating Guydelot in bed beside him. He was sketching on a piece of the ship’s stationary. 

“Good morning,” Guydelot said, not looking up from his drawing. “Well, rather good evening I suppose.” 

Sanson rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said. 

“No need to apologize,” Guydelot said, hand moving smoothly across the page. “I think we’ll be arriving in Old Sharlayan soon.”

He looked exhausted still, but he wasn’t crying anymore, eyes focused as they moved across the page. Sanson sat up and scooted back, so he was sitting next to him, and leaned over to see what he was drawing. His heart felt tight as he realized it was a sketch of Jehantel with his harp, midway through playing a song. The old man had a soft smile on his face, his love for music evident even on paper.

“I wanted to draw him while I could still remember what he looked like,” Guydelot said in a shaky voice, not looking at Sanson. “Think I might give this one to Leih.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Sanson said softly. “I’m sure she’ll love it.” 

They sat together in silence for a while, Guydelot sketching while Sanson leaned against him. Eventually, a light knock came at the door. 

“Wake up, lads!” Stephanivien’s voice called out to them. “We’re arriving in Old Sharlayan! If you come out to the Boat Deck, you can see the statue.” 

Guydelot gave Sanson a soft smile and said, “Come on, let’s go take a look. I don’t know about you, but I certainly can’t wait to be on land again.” 

They left Guydelot’s drawing in their room and hurried to grab their coats. They followed the throng of people who were headed above deck, moving through the crowd until they arrived at a railing. The lights of the city were visible on the horizon, growing brighter the closer they got. Relief flooded Sanson’s veins as the statue of Thaliak and the buildings behind it began to take shape – it felt like he had been at sea for ages rather than just a few days. 

As the ship drew closer, Guydelot wrapped an arm around Sanson’s shoulders and pressed his cheek against the top of his head. “We made it,” he said softly. 

Sanson wrapped an arm around Guydelot’s waist and took a shaky breath. “What’s going to happen when the ship docks?” he asked. 

“Don’t know,” Guydelot replied. “We’ll figure it out together though. It’s like I already told you, you’re stuck with me now.” 

Sanson smiled. He had every intention of staying with Guydelot if he would have him, but it felt good to hear him say the same. He looked up just as they were passing the statue of Thaliak, towering above them and signaling their arrival in Old Sharlayan. Sanson stared up at the Scholar’s face and felt relief that soon this trip would be over. He couldn’t wait to get back on solid ground. 

“I see Leih over there. I’m gonna go talk to her,” Guydelot said, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head before moving away. Sanson stayed where he was, watching as Guydelot went to embrace her, before turning his eyes back up to the statue. He wanted to try and memorize exactly what it looked like, so he could write it all down later. 

The rain was light but cold, sending a chill through him. He sighed and slipped his hands into his pockets to try and stay warm. 

Then froze as his hand brushed against a hard, cool stone. 

Sanson stood stiff as a board, heart suddenly pounding. He traced his finger over the object in his pocket – Nourval’s pocket – feeling several smaller stones, a long chain. It can’t be, he thought. After everything he went through while wearing this coat, surely it couldn’t still be in his pocket. 

He took a deep breath and then pulled it out of his pocket. There, sitting right in the palm of his hand, was the diamond. The rare blue diamond, gifted to him by a man who had never bothered to try and know him, who had thought he could buy his way into Sanson’s heart. The stone glimmered beautifully in the low lights as Sanson moved it around slowly. It felt so much heavier in his hand than it actually was, weighed down by all the things it represented. A life Sanson didn’t want with a man he didn’t love. He thought he had left it all behind and yet here the stone was, having chased Sanson through a literal shipwreck. 

For a moment, he could feel the weight of it around his neck again as Nourval had placed it on him. It had felt more like a collar than a necklace, meant to trap him in a cage where death was the only escape. He glanced over and saw Guydelot was still talking with Leih, his back turned to him. He hadn’t noticed. Sanson slipped the diamond back into his pocket, exhaled slowly, and then moved to join them. He would figure out what to do with the stone later. 

*****

The ship waited until the morning to dock, depositing Titanic’s weary passengers into the streets of Old Sharlayan. The cobblestone streets were lined with people desperate to learn if their loved ones had survived the disaster, everyone pushing their way to the front to get a glimpse of those disembarking. Guydelot gritted his teeth and kept his head low, following behind Stephanivien as they left the ship together. Sanson was beside him, fingers laced through his and squeezing tightly. 

As they made their way through the crowds, Guydelot overheard snippets of conversation, the tale of the disaster being repeated again and again. The names of the wealthy who had perished were on the tip of everyone’s tongues: the obscenely wealthy businessmen like Nourval, whose money had made them seem untouchable. Ishgard’s Lord Commander and Azure Dragoon, who had refused to use their privilege to take a lifeboat spot from those in need. The legendary engineers Cid Garlond and Nero Tol Scaeva, who had gone down with the ship, while the cowardly owner Gegeruju was being condemned for sneaking onto a lifeboat and saving himself. The thoughts of those who had lost their lives weighed heavy on Guydelot’s heart, so he kept his head down as they walked and tried to block the chatter out. 

Stephanivien led them to a large house in Journey’s End that House Hallinarte had rented for his time in Old Sharlayan. As they crossed over the threshold into the richly decorated foyer, he turned to them with a smile and said, “Please feel free to stay as long as you’d like.” 

The girls each took their own room while Sanson and Guydelot roomed together. None of Stephanivien’s servants batted an eye and that house was where they stayed for their first few days in Old Sharlayan, bones weary and souls heavy as they all slowly began to recover from their ordeal. Guydelot spent most of that time either in bed, wrapped around Sanson, or sitting on the balcony of their room that overlooked the bay, sketching on a pad of paper that Sanson had found for him. 

Sometimes he would sketch Jehantel, desperate to preserve his memories of his old mentor before the passage of time could steal them from him. Other times he would draw Sanson, sitting in a chair or looking out their window, his brows drawn together while he was deep in thought. Guydelot asked him a few times what he was thinking about, but Sanson always shook his head and said he would tell him later. Guydelot didn’t press. Everyone was trying to process through what had happened in their own way, and he trusted Sanson would tell him in due time. 

A few nights into their stay, Guydelot was woken to the sound of Sanson moaning in bed next to him. He reached over to turn on the light and was greeted with the sight of Sanson’s face contorted in terror, his lips trembling as sweat beaded on his forehead.

“No…” Sanson mumbled, shaking his head slightly against the pillow. Guydelot's heart caught in his throat as a tear escaped from Sansn’s closed eyes. 

“Sanson,” he said softly, shaking him. “You’re having a nightmare. Wake up.” 

After a few more shakes, Sanson jolted awake, eyes wide as he stared up at him. “You’re alive,” Sanson gasped, blinking back tears before he buried his face against Guydelot’s chest. 

“Shuush, shush, it’s okay. I’m here,” Guydelot said, running his fingers through Sanson’s hair as the other man shook against him. 

“I kept trying to save you,” Sanson said, voice muffled against his shirt. “But you were like ice and I couldn’t pull you up.” 

“It’s alright, it was just a dream. You saved me, I’m safe. We’re both safe,” Guydelot replied, pressing a kiss against the top of his head. 

Guydelot sang a soft lullaby, one intended to ease the listener into peaceful slumber. Eventually, Sanson’s breaths calmed and evened out as he drifted back to sleep. Guydelot stayed awake, lying with his arms wrapped tightly around Sanson. He was plagued by insomnia rather than nightmares, flashes of the disaster appearing before his eyes everytime he tried to rest. He couldn’t shake the fear that if he closed his eyes for too long, he might not open them again. 

Sanson approached him the next morning while he was drawing, eyes tired but a gentle smile on his face. He stood by Guydelot’s shoulder and gazed down at the nearly finished drawing of Jehantel he had been working on, his hand resting on the back of his chair. 

“It looks really lovely,” Sanson said. He hesitated a moment, chewing his bottom lip in a way that meant he was trying to decide what he wanted to say next. Guydelot stayed quiet while he worked through it, taking the time to add shadows to the old man’s face. 

“I think,” Sanson finally said, “I’d like to get some Nymeian lilies today. If that’s alright with you.” 

Guydelot paused in his drawing and looked up at him, studying his serious face. “Alright,” Guydelot said softly. “I’d like that too.” 

They went downstairs and found the girls with Stephanivien in one of the sitting rooms, all enjoying a cup of tea. When they told them their plans, all four quickly jumped at the chance to join them. A bell later, they all stood at the pier, each with a bouquet of Nymeian lilies purchased from the market cradled in their arms. The harbor was already full of flowers, offerings sent out to sea in memory of the dead. 

Tahla gently placed her flowers in the water and said, “For all the crew members who stayed until the last and perished trying to save people. Thank you.”  

“I offer my prayers for all the souls lost, but particularly for Lord Aymeric and Ser Estinien,” Stephanivien said, placing his bouquet in the water beside Tahla’s. “I know not how Ishgard will recover from the loss of the Lord Commander and the Azure Dragoon, but their noble sacrifice in the name of saving others will never be forgotten.”

“I’m leaving this offering for all the poor bastards who got trapped below deck,” Hilda said, stooping down to gently toss hers in. “May they all find peace in the eternal sea.” 

Leih came up next to Hilda and took a deep breath, then said, “My flowers are for Jehantel. I loved you very much and I’ll never forget everything you taught us. I’m going to try my hardest to be the best bard I can be, so I can make you proud.” 

She placed her flowers in the water and then turned to Guydelot, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. He pulled her into a tight embrace with one arm and kissed the top of her head. 

“Mine’s for Jehantel too,” he said roughly, cheek pressed against Leih’s head. “He was the greatest man I ever knew and I hope that one day I’ll be just as great of a bard as he was. I learned so much from him and yet it wasn’t enough time at all. I hope I can make you proud, old man.”

He took a deep breath and then continued, “I also want to say thanks to Cid and Nero. If they hadn’t given us their coats and life jackets, I reckon you would all be leaving prayers for me as well. I hope they rest well together in the aetherial sea, even if they’re probably still bickering away even as we speak.” 

Stephanivien chuckled at that and it made Guydelot smile as well. He stepped forward and laid the flowers in the water. He watched them for a moment, the ripples they left in the water slowly fading away. Goodbye Jehantel, he thought, holding his hand to his heart. Thank you for everything. 

He stood back up and turned to face Sanson, who was standing with his flowers held close to his chest. His eyes were closed and his face was still, the gentle sea breeze making the bangs that framed his face sway gently. Guydelot was suddenly struck by how beautiful he was. 

“I want to say a prayer for Ywain and Nourval,” Sanson finally said. “And for Silvairre too. Though they all hurt me, I want them to know I forgive them. I hope that they find peace and joy in the aetherial sea.” 

Too good, Sanson was too good and too kind. But it was what Guydelot loved about him. He watched Sanson walk to the edge of the pier and then gently, reverently, lay his flowers in the water beside Guydelot’s. He sat on his knees for a moment, closing his eyes and raising his fist to his face as he offered a prayer to the departed. Guydelot followed suit and so did the others, their small group sharing a collective moment of silence. 

After a moment, Sanson stood again and turned to face Guydelot, a small smile on his face. “We can’t ever bring back those that are gone,” he said. “But I think the best thing we can do to honor their memory is try and live our lives to the fullest, for them but also for ourselves. It’s a gift that we’re still here. I would not see that gift go to waste if I can help it.” 

A warmth spread through Guydelot’s heart, stirred on by Sanson’s words. “Aye, I can agree with that,” Guydelot said, a small smile on his face. “We’ll live and see as much as we can, but never forget those we lost along the way. We’ll keep moving forward. Makes for a better song than wallowing in grief at any rate.” 

Sanson beamed at him, his face bright and warm, and Guydelot felt for the first time since the ship had hit the iceberg that things might, in time, actually be alright. 

“Let’s go explore the city,” Sanson declared. “It doesn’t do us any good to stay cooped up.” 

Guydelot smiled, turning to Leih and the others to ask if they’d like to join them. However, Leih was already shaking her head with her hands on her hips, Hilda smirking behind her. 

“You two lovebirds go on ahead without us,” she said, offering Guydelot a small smile. “I got something I want to look into. Hilda and Tahla were going to join me.” 

“And I’ve got to begin preparing for my return to Ishgard,” Stephanivien beamed at them. “Take in the sights, enjoy some time together. I’m sure it’s what your mentor would have wanted.”

Sanson’s hand slipped into Guydelot’s, squeezing his fingers lightly. When he looked down at him, Sanson was still smiling at him. “Let’s go!” he said, tugging on his hand as he dragged Guydelot into the city proper. 

They spent the rest of their day exploring Old Sharlayan, taking time to browse all the stalls within the market. Near the edge of the market, Sanson became entranced by a rack of books that was for sale, the roegadyn woman in front of it cheerfully listing off her best sellers. Guydelot leaned against the wall and watched him, his heart warming at the way Sanson’s face lit up as the woman handed him a tome full of rare songs and fables. 

They traversed up the many steps to the top of the Nymphaeum, where the Sharlayan Forum held their meetings. There they stood side-by-side looking out over the city, falling into silence as they gazed at the breath-taking view. There was a slight chill in the air, but Guydelot found he didn’t mind it as he took in the crisp, crystal clear water that stretched all the way to the horizon. It reminded him of standing at the Titanic’s bow with Sanson, when nothing but the sea and endless possibilities had stretched out before them. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” Sanson said softly. “I haven’t had the chance to really appreciate it yet.” 

Guydelot turned to watch Sanson, heart fluttering as he gazed at his face. His eyes were soft and shiny, full of that fire that Guydelot had known burned deep within him all along. He turned to face Guydelot, looking right into his eyes. 

“Yeah, it really is,” Guydelot responded, not looking away from Sanson. Sanson’s smile became more akin to a playful smirk, but he didn’t say anything more, just took Guydelot’s hand again as he tugged him in a different direction. 

He let Sanson take charge as they continued their tour of the city, wandering through the Studium and then the Noumenon library, where Guydelot grumbled about having to be around books again. He didn’t actually mind though, not when Sanson’s face lit up as he dug through a stack of tomes about music. 

“If only we had more time,” Sanson muttered to himself as he returned his stack of books to the mammet. “I’ll have to remember the names of them all so I can find them again later.” 

Eventually, they found themselves at The Last Stand, enjoying a meal together as the sun set in the distance. It cast Sanson in beautiful shades of orange and gold, making him look radiant as he recounted for Guydelot his favorite parts of the city so far. Guydelot rested his cheek on his hand, smiling as he listened to him describe the sights as if Guydelot hadn’t been by his side the entire time. He didn’t mind though. Just getting to hear Sanson’s voice was a gift unto itself. 

It was after dark by the time they returned to Stephaniven’s house, slipping through the quiet foyer up the stairs and back to their room. Guydelot opened the door and strode across the room, tossing his coat onto the empty armchair as he gazed out the window. The night was full of stars and he smiled as he caught a glimpse of a shooting star streaking across the sky. A soul returning to the aetherial sea, he thought. Or a wish. 

He turned to tell Sanson what he had seen, but his words faded on his tongue as he took in the other man’s face. Sanson’s gaze was intense, his eyes dark as they roved over Guydelot’s face. Guydelot’s heart was suddenly pounding, the tension in the room thick. Sanson pushed himself away from the door, tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he slowly approached him. Guydelot moved at the same time, inexplicably drawn as he always was to Sanson, unable to tear his eyes away from his face. 

When they were close, Sanson raised his trembling hands to unbutton Guydelot’s shirt, sliding his hands up Guydelot’s chest once they were all free. Sanson’s hand came to rest right above Guydelot’s heart and his eyes fluttered as he listened to it beat. Guydelot reached a hand up to gently cup the other man’s cheek, tucking his bangs behind his ear. Sanson took a shaky inhale, eyes opening as he looked up at him. 

“You’re here,” Sanson whispered, awe in his voice. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment and then both moved at once, Guydelot swooping down and Sanson rising onto his toes so their lips met in the middle. They kissed slowly, savoring the taste of each other, hands roaming as they slowly shed their clothes on the way to their bed. Sanson gasped as Guydelot nipped at his neck and Guydelot moaned as Sanson rubbed his thigh against the front of his trousers. 

It was different than the first time they had been together, hidden away in a cramped chocobo carriage tucked deep below the ship’s deck. Now, Guydelot could lift Sanson up so his legs wrapped around his waist and kiss him deeply as he gently lowered him down onto their soft bed. Sanson sunk his hands into Guydelot’s hair as he slipped his tongue between his lips, moving against him. 

“You’re here,’ Sanson said again, pulling away to rest a hand against Guydelot’s cheek. “We’re alive.” 

Guydelot's throat went dry, his words lost for once. He kissed Sanson instead, lowering himself down to grind against the other man and make him moan. He became lost in the sensation of the man beneath him, rejoicing in the fact that he still got to feel him, taste him, love him, after very nearly losing him forever. He didn’t know what he had done to earn this, but he swore to the entire Twelve that he would live his life to the fullest everyday in thanks for letting him have this. 

Sanson’s eyes fluttered and his mouth fell open when Guydelot slid into him, hands grasping at Guydelot’s shoulders. Sanson’s legs came up to wrap around Guydelot’s waist as he moved in and out of him, his soft gasps a better song than any ballad Guydelot had ever heard. He buried his face in Sanson’s neck, breathing deeply as he let Sanson take over all his senses. 

He felt so alive, so present, for the first time in days. When Sanson rolled them over, he went willingly, Guydelot’s hands reaching for his waist as Sanson sunk back down onto him. He stared up into Sanson’s face as he moved up and down, blowing his hair out of his face. Guydelot reached out a hand to grasp Sanson’s cock and the other man threw his head back and moaned, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. 

“That’s it,” Guydelot said softly, Sanson’s breaths were getting louder as Guydelot worked his hand over him. “I have you. I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Sanson gasped, his thighs trembling as he spilled across Guydelot’s chest. Guydelot quickly followed, thrusting up and finishing deep inside of him. They didn’t move for a moment, breathing heavy as they gazed at each other. Finally, Sanson lifted himself up and collapsed onto the bed next to Guydelot, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. After a long moment, Sanson whispered against his skin, “I love you.” 

Guydelot felt like his own heart might burst. He wrapped an arm around Sanson’s shoulders, pulling him close so he could press a fierce kiss to the top of his head. “I love you too,” he whispered back. 

They cleaned up and collapsed back into bed with each other, Sanson’s head resting on his shoulder. Guydelot slept better that night than he had in ages, drifting into a dreamless slumber with Sanson warm and safe in his arms. 

The next morning, Leih found him alone on the balcony sketching once again, this time trying to capture exactly how Sanson had looked with the setting sun illuminating his face the previous evening. Leih cleared her throat as she stood at the door, trying and failing to conceal a package behind her back. Guydelot eyed her as he set his pencil down, a playful smirk on his lips.

“Is that a gift for me?” he teased, raising an eyebrow at her. 

She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Maybe,” she conceded, then asked, “Where’s Sanson?” 

“He went for a walk somewhere,” Guydelot replied. “Said he needed some time alone to think about something.” Sanson had been wearing that same thoughtful expression ever since they had disembarked from the Carpathia, his face clouding over whenever he thought Guydelot wasn’t looking. Guydelot trusted him to reveal his thoughts in due time, but he was itching to know whatever secret Sanson was keeping from him. 

“I see,” Leih said. “Just as well. He’s lovely, but I wanted to speak with you alone.” 

They hadn’t really spent much time together since they had arrived in Old Sharlayan. Leih had mostly kept to her own room and Hilda’s company, while Guydelot had secluded himself away with Sanson. He hadn’t been intentionally avoiding her, but he had been too wrapped up in his own grief over Jehantel to be there for her. He felt bad about it, but what was done was done. She didn’t seem mad at him at any rate. 

Leih shuffled closer to him, hands still behind her back and eyes carefully turned away from him. She came to a stop in front of him, bouncing on her toes for a moment while Guydelot looked on in amusement. After a moment, she finally held out the square package she had been hiding, refusing to look at him as she said, “Here. For you.” 

“I didn’t realize my nameday had come early,” Guydelot teased, taking it from her and setting it in his lap. It was quite large. She crossed her arms as he peeled back the brown paper it was wrapped in to reveal a smooth, dark box. His eyes widened. “Is this…?”

“Open it,” she replied. 

Guydelot did as he was told, lifting the lid to reveal a beautiful new harp. He lifted it out of the box, at a complete loss for words as he ran his fingers reverently over the strings. He tucked it against his arm and plucked out a soft melody, the notes reverberating beautifully through the air as he played. 

“Leih,” he said softly. “It’s so beautiful. Where did you get it?” 

She beamed at him, seemingly pleased by his reaction. “Hilda and I’ve been working odd jobs helping gleaners around Labyrinthos to earn money and kill time, so I’ve been saving up for a bit,” she said. Guydelot looked up at her in surprise. He hadn’t realized she had been doing that. 

Leih bit her lip and looked down, a shadow crossing her face, “We lost everything in the sinking. You were always a far more talented bard than me, so it felt wrong that you’ve been without an instrument for so long. I wanted to replace yours, so you can continue his legacy.” 

She didn’t say his name, but Guydelot knew who she was talking about. His heart squeezed painfully and he stood, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “Thank you, Leih,” he said, squeezing her tight. “This means more to me than you know.” 

“Aye, well, I figured you make a sorry excuse for a bard when you don’t even have an instrument,” she said as she hugged him back. “Can’t have you out here embarrassing yourself.”

Guydelot snorted as he pulled away, looking down at her fondly with a hand on her shoulder. She smiled back at him for a moment and then she looked down, chewing on her bottom lip. “There’s something else,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “What is it?” 

She sighed, reaching a hand up to scratch her head. “I’ve decided to go to Ishgard with Hilda and Stephy,” she finally blurted out. 

“Oh,” Guydelot said after a moment. He stared at her with wide eyes, surprise sitting plain on his face. “Why?” 

“I’m trying to get as far away from the ocean as possible,” she joked, though the humor didn’t reach her eyes. “But seriously, I want to take a break from all the traveling. Seeing the world with you and Jehantel has been the best time of my life but after…everything that’s happened, I think I need some stability.” 

Guydelot understood. While he hadn’t admitted it out loud, his heart was also aching to return home to the Twelveswood, to walk along its familiar paths and listen to the music of the forest once again. 

“Stephy has offered to let me and Hilda work and learn at his manufactory,” Leih continued. “So that’s where we’re going to go. I think learning how to sling a gun rather than arrows will be a good change of pace for me. It’s what I need right now.”

“I understand,” Guydelot said with a smile. He strummed another tune on his new harp, then adjusted a few strings. “If that’s where your heart is leading you, then I’ll send you off with all my love and a smile.” 

“I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you,” she blurted out. “Especially not so soon after losing Jehantel. But you have Sanson now, so I know you won’t be alone.” 

“Aye, that I’m not,” Guydelot said, smiling at her. He decided to let himself be tender for a moment and said, “You don’t have to worry about me, Leih. You’ll always be like a sister to me and while I’ll miss you dearly, I’m happy to see you forge your own path. It’s what Jehantel would have wanted for you. Sanson and I will come visit you in Ishgard, I promise.”

Her face lit up, the stress leaving her face. Guydelot grinned back at her. He wasn’t sure why she had been so nervous about telling him. While a part of him mourned that their troupe was separating, he knew it wasn’t truly the end. They would see each other again soon. 

“Well, that’s all I wanted to say,” Leih said. “I should go start packing. Stephy mentioned we’d be leaving in a couple days.” She turned to leave, but then paused, turning back to face Guydelot. “I didn’t ask, but what do you and Sanson plan to do next?”

Guydelot hummed to himself, strumming at the harp while he thought about it. What were they going to do? They couldn’t stay in Old Sharlayan forever. “We haven’t talked about it,” Guydelot finally admitted. “But I’m thinking we’ll eventually return to Gridania. But first, I intended to give him a grand tour of the entirety of Eorzea. If he’ll have me.” 

“Something tells me he already has,” Leih said with a cheeky giggle. “Well, wherever the two of you end up, I wish you both the best.” 

She gave a small wave and then left, leaving Guydelot alone with his thoughts and his new harp. He ran his fingers across the strings, feeling as if a piece of him that had been missing since Titanic sank had finally been returned to him. He let his mind wander as he plucked at the strings, fingers working out a melody that had been floating in his mind for some time. The last one that Jehantel had played for him. 

A Theme of Love, Jehantel had called it. Guydelot closed his eyes as he played through the notes, searching for the melody by ear. In no time at all, he had figured out the song, fingers floating across the strings as he played. He thought about Sanson; his smile, his kind heart, and his fierce determination. He didn’t know where his future was leading him, but he knew he wanted to experience it with Sanson by his side. 

Guydelot opened his eyes and stopped his playing, letting the notes fade out. Slowly, a smile spread across his face as an idea came to mind. A gift for Sanson, to show him the depths his loved reach. He stood and carefully set the harp back in its new box, moving it inside to place it carefully on a table. Then he hurried out the door, heart pounding in excitement. 

*****

Sanson sat at the edge of the Old Sharlayan pier, legs dangling above the dark water below. He had thought he would be afraid of the water after everything that occurred, but he found the gentle sound of the waves calmed him. He took a deep inhale, the salty air tickling his nose. Night had just fallen in Old Sharlayan and a crescent moon faintly illuminated the sky. Around it were the stars that Sanson had become so acquainted with on the night Titanic had sank. 

He exhaled slowly and looked down at his lap, slowly uncurling his fist to reveal the deep blue diamond necklace. Sanson stared at it, watching the way the moonlight reflected across the diamond’s many facets. He had been agonizing over the stone for days, debating on what was to be done with it. He was hyperaware of its presence at all times, his mind constantly wandering back to where it had been hidden away in his pocket. 

He closed his fist tightly, feeling the edges of the diamond cutting into his hand. Sanson had expected to be contacted by Nourval’s estate once he was in Old Sharlayan, but no one had come to find him. He supposed that meant giving a different name while on the Carpathia made them think he was dead as well. That was more than fine with Sanson. While he had meant it when he said he had forgiven Nourval for all the things he’d done to him, he was ready to put that part of his past behind him. 

Sanson had considered selling the diamond, but quickly thought better of it. A stone this large would likely have been insured, and the last thing he needed was anyone tracing it back to him. Besides, he didn’t care for the gil that he could make off of it. Even in death, Sanson didn’t want to be tied to or owe anything to Nourval any longer. 

“There you are,” a voice called out behind him. Sanson’s eyes snapped open and he quickly shoved the necklace into his pocket. Looking over his shoulder, he saw none other than Guydelot swaggering towards him. 

“Guydelot,” Sanson said with a smile, heart already feeling lighter and warmer just from being in his presence. 

“Sanson,” he replied, returning his smile. He sat down next to him and that’s when Sanson realized what he was holding. 

“You got a new harp!” he exclaimed, eyes going wide as he took in the curved wood and sleek strings of the instrument.

“Aye, I did,” Guydelot said, running his fingers along the strings to pluck out a beautiful melody. The sound immediately lifted Sanson’s spirits, and he exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as Guydelot began to play. “Or rather, Leih gifted it to me. A farewell gift, before she heads to Ishgard with Hilda.” 

“She’s going to Ishgard?” Sanson asked, opening his eyes so he could examine Guydelot’s face. He didn’t seem upset at all, his smile as he played as serene as ever. “Is that…that is to say…are you alright with that?”

“Perfectly fine. In fact, I’m happy for her,” Guydelot turned his charming smile towards him. “She says she doesn’t mind leaving me, since she knows I won’t be alone.” 

Sanson felt a blush creeping up his cheeks under Guydelot’s gaze. “Tahla said much the same thing,” he replied. “She’s staying here to study at the Studium for a time. I think she’ll like it there.” 

They fell into silence for a bit, the only noise coming from the harp as Guydelot played. Sanson turned his eyes upwards and watched the stars, letting Guydelot’s music wash over him. It was perhaps the most beautiful piece of music that Guydelot had ever played for him, the notes conveying a feeling of yearning and hope and love. He could feel the music bleeding into his heart, moving through his very being. 

“What are you playing?” he finally asked, tearing his eyes away to look at Guydelot. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Of course it is,” Guydelot replied, not pausing in his playing. “It’s because it’s the theme of love and I’m playing it for you.” 

Sanson’s heart felt like it was swelling, ready to burst with all the love he felt for the man beside him. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just smiled and watched, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He had never known a love like this before and he was certain he never would again. 

After the final note of Guydelot’s song rang out, he turned to face Sanson with a soft smile and even softer eyes. He gently took one of Sanson’s hands in his and lifted it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss against the back of it. Sanson’s cheeks ached with how hard he was smiling, but he couldn’t stop. 

Suddenly, he thought of the diamond resting heavily in his pocket. He had debated on telling Guydelot about it, unsure of how he would react. But after such a beautiful show of affection, Sanson knew he didn’t want to keep secrets from him. 

“I want to show you something,” Sanson said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the necklace and held it out towards Guydelot, the chain dangling from both sides of his hand. 

“By the Twelve, Sanson,” Guydelot whistled, eyes growing wide as he realized what he was holding. “Have you had that on you the whole time?” 

“Technically, yes, I suppose,” he replied, bringing the necklace back towards him so he could stare down at it again. “It was in the coat pocket, but I didn’t realize until we got here. It’s a miracle it never fell out. Nourval must have put it in his pocket before putting the coat on me.” 

“By the Matron’s Teats,” Guydelot swore again. “What are you going to do with it?” 

“I don’t know,” Sanson replied honestly. “I don’t want to keep it, and I don’t want to sell it. If I sell it, I’m afraid that Nourval’s family might track me down and demand their money.” 

“That sounds about right,” Guydelot said with a snort. Sanson stared down at the necklace again, trying to organize his thoughts in a way that Guydelot would understand. 

“This necklace represents everything I didn’t want in my life,” he finally said. “I had never felt more trapped than I did the first time Nourval put it around my neck. Like it was a collar, telling the world that I belonged to him. The opulence of it…the ostentatiousness of it…it wasn’t me. It wasn’t what I wanted for myself. I felt trapped in a cage.”

He glanced over at Guydelot, feeling embarrassed to reveal something that made him feel so vulnerable. The other man wasn’t looking at him with anything remotely resembling judgment though. Guydelot’s eyes were soft and sad as he listened to him, and he nodded for him to continue. 

“When you drew me wearing this, I felt like I was beginning to take back myself,” Sanson continued. “You helped me feel so empowered in that moment. Like I was telling Nourval that even if he tried to collar me, he would never know me intimately. But having the necklace now, it feels like it’s been haunting me, like I can’t get it out of my mind.” 

They sat in silence for a while, Guydelot seemingly mulling over what Sanson had said. Finally, in a gentle voice, Guydelot said, “You realize you’re not in a cage anymore? There’s no one trying to put a collar on you, no one trying to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re free, Sanson. Not just because the people who tried to cage you went down with that ship. You had freed yourself even before that happened. That necklace has no power over you.”

Sanson took a deep breath, rubbing his thumb across the top of the smooth stone. “You’re right,” he said. “I know you’re right. What do you think I should do?”

“It’s your necklace at the end of the day,” Guydelot said. “You know I don’t care about fame or fortune, so I don’t mind if you don’t sell it. Whatever you decide to do with it, Chief, you know I’ve got your back.” 

Sanson smiled at that, feeling bolstered by Guydelot’s unwavering support in him. He held his hand out in front of him, above the water, and watched the way the moonlight glistened against it. Guydelot stayed silent beside him, though Sanson could feel his eyes on him. Sanson kept staring at the necklace. It really is a dreadful, heavy thing, he thought. 

“Whoops,” he said, tipping his hand to the side so the diamond slid off it. It dropped into the deep water below them with a loud plop, immediately disappearing from sight. Sanson smiled, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was over. It was done. There was nothing tying him to that future anymore. 

Beside him, Guydelot let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back. “Sanson Smyth, you are something else,” he said, beaming at him. “That’s one way to take care of the problem, I suppose.” 

Sanson giggled despite himself. “It slipped out of my hand! I didn’t mean to.” 

“Hmm, sounds like a very likely story,” Guydelot teased. “Well, now that your hands are free, I’ve got something for you too.”

Guydelot reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a beautiful, leatherbound journal. Sanson’s eyes grew wide as he carefully took the small book from him, running his hands reverently down the cover. 

“This is for me?” he asked as he slowly flipped through the pages. 

“Aye, if you want it,” Guydelot replied, sounding uncharacteristically bashful. Sanson looked up and was surprised to see him staring across the water, his cheeks looking red even in the faint moonlight. “I feel like a right bastard for losing the other journal you gave me–”

“It’s not like the ship sinking was your fault–”

“Aye, aye, I know, I know, but I’m still sad I lost it,” Guydelot grumbled. “So…I was thinking. I know we haven’t really talked about what we’re going to do next, but I’d like to go back to Eorzea with you. Go to all those places we said we’d go together. And while we’re out adventuring, I was thinking you could fill that little book with new notes about song and whatever else catches your fancy.”

Sanson stared at Guydelot, his mouth hanging open. It very well might be the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given him. Guydelot glanced at him quickly and then looked away as he continued, “And I was thinking that eventually, after we’ve seen everything, we could go back to the Twelveswood together. If you want to, of course.” 

“If I want to?” Sanson asked, fighting to keep himself from laughing. He hugged the new journal to his chest. “Guydelot, I would love to! I don’t care where we go, just as long as I get to stay with you.”

Guydelot turned to face him, looking like he was ready to say something else, but Sanson stopped him with a long, slow kiss on the lips. When he pulled away, Guydelot’s eyes were shining, the excitement visible on his face.

“Well, good then,” Guydelot said. “Because I didn’t have any intention of going anywhere without you.” 

Sanson laughed, resting his head against Guydelot’s shoulder. Guydelot picked his harp up and started playing his song again, each note touching Sanson’s heart. He looked up just in time to catch a star shooting across the sky. He smiled. He didn’t feel like he needed to make a wish this time – he had everything he could hope for. For the first time in a long time, Sanson felt like he was going to be alright.