Work Text:
They’re gone.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
He’d been prepared for almost anything else; they’re soldiers, after all. Death is around every corner, by Venatori magic, by the political machinations of the Magisterium, a slaver’s blade, they both risk that every day.
Ashur doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that they’re still alive - venhedis, he hopes they’re alive - but locked away in a Fade prison meant to torture gods in eternity. The Veilguard has promised they’ll find a way to bring Cael home, and he wants to believe their earnestness, but-
But his hope has been pushed to its limits, these last few months. He’s trying, Maker he is trying , but what can one person do against gods? Cael comes back to him, when they can, but the weight of eons is on their shoulders, and he can count every crack in the facade of a smile they give him.
And now they’re gone.
The hideout is quiet, everyone tiptoeing around him and Tarquin - Quin had taken it almost worse than he did, all seething rage and snarled fury to hide the grief beneath - and he wants to throw himself into work, into a fight that he might not win because- because he wants to feel something that isn’t the bone deep grief and fear that he’ll never see Cael again.
He reads their last note to him over and over again, keeps it tucked under his armor over his heart, the simple words of stay safe, Amatus, I love you. I’ll see you again. He has to believe in them. He does believe in them. If he has hope in anything real anymore, it’s Cael.
He almost doesn’t believe it’s real when he gets the message, but- It is real, and Cael is standing in front of him, swaying on their feet, with a thousand yard stare that shatters his heart into countless pieces, but their smile puts something right in his soul that he hadn’t realized had come unmoored.
They fall into his arms and he holds their trembling body as tight as he dares while he whispers reassurances in their ear, his head bowed to bury his face in their shoulder while Cael falls apart in his arms. They hold him just as tight with shaking hands, sobbing against him, and he braces them as much as he can providing a bulwark for them to break against.
“Are you real?” they manage between sobs, “I- please don’t hate me, Amatus. Please.”
“Never,” Ashur promises, “I could never hate you.” Maker, what had they seen in the Fade? What demons had haunted them? He presses a kiss to their hair, ignoring the way his own heart shatters with their grief and fear.
They don’t say anything else for a long time, not till they’ve cried themselves out, and they still don’t let him go, even when it’s clear they can barely stand on their own anymore. He guides them to the couch, half carrying them until he can sit down with Cael resting in his lap. It takes a moment of arranging them both, but he manages to get most of his outer layers off so they can rest against him more comfortably, their head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat.
Their eyes are still unfocused and distant, red from crying. He hasn’t seen them this bad in longer than he wants to think about, and he can only hope they can fight their way back again. If anyone can, it’s Cael, and he clings to them and to his faith in them, and he hopes for the best.