Water and Eternity [Lalli/Emil]
Dec. 20th, 2015 08:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: Water and Eternity
Characters/Pairing: Lalli/Emil
Rating: 13+ for some canon-typical violence.
Length: 3k
Summary: They are still in the world, and hold you up so you can make it over.
Lalli is becoming something, transforming, changing. He knows this. He also knows that there is someone he must save, someone he must protect, even if doing so means hiding himself away.
Other: Jumping on the näkki-Lalli bandwagon, fashionably late. Explanation: there was a trend on SSSSForum a couple of months ago in which people were drawing/writing AUs in which Lalli is/becomes a näkki. SOMEONE suggested that I write one, even though I never write AUs. They are responsible for this story existing. ...That particular individual is also responsible for the fact that this story has a happy ending.
Story was partially inspired by the poem Across the Swamp ("Yver hengjemyri") by Olav H Hauge.
Water and Eternity
I am immune, Lalli tells himself. This weird thing can't be Rash. The thought hits him like a punch to the gut.
Because if he is, and if it isn't, what is it? That sensation creeping up his back, that scaly feeling, like an itch, like something growing, transforming, what is it?
The city doesn't give any answers. It lurks, quiet, waiting, crumbling, heavy and white and silent with snow. Hushed and brimming with a coldness that should purify, but doesn't, not completely. It merely covers things. Hides things.
He remembers the things that were said, discussed, things that Tuuri summarized for him after the words were over. They only said that we have to be careful with you. We don't know what kind of things you get into when you're out there. That was what she said, and he understood, still understands, knows well the logic behind it.
Lalli stops. He stands on a bridge, still in one piece in spite of the years it has weathered. Looks out, takes in the remnants of that weird world. Breathes. Watches the fog of his breath as he exhales. Thinks. Considers.
Something is wrong, he knows. If it isn't Rash, what is it?
What is it?
Lalli closes his eyes and thinks of bogs.
Cold pools and quiet green dampness, darkened with weeds and the roots of trees that sank to the bottom in another age, resting there for years. Centuries. He thinks of drifting down into the soft mud below and lurking, waiting, biding his time there.
Waiting for what?
In the depths of his mind, he imagines it. A shadow coming from up above the water. The silhouette of someone peering into it.
Knowledge itching in his brain, pins and needles, just as the sensation pricks along his back. Lalli knows what kind of creature those thoughts might belong to. But those thoughts are not his thoughts, can not be his thoughts.
Emil has been staring at him more of late. Not the same way that he always has. Not the same look as before, that soft weird fondness. It is something else drawing his attention, something different, something that Lalli does not like and does not understand.
He is not the only one who has been staring. The others have, too. They look, they stare, then they blink – and look confused, as if they don't understand what they were looking at or why. And then they look away.
But not Emil. He stares, watches, keeps staring, as if he's caught by something. As if Lalli has caught him.
The winter air is sharp and Lalli runs again, runs faster than before, breathes the coldness more deeply, breathes it until it burns. Snow falls, bites at his face, stinging cold pinpoints. Soon it will fall more heavily. He can smell it, taste it in the air.
It will cover his tracks.
As he runs he thinks of Emil. He thinks, too, the thoughts that came to him the last time he dozed, half-imagined things, not real dreams but something else. Daydreams. Fantasies. Of singing in the water and feeling that moment when someone catches a glimpse of him for a second, just a second, before he dives under. Of sinking down and waiting in the comfort below the water. A shadow up above. A shadow he knows to be Emil's shadow. Reaching up, grasping him, dragging him down. Blond hair thick in the water, flowing like weeds. Eyes wide, unseeing and panicked. Mouth open. No voice. No air. And though he fights, Lalli is stronger, and he holds him until the thrashing stops.
It stirs something in Lalli that he refuses to think about, refuses to acknowledge, even as it prickles along his spine, moving down.
He knows what creature might have these thoughts.
Time. Space. Distance. That is what Lalli needs. As much of it between himself and the others as possible.
The damp pricking at his eyes is only because of the sharp snow on his face.
When Lalli wakes, he doesn't know the time. When is it? He shifts, stirs in the nest he made for himself, blinks upward and tries to remember. Above him thin fingers of sunlight reach down through a hole in the centre of the pond's surface and as he stares at it, he understands.
Daylight. Spring.
Something calls him. It is more than just the end of hibernation. Lalli waits in the pond's soft bottom, lurks amid the remnants of weeds. Thinks. Tries to understand. What woke him? Something itches at his mind, a sense, some knowledge from deep down in his subconscious.
Something is up there.
He rises, moves slowly through the water, stiff after months of sleep. Remembers running. Rushing.
Falling.
Remembers sinking down into dark water. Remembers deciding to give in, to give himself up to the itch creeping along his back, to become something else because if he continues on he will be unable to resist it. That giving in at that moment is giving in on his own terms.
Rising now, he looks up at that bright patch where the ice gives way to water and sunlight. The surface is rotten underneath and he knows that this far out, nothing can hold it.
There is something there. Something at the pond's edge. Something that does not know that he is there. Lalli knows this, senses it without seeing or hearing it.
He drifts upward, breaks the surface. Peeks toward the edge of the pond across the ice, trying not to flinch from the brightness of the world pressing sharp on his eyes after months nestled at the bottom of the pond he has claimed for himself.
Something catches his eye. Something white and black and gold. Someone.
Emil.
Emil edging carefully around the perimeter. Emil freezing suddenly, as if he heard something, as if he knows he's being watched. Emil turning and looking out across the pond, directly at him, staring.
Lalli stares back. Then he moves. Dives down, sinks quickly as he can beneath the water. Bites his lip once he's deep in the darkness, covers his mouth with both hands. Did he see? Did he know what he was looking at?
The ice groans.
Lalli looks up. The sound comes not from above him, but from the pond's edge. He swims toward it, and through the too-thin ice he sees Emil's broad shadow slowly picking its way toward the hole in the centre.
As the surface shivers and hairline cracks appear, Lalli follows the shadow's path and waits. Anticipates. Watches. The ice is weak. Thin spring sunlight has been eating away at it for days, for weeks, for a month, and Lalli knows that it is only a matter of time before it will break.
He waits.
It breaks.
And as Emil falls and sinks and flails, Lalli swims toward him. Feels his own eyes growing wider, feels his teeth lengthening. He can smell him, can taste him in the water.
When he makes contact with Emil he wraps his long arms around him. Pulls him close.
Pulls him down.
They sink down together. Emil struggles and thrashes, and he is strong, but Lalli is stronger. Lalli holds him, keeps him close, taking in the sight of him in the thin fingers of light piercing the dark water, looking at him with eyes that never before could see in such a place. Watching. Appraising him. Wide eyes. Pale face. Gold hair flowing soft in the water. Parted lips begging for open-mouthed kisses.
This is something he knows he will keep for himself, something he will pull down to the bottom and hide, something precious he will store away deep down under the water where the sunlight hardly touches.
A sound, desperate and water-strangled. Something that might be his name if it were spoken properly, spoken in open air. Lalli blinks and looks again and sees what he didn't see before: the panic and fear in those eyes, the bubbles rising up from a body struggling to breathe.
What am I doing?! Lalli stops, freezes in the water. In his shock he lets go of him – then grips him again, grabs hold of Emil and pulls him up, drags him up to the hole in the ice and the air and the light.
He shoves Emil up through the surface of the open water. Heavy. Too heavy. Emil's clothes are soaked, waterlogged, threatening to drag him under, and Lalli curses as he tries to push him onto the ice. Manages it eventually. Heaves him up and breathes relief when Emil manages to find himself enough to scramble onto it and move away from the hole.
The ice mercifully holds.
Lalli watches. Listens. Waits.
Emil is on all fours, coughing, vomiting pondwater. He looks up after a moment, wet hair clinging to his face, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Lalli?"
"Go away!" The words are sharp in Lalli's mouth and he knows that Emil won't understand, wouldn't understand even if their language were the same. This is something he won't ever understand. But maybe claw-sharp words will get through to him, pierce the meaning through, make the intent enough that he will run away. "And don't come back! Get out of here! You don't know what you're doing!"
Lalli speaks until his breath is gone. The open air feels thin, leaves him feeling tired. Or maybe it's only because of the struggle and the weight of the guilt of knowing that he almost pulled Emil down to the bottom. "I almost killed you!" Lalli nearly shouts, biting his words. The look of incomprehension on Emil's face makes him want to scream.
"Lalli..." More words, stupid words, whatever they are, interrupted when Emil starts coughing again.
Enough. Lalli knows he has had enough. "Go away," he says again, choking the sob in his voice as he sinks below the surface.
Lalli lets himself drift down. Looks upward. Takes in the sight of the hole in the ice, the sunlight sliding cautiously into the water. Emil's shadow. Get off of the ice before you fall through it again, you idiot, he thinks. As if Emil somehow heard him, the shadow begins to move back to the pond's edge, carefully picking its way toward solid ground.
Good. That's good. Lalli tells himself this. The relief is an ache. He sinks down to the bottom, rests among the weeds, burrows deep into the mud. Bites his lips, screws his eyes shut, and feels a tightness in his chest that he can not define.
Stay away, he thinks, remembering the look on Emil's face, that look of fear and surprise and recognition. Stay away from here, and don't come back.
Time passes.
Lalli does not count the days, the weeks, the months. The numbers are nothing, mean nothing. What he does is watch the earth.
Light. Ice breaking, cracking, melting. Snow receding, rushing, disappearing, transforming into water that seeps into the crumbling world, pours into the remnants of drains, trickles into his pond.
Rain falls.
The world comes alive.
The world is dangerous.
But his magic still has meaning here. The itch along his spine that condemned him to this life is not without its benefit and Lalli finds himself growing stronger under its curse, wearing it like armour.
Lalli weaves protection spells, lets his words ring, forces out the darkness. Gathers the souls that fall across his path and guides them to peace. Cleanses his space, not with fire, but with magic. He makes the dark waters of the weedy pond his own, sinks himself down into it, claims that scrap of territory and transforms it into a home for himself. It is not the lakes and islands and forest that he is accustomed to, but it will do.
At night, he sinks to the bottom of the water and dreams and waits. He tries not to dwell on the ache that he feels, the memory of panicked eyes and a face that he knows he will not see again.
Spring has come, and with the warm weather, the people he once knew will go back across the water, somehow. Back home. Five of them. All of them except for him. It's for the better. Lalli knows this, understands it completely.
The ache does not go away. He ignores it, buries it deep.
When the snow is long gone and the rains have eased their pouring, Lalli feels it again. Senses it. A presence prickles along his spine and he finds it impossible to ignore. There is something up above, something near. Something different from the animals that take solace in his refuge, the fortunate ones that he does not pull under to drown and devour. Something different from the deer that wander into his space and drink from his waters. Something familiar.
He rises, breaks the surface. He looks. Sucks in a breath.
Someone is there.
Emil stands at the edge of Lalli's pond, looking tired, ragged, worn out. His hair is golden in the afternoon light, but it is mussed, too-long, tied back loosely. His clothing is not to standard. The thrown-together things he wears now can no longer be called a cleanser's uniform.
Lalli watches him. Emil sweeps a look over the pond's surface, as if he knows where he is, as if he came here deliberately, as if he knows what he's looking for. Who he's looking for.
Finally, his gaze rests on Lalli. He calls out, holds out a hand, open-palmed. There is a strange note in his voice, something resigned, something despondent.
I told you to go away Lalli thinks. He thinks of sinking beneath the surface, of disappearing, of hiding among the weeds until Emil leaves.
But as Emil calls to him again, his voice sinks deep into Lalli's skin like roots seeking water in dry soil, and it's a sound Lalli can't ignore. Lalli goes to him in spite of himself, slips silently until he reaches the spot where Emil has knelt at the water's edge. He peeks up from among the weeds and water lilies, looks up into that face that he thought he would never see again.
"Lalli." A smile. It's little more than an exhausted tug at the corner of Emil's lips, but it's there.
Lalli watches him. Senses an urge rising, something he has felt before in a situation much like this. But he has come to know himself now, has learned to control himself, and he shoves the instinct behind him and locks it away. He reaches up, not to pull Emil into the water and under like he did the last time they met, but to touch his face, brush back loose strands of hair with damp fingers.
His hands freeze when Emil speaks again. He speaks haltingly, speaks hesitantly, the words fractured and nervous on his tongue. Words that Lalli understands. "Lalli, I... Here. Can I be here? Can I be with you?"
There is something desperate in Emil's voice, a plea rolling through the few words of awkward Finnish, and as Lalli stares up at him he understands that something is wrong.
The air is warm. Each day has become brighter, longer, and will be getting longer still. His pond is full of life, bursting with fresh greenery, flowers blooming along its grassy edge. Birds have come to rest in the ragged trees that grow around it, have built nests in the branches, basking in his protection.
Emil should have gone home weeks ago.
Emil is still here.
Lalli lets go of him, but only for a moment. Only for a second. Only for as long as it takes to plant his hands flat on the ground, to haul himself up and out of the water onto the grassy edge. Then he pulls Emil close, coils his arms around him. Gasps when Emil wraps his own arms around him and clings, pressing his face against Lalli's damp neck.
What happened? Lalli thinks, but does not ask. He knows he would not get a coherent answer even if Emil understood the question. Instead he merely draws away enough to get a look at him, moves a hand to cup his face again. Tilts Emil's chin up to look at those familiar eyes. "Emil," Lalli says softly, speaking clearly and carefully. He has not said a word in ages, and the sound of his own voice rolling off his tongue feels awkward and unpractised. "You can... You can stay. Stay here with me. Okay?"
For a moment, Emil's expression flickers with confusion. His lips part, moving slightly as he tries to comprehend the words in the language he barely knows. Then it seems he understands, as he nods, a look of relief passing over his face before he smiles, warm and genuine. "Okay," he repeats, little more than breathes it. "Thank you."
There are too many questions. They press at Lalli's brain, crowd his mouth like an excess of teeth, threaten to spill out. What happened, he wants to know, what happened to Emil, what happened to the rest of them, where are they? But instead of asking, he dips his head. Nuzzles a kiss to Emil's cheek, brushes his lips there.
He hears a sound, a sigh of relief that becomes a sob, muffled as Emil presses his face into the crook of Lalli's neck again.
Lalli closes his eyes and knows that they have time, that there will be time for answers later. Other things now are more pressing. He thinks, considers, and in a moment decides how they will exist.
You aren't going anywhere, Lalli thinks. As Emil breathes, yields against him, Lalli knows that he will keep him close, keep him safe. Lay claim to Emil and make him his own, just as he sank his magic into the water and remade it for himself.
As long as they are together in the world, they will hold each other up, walk safely through dark spaces.
End
Characters/Pairing: Lalli/Emil
Rating: 13+ for some canon-typical violence.
Length: 3k
Summary: They are still in the world, and hold you up so you can make it over.
Lalli is becoming something, transforming, changing. He knows this. He also knows that there is someone he must save, someone he must protect, even if doing so means hiding himself away.
Other: Jumping on the näkki-Lalli bandwagon, fashionably late. Explanation: there was a trend on SSSSForum a couple of months ago in which people were drawing/writing AUs in which Lalli is/becomes a näkki. SOMEONE suggested that I write one, even though I never write AUs. They are responsible for this story existing. ...That particular individual is also responsible for the fact that this story has a happy ending.
Story was partially inspired by the poem Across the Swamp ("Yver hengjemyri") by Olav H Hauge.
Water and Eternity
I am immune, Lalli tells himself. This weird thing can't be Rash. The thought hits him like a punch to the gut.
Because if he is, and if it isn't, what is it? That sensation creeping up his back, that scaly feeling, like an itch, like something growing, transforming, what is it?
The city doesn't give any answers. It lurks, quiet, waiting, crumbling, heavy and white and silent with snow. Hushed and brimming with a coldness that should purify, but doesn't, not completely. It merely covers things. Hides things.
He remembers the things that were said, discussed, things that Tuuri summarized for him after the words were over. They only said that we have to be careful with you. We don't know what kind of things you get into when you're out there. That was what she said, and he understood, still understands, knows well the logic behind it.
Lalli stops. He stands on a bridge, still in one piece in spite of the years it has weathered. Looks out, takes in the remnants of that weird world. Breathes. Watches the fog of his breath as he exhales. Thinks. Considers.
Something is wrong, he knows. If it isn't Rash, what is it?
What is it?
Lalli closes his eyes and thinks of bogs.
Cold pools and quiet green dampness, darkened with weeds and the roots of trees that sank to the bottom in another age, resting there for years. Centuries. He thinks of drifting down into the soft mud below and lurking, waiting, biding his time there.
Waiting for what?
In the depths of his mind, he imagines it. A shadow coming from up above the water. The silhouette of someone peering into it.
Knowledge itching in his brain, pins and needles, just as the sensation pricks along his back. Lalli knows what kind of creature those thoughts might belong to. But those thoughts are not his thoughts, can not be his thoughts.
Emil has been staring at him more of late. Not the same way that he always has. Not the same look as before, that soft weird fondness. It is something else drawing his attention, something different, something that Lalli does not like and does not understand.
He is not the only one who has been staring. The others have, too. They look, they stare, then they blink – and look confused, as if they don't understand what they were looking at or why. And then they look away.
But not Emil. He stares, watches, keeps staring, as if he's caught by something. As if Lalli has caught him.
The winter air is sharp and Lalli runs again, runs faster than before, breathes the coldness more deeply, breathes it until it burns. Snow falls, bites at his face, stinging cold pinpoints. Soon it will fall more heavily. He can smell it, taste it in the air.
It will cover his tracks.
As he runs he thinks of Emil. He thinks, too, the thoughts that came to him the last time he dozed, half-imagined things, not real dreams but something else. Daydreams. Fantasies. Of singing in the water and feeling that moment when someone catches a glimpse of him for a second, just a second, before he dives under. Of sinking down and waiting in the comfort below the water. A shadow up above. A shadow he knows to be Emil's shadow. Reaching up, grasping him, dragging him down. Blond hair thick in the water, flowing like weeds. Eyes wide, unseeing and panicked. Mouth open. No voice. No air. And though he fights, Lalli is stronger, and he holds him until the thrashing stops.
It stirs something in Lalli that he refuses to think about, refuses to acknowledge, even as it prickles along his spine, moving down.
He knows what creature might have these thoughts.
Time. Space. Distance. That is what Lalli needs. As much of it between himself and the others as possible.
The damp pricking at his eyes is only because of the sharp snow on his face.
When Lalli wakes, he doesn't know the time. When is it? He shifts, stirs in the nest he made for himself, blinks upward and tries to remember. Above him thin fingers of sunlight reach down through a hole in the centre of the pond's surface and as he stares at it, he understands.
Daylight. Spring.
Something calls him. It is more than just the end of hibernation. Lalli waits in the pond's soft bottom, lurks amid the remnants of weeds. Thinks. Tries to understand. What woke him? Something itches at his mind, a sense, some knowledge from deep down in his subconscious.
Something is up there.
He rises, moves slowly through the water, stiff after months of sleep. Remembers running. Rushing.
Falling.
Remembers sinking down into dark water. Remembers deciding to give in, to give himself up to the itch creeping along his back, to become something else because if he continues on he will be unable to resist it. That giving in at that moment is giving in on his own terms.
Rising now, he looks up at that bright patch where the ice gives way to water and sunlight. The surface is rotten underneath and he knows that this far out, nothing can hold it.
There is something there. Something at the pond's edge. Something that does not know that he is there. Lalli knows this, senses it without seeing or hearing it.
He drifts upward, breaks the surface. Peeks toward the edge of the pond across the ice, trying not to flinch from the brightness of the world pressing sharp on his eyes after months nestled at the bottom of the pond he has claimed for himself.
Something catches his eye. Something white and black and gold. Someone.
Emil.
Emil edging carefully around the perimeter. Emil freezing suddenly, as if he heard something, as if he knows he's being watched. Emil turning and looking out across the pond, directly at him, staring.
Lalli stares back. Then he moves. Dives down, sinks quickly as he can beneath the water. Bites his lip once he's deep in the darkness, covers his mouth with both hands. Did he see? Did he know what he was looking at?
The ice groans.
Lalli looks up. The sound comes not from above him, but from the pond's edge. He swims toward it, and through the too-thin ice he sees Emil's broad shadow slowly picking its way toward the hole in the centre.
As the surface shivers and hairline cracks appear, Lalli follows the shadow's path and waits. Anticipates. Watches. The ice is weak. Thin spring sunlight has been eating away at it for days, for weeks, for a month, and Lalli knows that it is only a matter of time before it will break.
He waits.
It breaks.
And as Emil falls and sinks and flails, Lalli swims toward him. Feels his own eyes growing wider, feels his teeth lengthening. He can smell him, can taste him in the water.
When he makes contact with Emil he wraps his long arms around him. Pulls him close.
Pulls him down.
They sink down together. Emil struggles and thrashes, and he is strong, but Lalli is stronger. Lalli holds him, keeps him close, taking in the sight of him in the thin fingers of light piercing the dark water, looking at him with eyes that never before could see in such a place. Watching. Appraising him. Wide eyes. Pale face. Gold hair flowing soft in the water. Parted lips begging for open-mouthed kisses.
This is something he knows he will keep for himself, something he will pull down to the bottom and hide, something precious he will store away deep down under the water where the sunlight hardly touches.
A sound, desperate and water-strangled. Something that might be his name if it were spoken properly, spoken in open air. Lalli blinks and looks again and sees what he didn't see before: the panic and fear in those eyes, the bubbles rising up from a body struggling to breathe.
What am I doing?! Lalli stops, freezes in the water. In his shock he lets go of him – then grips him again, grabs hold of Emil and pulls him up, drags him up to the hole in the ice and the air and the light.
He shoves Emil up through the surface of the open water. Heavy. Too heavy. Emil's clothes are soaked, waterlogged, threatening to drag him under, and Lalli curses as he tries to push him onto the ice. Manages it eventually. Heaves him up and breathes relief when Emil manages to find himself enough to scramble onto it and move away from the hole.
The ice mercifully holds.
Lalli watches. Listens. Waits.
Emil is on all fours, coughing, vomiting pondwater. He looks up after a moment, wet hair clinging to his face, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Lalli?"
"Go away!" The words are sharp in Lalli's mouth and he knows that Emil won't understand, wouldn't understand even if their language were the same. This is something he won't ever understand. But maybe claw-sharp words will get through to him, pierce the meaning through, make the intent enough that he will run away. "And don't come back! Get out of here! You don't know what you're doing!"
Lalli speaks until his breath is gone. The open air feels thin, leaves him feeling tired. Or maybe it's only because of the struggle and the weight of the guilt of knowing that he almost pulled Emil down to the bottom. "I almost killed you!" Lalli nearly shouts, biting his words. The look of incomprehension on Emil's face makes him want to scream.
"Lalli..." More words, stupid words, whatever they are, interrupted when Emil starts coughing again.
Enough. Lalli knows he has had enough. "Go away," he says again, choking the sob in his voice as he sinks below the surface.
Lalli lets himself drift down. Looks upward. Takes in the sight of the hole in the ice, the sunlight sliding cautiously into the water. Emil's shadow. Get off of the ice before you fall through it again, you idiot, he thinks. As if Emil somehow heard him, the shadow begins to move back to the pond's edge, carefully picking its way toward solid ground.
Good. That's good. Lalli tells himself this. The relief is an ache. He sinks down to the bottom, rests among the weeds, burrows deep into the mud. Bites his lips, screws his eyes shut, and feels a tightness in his chest that he can not define.
Stay away, he thinks, remembering the look on Emil's face, that look of fear and surprise and recognition. Stay away from here, and don't come back.
Time passes.
Lalli does not count the days, the weeks, the months. The numbers are nothing, mean nothing. What he does is watch the earth.
Light. Ice breaking, cracking, melting. Snow receding, rushing, disappearing, transforming into water that seeps into the crumbling world, pours into the remnants of drains, trickles into his pond.
Rain falls.
The world comes alive.
The world is dangerous.
But his magic still has meaning here. The itch along his spine that condemned him to this life is not without its benefit and Lalli finds himself growing stronger under its curse, wearing it like armour.
Lalli weaves protection spells, lets his words ring, forces out the darkness. Gathers the souls that fall across his path and guides them to peace. Cleanses his space, not with fire, but with magic. He makes the dark waters of the weedy pond his own, sinks himself down into it, claims that scrap of territory and transforms it into a home for himself. It is not the lakes and islands and forest that he is accustomed to, but it will do.
At night, he sinks to the bottom of the water and dreams and waits. He tries not to dwell on the ache that he feels, the memory of panicked eyes and a face that he knows he will not see again.
Spring has come, and with the warm weather, the people he once knew will go back across the water, somehow. Back home. Five of them. All of them except for him. It's for the better. Lalli knows this, understands it completely.
The ache does not go away. He ignores it, buries it deep.
When the snow is long gone and the rains have eased their pouring, Lalli feels it again. Senses it. A presence prickles along his spine and he finds it impossible to ignore. There is something up above, something near. Something different from the animals that take solace in his refuge, the fortunate ones that he does not pull under to drown and devour. Something different from the deer that wander into his space and drink from his waters. Something familiar.
He rises, breaks the surface. He looks. Sucks in a breath.
Someone is there.
Emil stands at the edge of Lalli's pond, looking tired, ragged, worn out. His hair is golden in the afternoon light, but it is mussed, too-long, tied back loosely. His clothing is not to standard. The thrown-together things he wears now can no longer be called a cleanser's uniform.
Lalli watches him. Emil sweeps a look over the pond's surface, as if he knows where he is, as if he came here deliberately, as if he knows what he's looking for. Who he's looking for.
Finally, his gaze rests on Lalli. He calls out, holds out a hand, open-palmed. There is a strange note in his voice, something resigned, something despondent.
I told you to go away Lalli thinks. He thinks of sinking beneath the surface, of disappearing, of hiding among the weeds until Emil leaves.
But as Emil calls to him again, his voice sinks deep into Lalli's skin like roots seeking water in dry soil, and it's a sound Lalli can't ignore. Lalli goes to him in spite of himself, slips silently until he reaches the spot where Emil has knelt at the water's edge. He peeks up from among the weeds and water lilies, looks up into that face that he thought he would never see again.
"Lalli." A smile. It's little more than an exhausted tug at the corner of Emil's lips, but it's there.
Lalli watches him. Senses an urge rising, something he has felt before in a situation much like this. But he has come to know himself now, has learned to control himself, and he shoves the instinct behind him and locks it away. He reaches up, not to pull Emil into the water and under like he did the last time they met, but to touch his face, brush back loose strands of hair with damp fingers.
His hands freeze when Emil speaks again. He speaks haltingly, speaks hesitantly, the words fractured and nervous on his tongue. Words that Lalli understands. "Lalli, I... Here. Can I be here? Can I be with you?"
There is something desperate in Emil's voice, a plea rolling through the few words of awkward Finnish, and as Lalli stares up at him he understands that something is wrong.
The air is warm. Each day has become brighter, longer, and will be getting longer still. His pond is full of life, bursting with fresh greenery, flowers blooming along its grassy edge. Birds have come to rest in the ragged trees that grow around it, have built nests in the branches, basking in his protection.
Emil should have gone home weeks ago.
Emil is still here.
Lalli lets go of him, but only for a moment. Only for a second. Only for as long as it takes to plant his hands flat on the ground, to haul himself up and out of the water onto the grassy edge. Then he pulls Emil close, coils his arms around him. Gasps when Emil wraps his own arms around him and clings, pressing his face against Lalli's damp neck.
What happened? Lalli thinks, but does not ask. He knows he would not get a coherent answer even if Emil understood the question. Instead he merely draws away enough to get a look at him, moves a hand to cup his face again. Tilts Emil's chin up to look at those familiar eyes. "Emil," Lalli says softly, speaking clearly and carefully. He has not said a word in ages, and the sound of his own voice rolling off his tongue feels awkward and unpractised. "You can... You can stay. Stay here with me. Okay?"
For a moment, Emil's expression flickers with confusion. His lips part, moving slightly as he tries to comprehend the words in the language he barely knows. Then it seems he understands, as he nods, a look of relief passing over his face before he smiles, warm and genuine. "Okay," he repeats, little more than breathes it. "Thank you."
There are too many questions. They press at Lalli's brain, crowd his mouth like an excess of teeth, threaten to spill out. What happened, he wants to know, what happened to Emil, what happened to the rest of them, where are they? But instead of asking, he dips his head. Nuzzles a kiss to Emil's cheek, brushes his lips there.
He hears a sound, a sigh of relief that becomes a sob, muffled as Emil presses his face into the crook of Lalli's neck again.
Lalli closes his eyes and knows that they have time, that there will be time for answers later. Other things now are more pressing. He thinks, considers, and in a moment decides how they will exist.
You aren't going anywhere, Lalli thinks. As Emil breathes, yields against him, Lalli knows that he will keep him close, keep him safe. Lay claim to Emil and make him his own, just as he sank his magic into the water and remade it for himself.
As long as they are together in the world, they will hold each other up, walk safely through dark spaces.
End
