Chapter Text
Aether isn't sure why he volunteers for it, honestly.
Because you're an idiot AND a bleeding heart, he hears the voice of his sister say, her tone amused and disappointed all at once. He could see it now, the wrinkle in her brow as she shook her head at him, smiling even as she proclaimed him a fool. But when he turns his head, the shadow of her is gone, her warmth nothing more than a phantom pain in his side. Strangely, he's been having a lot more memories of the things she would say to him lately; like the half healed wound of her absence was being forced open all over again.
Unfortunately, Lumine's words are little more than a useless reminder, because the words are already out of his mouth. Aether's already gazing steadily at him like he hasn't tried to kill him multiple times, and Nahida is staring at Aether like he'd just spoken a miracle into being. When his gaze flicks back over to her, he can see far too many thoughts flickering behind those wide eyes of hers. And, if he had to guess, exactly none of them bode well for his immediate future.
"I think it's a fantastic idea," Nahida agrees. Or at least, that's what Aether thinks she says. He can't be totally sure, because at the exact same moment, Paimon screeches next to his ear in shock and outrage.
"No way we're just taking that- that big meanie MONSTER with us?!" she demands, and Aether leans away from her with a wince.
"Volume," he reminds her weakly, rubbing one ear as he braces for the rest of the tirade. He can't bear to look at the big meanie monster in question. Dreads whatever sarcastically smug expression he must wear.
"I think my volume is a perfectly appropriate response for what you're saying!" Paimon insists, but her voice does indeed get marginally lower. "He's a terrible person who's caused us nothing but trouble and gotten all sorts of people killed while working for the Fatui! Including our friends, " she reminds him with a hiss, arms spread out incredulously as she looks at him. Her eyes are even wider than usual.
"I'm aware," Aether responds, his tone carefully flat and poised. Clearly Paimon expected him to say more on the subject, because she floats a little lower when he doesn't, confused. But if he puts words to what he's feeling, he'll have to remember every cruelty he's faced at the Fatui's hands. He cannot bring himself to remember what he's lost, again. Cannot give the former Balladeer the satisfaction.
"Then why are we-"
"We aren't doing anything yet," Aether reminds her. He almost feels bad for how clipped and short his tone is, how irritation bleeds through his every expression, even his every breath. "The Wanderer has every right to refuse to come with us. It was just… an idea." It is hard to maintain his composure, when his mind tells him that this is a good thing to do, the right thing to do, and his heart tells him to drag up every last scrap of divinity left in his failing, mortal body and tear that horrid puppet limb from limb with his teeth.
Perhaps all these discussions of godhood and divinity have been getting under his skin far more than he wants to admit.
"But it is a good idea," Nahida repeats, holding her hands out, palms up, like she's cradling some easily bruised fruit between them. Light, fragile and delicate as a rosebud, floats in her loose embrace. "The Wanderer's heart is new. He will need plenty of new experiences to cement it as truly his own. Yes, no one can take a Vision without dire consequences, but Visions are bestowed because of conviction and ambition. To act upon some of those convictions, and to build new ambition, these can only be good things."
When Aether spares a glance at the Anemo vision resting innocently on the Wanderer's chest, he almost wishes to see some imperfection in it. A crack, a scratch, anything to mar the perfect luster of what feels like a slap in the face. But there is none. It is simply a Vision, nothing more and nothing less. Somewhere out there, a God thought Scaramouche was worthy, and knowing that Venti is probably out there somewhere getting rip-roaring drunk, with NO idea about how his choice of Vision bearer is causing Aether so much turmoil? It's almost enough to send Aether right back to Monstadt to shake him back into sobriety himself. But… that would mean admitting that it bothers him. And he would rather die to a Hilichurl wielding a stick a dozen times in a row than show any weakness in front of the Balladeer.
…The person he just invited to join him on his travels. The person staring at him like he can see right through him.
Bleeding heart , Lumine whispers again in his mind, and Aether finds he has to agree, in more ways than one.
But when the Wanderer finally speaks, it is of course in his usual meandering, bored tone, as if he is doing them some great favor by gracing them with his words. "Seeing as my particular brand of service isn't required by Buer at this moment in time, I see no practical reason to refuse," he begins, crossing his arms. When he tilts his head back to stare at Aether down the bridge of his nose, his hat makes an eccentric halo behind his head. "But I also see no real reason to accept, either. Tell me- why offer when I am so clearly unwanted? I'm not offended, I've more than earned your distrust. But I find myself curious, regardless. Why even pretend to invite me along in the first place?"
"We're not inviting you," Paimon stresses again, before Aether holds up a hand to interrupt her. She scowls. Normally, Aether is content to let her do most of the talking, and his sudden trend of disagreeing with her is clearly not her favorite.
"Because I'm bored, and you have nowhere better to be," Aether says before anyone else can say any other stupid things that remind him of how tired he is of this whole situation. Sumeru has been wearing on his patience, not to mention his mental capacity for drama, and as much as he adores Nahida, he can only stand so much of all of this before he snaps. He's had enough dream loops to last more lifetimes than he's already lived, or ever will live. He needs a nap, a vacation, and a hug from his sister, in any order.
He hates that Nahida looks at him like she understands all this. But he hates that the Wanderer looks at him the same way even more.
When he turns to go, he doesn't announce it, doesn't try to bring up the social niceties he usually would. He just turns around and starts walking. Frankly, he's almost surprised that no one says anything to stop him. Then again, Nahida can probably sense how exhausted he is, even if his expression didn't already give it away. In the end, she had been the one to orchestrate the dream loop they'd used to ultimately defeat Scaramouche's false god, and had already accepted that the both of them would die in dozens of different, horrifying ways on each one until they'd bought enough time to find a strategy. Though the actual battle had been weeks ago, it still clung to Aether's thoughts like a sin, black ink on white paper. And the Balladeer, for all his posturing, seems hesitant to say anything that will truly cause tempers to flare after rewriting himself into existence.
Somehow, though, the most surprising silence belongs to Paimon. But when Aether glances over his shoulder, she's there like always, her mouth set in a decided pout as she silently follows him.
They almost make it all the way to their little room before she finally speaks.
"You've been a little mean today," she comments, and there's just enough levity to her tone that she could claim it as just a joke if he takes it badly. But Aether can only shrug and sigh. He's fairly certain that she didn't retain memory of the loops like he did, and he's not about to say anything that might cause her to remember now, weeks after the fact.
"I know," he admits, measuring his steps as he trudges down yet another curved ramp. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. I'm just… on edge."
He doesn't need to say anything more. Paimon, for all of her impetuous nature, understands him perfectly well in the quieter moments like these, even when she knows he's not explaining everything.
"Once you get some rest, you'll feel more like yourself," she offers, dashing ahead of him to pull open the door to their temporary abode. "But, then again, if we were to, I dunno, start traveling with a homicidal maniac, you'd probably never get proper rest again. Just as an example."
"Thank you, Paimon," Aether grunts, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Tighnari and Nahida are already badgering me about my sleep schedule enough as it is. I don't need you doing it too."
"What sleep schedule?" She grumbles, but subsides when he throws her a tired glance. "I know, I know, you're working on it. I'm sorry for nagging."
She seems almost as tired as he feels, shoulders drooping as she stares at him dejectedly. But it melts away the instant he holds out a hand, her tiny body slamming into his chest hard enough to knock him over backwards. He grunts, but wraps an arm around her anyways, pressing her close against his chest where she can snuggle into his scarf.
"The nagging is good for me, don't worry," he reassures her. He shuffles enough to scooch higher onto the bed, kick his boots off and relax. "Just as long as you let me nag you a bit, too."
"Deal," Paimon agrees almost too quick, and Aether stifles a tired laugh. But his mirth dies away in an instant when she continues. "But… Traveler, why do you want to invite the Balladeer with us? It just seems… like a bad idea. Like we're asking to get stabbed in our sleep, or reported to the Fatui, or…"
Aether can already hear her imagination going wild with all the things the Wanderer could theoretically do to them, and that is what tells him that nothing less than honesty will soothe her racing mind.
"Look at it this way," he begins, his free hand gesturing even though she cannot see any of it. "If you were created by someone for a specific purpose, then immediately abandoned because you "weren't good enough", then lost everyone else you cared about, were lied to, manipulated, and experimented on… if all of that happened to you, and then you were suddenly offered a second chance with a fresh start… wouldn't you want someone to help you pick up the pieces? Someone who understands what it is to lose everything and have to start from the beginning?"
Paimon is silent for a long time. It's unusual, actually, and it has Aether holding on to her a little tighter.
When she finally speaks, it is a tiny, uncertain thing, and it makes Aether's heart ache.
"Does that someone have to be you, though?" She whispers, and Aether sighs.
"Who else would?" he answers simply, and that is that.
When next Paimon makes a sound, it is an unhappy little sigh, the unconscious call of a body ill at ease settling in for a dreamer's sleep. It is a sound Aether is well accustomed to- along with the pace of her breathing on his chest, the whuffling touch of it brushing through his scarf over and over, metronomic. He does not settle, though. The sun is still high in the sky, the blue glow of midafternoon splashed across the walls, and his body still quivers with the nervous high of standing in a room with the person who'd been the centerpiece of one of the most miserable battles of his life. Even now, it haunts him. How many hours had he spent in the dream? Now, it all begins to blur, a smear of pain and blood spatter like paint on the stone. But he knows, like he knows that his sister lives and breathes somewhere on this planet, he knows that each moment dragged longer than the last. Even if his mind forgets, his body remembers.
It is when the sun has started to reach the tipping point, blue fading to gold, that he feels a pressure upon his mind. A presence, foreign but still welcome, and Aether does not protest as Nahida's power slithers in to wrap around his spine, press against the nape of his neck. It could feel stifling, he knows, but his trust in her and her gentle nature makes it a comfort instead of a trap. He lets her settle in close, and then when she bids it, a feeling without words, he lets his eyes close.
Back to the dream. He dreads it. But he knows that she would not lead him to anything but the gentlest of dreams, not after everything they've been through. So he follows, and his body finally relaxes fully into the covers.
When he opens his eyes again, he is back at the base of Irminsul, bathed in lavender and gold light. He blinks in surprise, glancing at Nahida, but she only laughs, shaking her head.
"We're not actually at Irminsul," she assures him. "It's just our shared memory of it. I like it here, and I… frankly, do not have memory of much else other than here or the Sanctuary. I believed here would be the better place to talk. Unless… you had a memory you wished to revisit, while we discuss things?"
Aether considers it, he really does. He has seen thousands of vistas, each one draped in a beauty incomparable to the last. But in each one, the memory is marked by the heartbeat next to his, light like moonbeams, sanguine and sweet. He does not wish to see how those places look when he gazes upon them alone.
"This is fine," he answers, but the words taste bitter.
"Then, I suppose I must begin by asking if…" she wrings her hands, dropping her gaze to the ivory roots beneath her feet. "If you're alright."
Aether blinks. "The whole fight was a dream," he reminds her. "I didn't take any actual injuries, and there's been plenty of time to recover even if I had."
"And yet the mind can be injured as surely as the body," she counters, and there is a hint of steel in her tone. "Do not think that I am blind to this. You do not have to dam a river to ruin the water. Sometimes mixing poison into the flow is even deadlier to those who would live by its path."
Does… she think his mind is poisoned? That he can be broken that easily? Aether stares at her, his gaze guarded, wary, and she sighs.
"I have asked something of you that I could not ask of any of my other subjects," she explains, softer. "It would drive a lesser man insane, and I know you have not taken the proper time to rest and recuperate. Which is why, before I ask anything else of you, I must know. Are you alright?"
Aether does not drop his guard, feeling strangely cornered despite the soothing colors of the skies around him. But there is nothing but concern in her eyes, and the tree, honest even in imitation, does not whisper of lies. So he closes his eyes in defeat, and shrugs.
"I'm tired," he admits. "But not broken. A little bit of time and I'll be my same old self. I'm… used to it."
"Used to which part?" Nahida asks, quiet, sad. "Fighting gods? Or dying?"
The question is spoken with nothing but genuine care for him, but her insight to what his words truly mean cuts him to the core. He cannot look at her without confirming her fears, and he cannot deny them without looking at her. When he sighs, he knows she has heard his answer regardless.
"I know your wish is to continue onwards, to Fontaine. But, if I may ask… both for your sake, and mine, please. Stay in Sumeru for a little longer. Rest your mind. Help me find my place here. I find myself woefully bereft of confidantes that I truly feel I can tell my troubles to without fear. It is partially selfish, yes, but I think it would do you some real good to be here. And… the people admire you. Having a strong figure of justice and heroism in their midst will help them adjust."
"And, you can sic the Balladeer on me while still keeping an eye on us both," Aether adds, just on the edge of sarcasm. Nahida smiles, apologetic, and he knows he's uncovered the root of her request. The other things are still true, but… well. He can understand the desire to focus wholly on a pet project.
"He has requested to abandon his old names," she informs him quietly, and that is surprise enough to draw Aether's attention fully back to her. "Just Wanderer, for now. I suggested that he pick a real name for himself, but… he seemed strangely hesitant."
Aether shrugs, but looks at her knowingly. "Names can be a sacred thing to some people, Buer," he points out, and she bows her head with a smile, laughing.
"So they can, Traveler."
They lapse into silence, comfortable but thoughtful, and Aether moves to sit near her at a spot where the roots twist and join together, where he can lean back against a raised spot and look out at the endless sky.
"I am sorry," Nahida whispers after a while. When Aether looks at her, she somehow looks even smaller than usual. "You are one of my first real friends, and yet… somehow, I feel like I'm using you." She gestures uselessly, at a rare loss for words, but Aether just pats the spot next to him. When she sits, slow, ever so careful, he just smiles.
"Believe me, Nahida," he promises, low and determined. "If I did not want to be used, you would gain nothing from me. Everything I've done has been because I wanted to. I'm content to follow where you point me to. When I leave for Fontaine, then someone else will point me somewhere. It's the way it is. You are no more or less a victim to it than I am."
"That sounds… lonely," Nahida murmurs, and Aether nods. It's not quite the right word, they both know that, but it's close enough.
"I've got Paimon with me, and I'm content with that. She keeps my head on straight when things get difficult." Nahida scooches closer, and Aether lets her press against his side, wraps an arm over her shoulders. It is just close enough to how it feels to comfort Paimon, and yet also just a shade away from how it felt to encourage Lumine, that he has to swallow past the way his heart squeezes in his chest.
"You talk more, when she's not around," Nahida muses, thoughtful, the edge of an idea in her tone, and Aether is too tired to realize the danger in not denying it.
"Easier, that way."
Somehow, he can feel the Archon's gaze on the side of his face, looking up from where she's tucked safely against his side. But he says no more, and neither does she. They simply sit in companionable silence, and let the dream unwind around them, the weave of it slowly coming undone.
Aether can worry about the rest tomorrow. Somehow, he knows that his sleep will be long and dreamless, and that Nahida will be there to wake him when the sun rises. Even as his eyes close as the last of the dream fades away, he can feel her warmth beside him, and it is just close enough to a much more familiar warmth that he can almost pretend like everything's alright again.