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It feels all the world’s an omen these days. Everywhere Grim looks there’s another prophecy or prediction. He’s tired of oracles and precognition. Isla didn’t tell him about a singular one of the prophecies about her. He learned it from Oro , indignity of indignities. She was his wife and lied to him all the while.
Whatever. He lied to her as well, took those memories. Tied her life to his; he wonders idly if she dies there then he dies here. He looks up from a book he isn’t reading and sees Oro at the table with him.
“Do you think she saved the world?” He asks, fiddling with a page. He’s not in armor and in his civilian-like clothes he feels exposed to the king, regal even in more plain dress.
“I don’t know if she’s saved it yet. Maybe it ends and we don’t even realize. I’m trying not to worry about it.”
“Because you can’t do anything?”
“Exactly.” They look at each other and it makes Grim remember childhood, being locked away and the knowledge that one of his siblings he’d never seen could kill him. Oro lived like that, in a way. Sunling and Nightshade are equal and opposite peoples. In stories told to most people, it was they who had made Lightlark together. Wildlings didn’t matter as much beside the day and night.
“I don’t think she’s coming back.” Grim says in a low voice, leaning toward Oro. “But we can check.”
“Oh?” Oro says back, smiling. “What, are we going to ask an old woman to read sheep’s knuckles? Go to a Skyling to read the clouds?”
“No, of course not.” Grim shifts, disgruntled. “We take you to the prophet’s mountain.”
Oro laughs, bright in the dark library. Other patrons— he should really stop them from coming here— look up at the sound.
“A prophet’s mountain?”
“Well, the prophet is dead. It’s named after him.”
“And his name?”
“No, named after him by ‘prophet’s mountain’. It’s where his disciples live and they keep a book of his prophecies.”
“You—” Oro shook his head. “Prophet’s mountain. What a name. Perhaps our ancestors were…” here he paused and chuckled a little. He shook his head again. Grim tensed, not quite sure of how he felt about this. Was it even an insult?
“So there are people living there?”
“Yes, and they keep his records alive.”
“Why haven’t you gone before?”
“Because you can only go once— and my father killed the prophet. We aren’t on good terms.”
Oro snickered again.
“And you want…”
“I want you to go to the mountain with me, yes.”
“I suppose it’s as good a choice as anything. They did tell her things, right?”
“She never quite explained it all. I think they told her something that led to all of this. It sent her to gather hearts, to kill those she viewed as evil.”
“She told me that. She said, and I nearly quote: she pointed to her daggers and said I use these to kill people, Oro.”
“That…” and they left it like that, leaving the woman they loved between them in her glory and her reticence, in her fear and weakness. They might think her a strong woman but she was a broken thing, or at least damaged. She wouldn’t let them do more for her.
“How do I get to this prophet’s disciples?”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to show me.”
--
Grim teleports them to the mouth of the cave, as far as his power would take them.
“She did it all without her abilities, did she?”
“She did, to my knowledge. She had those bracelets.”
It had taken weeks before they had even pieced together a minutia of her escapades. How long had it been in her world, that other world? The portal was inoperable, there was nothing else to be done from their end, perhaps. Or not. They looked at the library and now they had come to the mountain. It felt like treading water, not sinking but not going forth either.
“So it’s just tunnels?”
“Yes.”
Oro raises an eyebrow, as Grim hadn’t told the entire truth in a manner close enough to a lie.
“It’s more than tunnels. There are other things to deal with, but I’m not sure how… accurate my past journeys will be. Sometimes it changes— or more so it changes.”
“Who was this prophet anyway?” Oro asks conversationally as they walk into the first of the tunnels.
“He was from the other world, apparently. His prophecies are written in his blood on his skin.”
“A chronicle of the future, or prophecies?”
“I’m not sure, but she seemed more confident than I was when we heard the oracles speak.”
“It feels like there weren’t always this many prophecies, oracles, and omens. It feels like only months ago it was The Prophecy and nothing else.”
Grim looks at Oro, who shines even in the dark of the tunnel. They didn’t even need a torch or lamp. He was bright enough himself.
“There might be monsters up ahead.”
He said that but he meant ‘you’re right’. It felt like there was something that had come out of the ether and made itself so at home they couldn’t even recognize what had changed. He thought back to youth again, seeing each other before the curses.
“Monsters at a distance now,” Oro says. “I can hear them coming.”
“So let’s go on. We can deal with them as they come in tighter quarters.”
Animals, in shapes unrecognizable, scamper toward them, and the two of them march on barely even looking back. They were like gods even without power. It wasn’t the same as anyone else going through here.
They were like gods, but they are flesh. As they walk calmly, they stay together a little too long in a tunnel a little too tight. They stuck together for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, Oro like a great line of heat along his side. Oro laughs.
“Making way for the king,” Grim says, extricating himself before he could think more about that warmth. Against his will he imagined being closer than that, clutching tightly, and never being cold again. He grunts, and lets Oro forge forward first.
“The tunnels might flood,” Grim warns as they take a moment to share jerky and water. “Isla figured out we needed to go under and out, instead of searching for an opening upward.”
“Hm.” Oro says, tearing the jerky apart like a dog might, holding it in his hands and tearing his face away instead of pulling the hands back. “I feel dry.”
Grim licks his lips. He had noticed it too, his mouth drier than usual and his hands tight. Like in the cold. Isla hated the cold. They looked at each other and thought about dryness, about how she disliked it. They were both soft about her.
What better way to make an ally…
--
They didn’t encounter the flooding at all. The tunnels get colder and colder, dry as a tundra. Grim is safe in his dark clothing but Oro has begun to shiver. Perhaps the mountain changed to suit the person looking for their future. Grim shucks off one of his jackets and offers it to Oro. It is not a peace offering.
Oro takes it and puts it on, his face pale and drawn. Grim could feel the cold biting at his nose now, his cheeks probably rosy from it. They keep walking through tunnels, up and up. Approaching the enclave of the prophet’s disciples.
“This doesn’t seem too great a trial,” Oro says, clutching Grim’s cloak tighter. “What is the cold to a Sunling?”
“What is anything to anyone?” Grim says, raising an eyebrow. It was clear Oro was wavering. “There’s still a trial. If it’s the same.”
“You–”
Oro pauses when he sees the crystal behemoth. It has no face and looks more organic than alive. It shifts and then sits again, no expression to judge it by.
“Can you handle this?” Grim asks, raising his eyebrow again. “Isla managed it.”
Oro scoffs.
“It’s not some unique trial. Others have succeeded.”
“Others have failed.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“Am I?”
Oro shoves Grim without looking at him, like one might a friend. Grim stumbles, not expecting it. He didn’t have people like that. Never in his life had he had someone who had dared to touch him like that.
He likes it.
Oro makes an aborted motion, thrusting out his hand and rescinding it nearly as fast. He had, for a moment, forgotten about his lack of powers here. Grim covers his smile with his palm. Oro glances over and smiles himself– far too calm for such an embarrassing mistake. Whatever, his own reactions are his reactions. Grim couldn’t do much more.
“Do you want to know how she dealt with it?”
“Probably in a way that risked herself too much. One that seemed impressive or foolish in the moment, and when you considered later you felt it was the opposite, either impressive or foolish.”
“Pretty foolish to try and use your powers here.”
“Ha ha, Grimshaw. Very funny.”
“Grimshaw? Oh, what, am I in trouble?” Oro laughs truly this time, and claps Grim on the shoulder instead of shoving his arm.
“No, no. You’re just… You tell the truth more than you think. In my opinion, of course.”
He bares his teeth in a grin and touches Grim again. His hand lingers on his shoulder. As though trying to soak up some heat, now that he’s so cold. His face is paler than before, even, and as his hand rests there Grim could feel the way Oro was quivering, so minute it’s invisible to his eye.
“We could–” and here his voice caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure he could say it, if he could say anything with such sincerity since Isla had gone to that other world. “We could leave. We could go back through the tunnels, the traps reset, and we– there are a thousand other omens, prophecies, and predictions. Let’s find someone else with precognition.”
“You–” Oro looks at him. Maybe he’s shocked this isn’t a lie, isn’t a jab at some weakness. They had spent the first week like that, unwilling to let the other out of sight and yet loathe to act as if they wished for each other’s company. They might be the only two men in the world who understood what had happened, even if they had issued a statement.
It felt like information died so quickly here. Perhaps this was why the people needed precognition these days, wished for it on hand and knee. They wanted to know. Who didn’t, to be fair? Who could be content in the dark?
Oro’s hand is still on his shoulder. If Grim turned he could touch it with his chin, his lips, or even his nose. He hated himself for thinking it, just a little. He did have a physical reminder of his commitment to Isla around his neck. And he was her other love. It would be cruel to indulge these thoughts.
He turns his head and Oro removes the hand.
“Do you want–”
“A hint? How Isla did it? No, no, it’s my challenge. It’s my job to figure it out.”
“If you weren’t sort of stupid, I might admire your tenacity.” Grim settles, sitting on the rocky ground and leaning against the wall. He gestures toward the crystal beast. “Go on, then, if you’re so confident in yourself.”
Oro walks around the thing as far as he can, musing. He touches it, and the thing doesn’t move at all.
“Are you..?” The thing shifts as Oro speaks to Grim, leaning down over him. If it had a mouth, it would probably be slavering all over him. A leg draws up. Oro jumps out of the way as it comes down, cursing loudly. The thing follows him down the hallway as he runs. Its triggering instance changed, then. Good thing Oro didn’t ask for help, then. Grim smirks to himself, knowing Oro has it handled.
Oro takes off some of his golden jewelry and throws it to the side. Luckily for both of them, it works. Oro slips through the crack into the Prophet’s den. The crystal thing turns its faceless head toward Grim, like it’s considering his worth as a target. However, it lumbers back to its post without even lifting a foot toward him.
Grim was back here again; alone in a mountain that had tried to kill him and his traveling companion both times. There had been a moment of— closeness. He was sitting here alone, waiting, and he was beginning to realize weeks together had resurrected a childhood crush he had almost entirely forgotten.
Yes. Grim could have had female and male lovers.
He had primarily had women before Isla because it just seemed easier. They wanted an heir? He could give them an heir. But he never had. Foolish, really. Every time he heard that word he thought of Isla and her childhood. Then his, and then the world’s.
But now Oro was drawing him, just as he had during a summit as children. At the centennial— he had seen the way Oro was getting closer to Isla. Why couldn’t he play on jealousy as any other man might?
It feels like it’s been eons since Oro had gone in. Grim sits so long his ass goes numb, which really didn’t take too long in the cold of the tunnels. He waits. There isn’t anything else to do.
He closes his eyes and imagines her back, warm in his arms and calling him ‘husband’ sweetly. He imagines her safe; open to telling him her secrets without him needing to watch her leave with her way about her, ignoring his care for her.
It was not as though he had been a perfect husband, but she had been far from a perfect wife. Perhaps it never should have happened. Grim reaches up and touches the necklace, heavy on him. He imagines reaching out— and his hands in the dream skim warm skin, warmer than Isla. He squints and gets the impression of gold being torn off by his hands. He suddenly becomes heavily aware it is Oro over him, and in the dream Oro leans down to kiss him.
He wakes up promptly, jolting to his hands and knees. Grim feels warm. Strange— but when he feels his face he doesn’t feel cold in his fingers or it. He’s not shivering in the slightest.
The crystal beast is where it was when he closed his eyes. Surreptitiously he cast his gaze about. No Oro yet, nor any prophet disciples sneaking up on him. Nothing terribly embarrassing had happened out here.
Nothing outside of his mind. He wasn’t supposed to go from imagining his wife to his rival. But these things happened and he would have to move past it. He watched the crystal thing sit there.
It’s when the sound of his own breathing is getting intolerable that Oro bursts out. In the gap between the crystal behemoth returning to its post Grim sees a brown face retreating back but watching Oro with a careful eye. Oro rushes towards Grim and tugs him up.
“You—“ Grim starts. But as he opens his mouth Oro is on him, kissing hard against his mouth, then cradling him by the face and licking in. Grim pressed back, his hands drawing up and clutching at his waist, covered by his own coat. Oro’s just as warm as he dreamt of. It’s when he feels himself gasping against Oro’s soft mouth and simultaneously pressed against the wall that Grim manages to think about it.
He shoves Oro back by the chest.
“W– Oro.” He says, chest heaving. “Why– what–”
“Oh,” Oro says, slumping against him. “I’m so sorry. I’m— I don’t know. There isn’t an excuse.”
“Why?” Grim asks. His lips are tingling, his tongue not tasting like his own. “I mean— clearly I’m not her.”
“You’re something else to be sure,” Oro says against his neck. “I just— they’re more like chronicles, rather than proper prophecies. It spoke of… now that I think to speak it I have trouble wrapping my mouth around the direct words.”
“Strange.”
“It writes of us. Of Isla yes but of us as well. It says there were two kings, one of light and one of dark in her wake. I thought— when I saw you after exiting I saw your beauty in the light of that crystal thing, my prior affections and lusts felt amplified by more— more than anything.”
“Oh,” Grim breathes out. His hands slide up Oro’s sides and come to rest, one on his neck and one on his face. “Like confirmation, maybe?”
“Like magic. I want you.”
“Isla—”
“She might be dead. She might be alive. She might never come back to us. What does it matter? Can’t we have each other while she’s gone? If she ever comes back— doesn’t she love us both?”
“She loved me enough to marry me.”
“And I would have married her if she wished. She was dear to me.”
“We said was.” Grim realizes. His thumb swipes against Oro’s cheek, and the king leans into it unconsciously. “We take her for dead already.”
“Not dead. Gone to us.”
“And isn’t that the same?” Grim leans in, draws Oro to him. Their lips press gently against each other’s, not the rushed lust of earlier but a sweeter promise of care. Of love, not just fiery lust. Oro groaned, sliding his hands up under Grim’s dark coat and shirt, toward the planes of his chest.
“It doesn’t matter. We can figure it all out later,” Oro promises in between peppering kisses onto Grim’s neck, worrying bites below his collar. “We’ll protect each other from the other’s people.”
“We have to, don’t we?” Grim asks, dragging Oro up again. Somehow, he’s feel neglected. He puts his fingers in Oro’s golden hair, tugs him over to his mouth. They lisp again, moving, and Grim opens for him. Isn’t that sweet? They go from soft to hard, pressing tongue to tongue and rutting against each other.
“Let’s go back to Lightlark,” Oro insists. “Let’s go and make something of this.”
“Alright.” Grim says, drawing him back for just one more kiss.
--
Grim knew of Oro’s friends, both from Isla’s sleeping mumbles and the years themselves. They jumped when he and Oro came back to the castle. The woman, Enya, brandished something or other towards them but Oro only waved it away.
“I’ll tell you later,” Oro promised, then promptly swept Grim up in his arms. It was impressive and Grim laughed in surprise, clinging to him.
It was all very romantic, carrying him over the threshold of the king’s room. Laying him down on the bed, peeling the clothes off each other— romantic. They had each other and barely even thought of Isla, though she had been the reason this came to fruition.
It didn’t matter if she came back, Grim thought, rocking and his necklace hitting against him. It didn’t matter at all.