𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 - Hawk & Stri

Orpheus nodded, looking around. That made sense to him – if you wanted to see the sky, you needed to get up high enough to see it. He looked around, eyes catching on a hill that was raised a little bit higher than the ground they were standing on. He gave a small smile, then lifted his hand to point it out to L. It was an option, at least, unless they found somewhere better to watch from. If there had been a town nearby… well, maybe it would have been easier to find the tallest building in town and stand on top of there, but... Orpheus had a feeling they were far from any civilization. And frankly, he didn’t want other people to ruin this for them. This was L’s moment, and by extension, Orpheus’. He wanted it to be perfect, especially because of how much time L had spent following Orpheus everywhere that he had wanted to go. Very few of Orpheus’ travels had been perfect, but if he could guarantee this one for L… he would do everything he could.
“If we don’t find somewhere perfect tonight,” he murmured, noting the way the sun seemed to set far earlier than it ever had when they’d been further South, “We’ll just have to try again tomorrow, and pretend that that’s the first time we ever see them. It can’t be too difficult, creating a second first time.”
Orpheus didn’t know L well enough to know for sure if he would go for that idea, but… he could hope. And it was really all he had to offer now that they were actually here.

Orpheus shot L a smile, beginning to move towards the hill he had pointed out. If he were honest with himself… it was nice, not worrying about avoiding people or wondering what to say if people asked questions. He had to forge a new backstory for himself every time he visited somewhere new, had to make sure dates lined up in case people asked about them… he liked it best when people just figured he was a stranger who didn’t want to talk about his past. That was true enough. He had been terrible at lying, before he’d been cursed. He figured he would have died a long time ago now if he hadn’t learned to be quick on his feet with a story. The truth didn’t seem possible, at best. At worst, it could be a death sentence. That wasn’t how Orpheus had ever wanted to live his life, but he couldn’t undo that.
Here, though, there was no need for an alibi. There was just hm and L and the sky. Orpheus wasn’t sure he wanted to ever leave, if that was what the world could be, if only for a while.
“I suppose it wouldn’t. But I was always taught to believe that your first time doing or seeing something is the time you remember most. A second first could be a good way to trick the brain into remembering that as the first time, too. Or maybe it’s just that the first time doing or seeing something momentous feels special. Sacred, almost.”
If Orpheus had any doubt that the gods still existed, his doubts were assuaged. He didn’t know which gods were here, but it didn’t feel very much like they were alone. It was comforting, in a way, to know that they still existed, even here. Even if they wouldn’t talk to him.
“Are you ready?” he asked, stopping right at the base of the hill. When they crested the top… there would be lights.

Orpheus knew L easily could have asked him to follow along in the shadows. He knew he could have been asked to be Érebos, to stay hidden and let L travel the world for himself. It would have been fair for their positions to be reversed, but that wasn’t the call L had made. L had chosen to let them travel together, and though he didn’t know L perfectly yet (part of him doubted he ever would), he was grateful for the chance to get to know him at all. L was wonderful. He was interesting, and though conversation was difficult and awkward at times, Orpheus knew he wouldn’t exchange the trip for the world. Getting to know people was one thing when you knew you could only stick around for a year or two before you had to leave. Sometimes Orpheus wished he had been a little bit older when he got cursed so people wouldn’t notice as quickly that he didn’t age, but that was beside the point. Getting to know L was different than anything else, because L actually had a chance of understanding him, understanding the things he had been through, because… well, he had been there for them. And he probably shared a lot of the same fears and regrets.
Standing at the base of this hill, following a few feet behind L… this was more than Orpheus had ever imagined, and he was more grateful than he could express to be allowed to share this moment with L. He did his best not to look before L did, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the other immortal’s back. He wanted to see his new friend’s (were they friends yet? Orpheus had always been too liberal with the term, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that even if they weren’t friends already, they were going to be) reaction to the lights. The one thing he had been waiting upwards of 400 years to see. It had to be worth it. Orpheus was going to make sure it was worth it.

Orpheus wasn’t sure he knew how to be a shadow. Then again, thinking of how L had done it for the past four hundred years… L hadn’t known how to be a shadow, either. He’d learned, over time. He’d learned how to be a shadow rather than a human being, and the thought that Orpheus had put him in that position… it hurt, even if L had told him that it wasn’t his fault for getting them both cursed. That nothing that had happened since was his fault. Orpheus knew that a lot of it was. If he had asked L where he wanted to go before now… would they have been here earlier? He pushed the thought away, keeping his eyes on L as they climbed up the hill. A small smile touched his lips as L broke into a run, but he didn’t follow. Let L have some time to enjoy it alone. Let him be the first to see it, because this was his trip. Orpheus was just there so that… well, why was he there? So L wouldn’t have to worry about him causing trouble? So that neither of them had to face eternity alone? Orpheus didn’t know the exact reason, but he figured it probably didn’t much matter. He was here. He was going to make the most of it.
Orpheus finally caught up to L, eyes widening as they caught sight of the sky. It was alive, so alive, beautiful… the lights painting the sky like nothing Orpheus had ever seen before. The sky wasn’t what caught Orpheus’ attention most, though. His gaze caught on L. On the way he watched the sky, the vulnerable look plastered all across his features. Yes, Orpheus decided, that was more amazing than the lights dancing across the sky. L, unarmed, present in a way Orpheus doubted he had been in four hundred years. He had been alive, on the way up. But he hadn’t been alive. Orpheus had begun to see glimpses of the man behind the shadow, but this was something else entirely. This was the version of L who had been allowed, if just for a moment, to cast the shadow aside completely. And Orpheus couldn’t look away.

Orpheus couldn’t imagine what it was like to become human again after so long living separated from it all. He didn’t know how it felt, didn’t know how to begin to understand. But watching L here, seeing him step out into a different kind of light… Orpheus thought he could catch just the barest glimpse of it. L, becoming the person he had left behind after so long. L, existing in this moment for himself instead of to follow someone else. The important thing about shadows was that they were always cast by something. Érebos had been Orpheus’ shadow, whether Orpheus had meant to cast it or not. Which meant that L, even after stepping out of the light, was still hidden from the sun. This L… the L in front of him, staring up at the sky with a mixture of wonder and disbelief… this L hadn’t been hidden by Orpheus. This was L, not the shadow, and Orpheus found he wanted to bask in the light that L himself cast.
And then when he looked at Orpheus… Orpheus watched as the person melted away, replaced just with the shadow. The shadow who was trying hard to be a person, but hadn’t managed it fully, not yet. Orpheus wanted to help him, wanted to be there for him until he saw that raw humanity again, but… it wasn’t his place. And if L ever showed him that again, it would be after he earned it, somehow.
“I had no expectations at all,” Orpheus murmured, gaze tilting up to regard the lights for a little bit longer, “But this still managed to crush every single one of them. It’s… it’s beautiful. You picked the perfect first place. I’m glad to be here.” I’m glad you got to be here. I saw. I saw what it did to you… and you deserve more of that. That’s called life, L. All thoughts he wished he could say. All thoughts he had to keep locked up tight.

Orpheus didn’t want a shadow. He wanted a friend, though he didn’t know if he would find that in L. He wanted… not to be alone. If that meant he had an arch nemesis it wouldn’t be ideal, but it would be… it would be better than nothing. But maybe he’d prefer to have a shadow than an enemy. He didn’t know. All he knew was that L wasn’t a shadow anymore, and he wasn’t going to ever ask him to be again. He wanted L to be a human, because he had seen a glimpse of the man he used to be. Or, perhaps, the man he might be, if he stayed in the light for long enough. All he had to do was make sure he didn’t scare L back to the shadows.
It was hard, terribly hard, to tear his gaze away from L. He wanted to watch him forever, wanted to see him looking at the sky, because if L was starving for humanity, for personhood, then Orpheus was starving for companionship. He was afraid to let himself have it, afraid to disrupt this, to hurt L somehow without meaning to. They had both been hurt enough by him, even if L somehow didn’t blame him for the curse. It had still happened because of him.
It surprised Orpheus, a little bit, that L was pleased by his presence. Perhaps he still expected him to hate him. He didn’t know… he shrugged, glancing up at the sky finally, the colors reflected in his hazel eyes.
“I’m… I’m honored to be sharing this moment with you,” Orpheus murmured after a long moment, something in his throat closing with the words. Sharing. That was something he hadn’t gotten a chance to do in a very, very long time. He had once dreamt of sharing his life with someone. That wasn’t possible anymore, but this… this came close.

In Orpheus’ mind, the gods had done a great many wonderful things. They had created sights Orpheus would never be able to get out of his head, they had given him music, they had formed his entire childhood. They were responsible for mountains, and rivers… the wine-dark sea, the clouds and the way the flowers bloomed every spring year, after year, after year. If Orpheus had died as he was supposed to, his legacy would still live on in the form of flowers. He wondered distantly if he would live long enough to see the flowers stop again. He hoped not, but he had to admit it was a possibility. But it did mean that for the past four hundred years, Hades and Persephone had remained in love with each other. It warmed Orpheus’ heart, that he had succeeded in that, even if he had failed in everything else.
That wasn’t the point. The point was that standing here, looking up at the sky, at the lights… Orpheus didn’t think his gods had anything to do with this. Maybe there were other gods that did. Maybe there were people here who would tell them their stories, who would explain which gods waved the colors across the sky like banners, like a parade that didn’t end. Victory. Peace. Orpheus had seen parades held to celebrate the end of a war, and in a way, this reminded him of that. More peaceful, though. He shook the thought away, giving a small smile as he glanced back at L. They had spent so long getting here, he didn’t want to make the moment go by too quickly. Quietly, Orpheus took a seat in the hard packed snow, bracing his hands against the ground as he stared up at the sky.
“The world is so much bigger than I once thought it to be,” Orpheus whispered after a long moment, unable to keep the awe out of his words.

It was colder than Orpheus had anticipated, though he had a feeling he would have made much more of a fuss about it if he had still been mortal. As it was, he knew he wasn’t likely to die from hypothermia, even if frostbite was an option. He had learned more about human health in the past four hundred years than he had ever expected to know. He didn’t know much about sickness (he hadn’t gotten so much as a cold since he had been cursed), but he had spent a great deal of time trying to learn how to deal with basic injuries in case he got hurt, at some point. The likelihood of that happening were greater now than they had been before, if only because he had several more lifetimes in which to get hurt. He figured it was probably best to be prepared beforehand, just in case. That, and he knew that if anything happened to L (assuming he found out in time), he wanted to be able to help. He wasn’t sure if the other immortal would accept his help, but he had always figured he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.
He didn’t mind the cold, though. He knew it wouldn’t kill him, and it was worth it to be able to see the sky like this. To see L seeing the sky like this. A parade was one analogy, but his mind kept supplying more and more and more, thousands of ways he could work these lights into his songs, ways to weave them through the music as seamlessly as they wove their way through the sky. If this hadn’t been L’s moment, L’s trip… he would have taken out the lyre and started to play, letting the feeling of the lights run through him and into the music. He would likely do that when they left… he tried to trap the feelings racing through his chest into a jar. He could open it later, use it to make music later.
“Here we are,” Orpheus echoed, voice low and soft. He wouldn’t have minded listening to L ramble, but he didn’t yet know him well enough to tell that he might want to. Instead, he let the silence envelope them both.

---
It had been a few days, and though Orpheus knew they were probably going to leave soon, he found he wasn’t sure he wanted to. L had been quiet, and while Orpheus didn’t hold it against him, it also meant he felt a little bit awkward telling the other immortal that he wouldn’t mind if they just stayed here for a while. How long was a while? For them, it was hard to tell. It could be a few days, but it could also be years. Orpheus didn’t want to leave until they were both absolutely ready to.
He had walked a few paces away from L, leaving him to watch as the lights lit up the sky once the sun dipped down low enough not to ruin the view. He hadn’t yet had the chance to play, but he thought he might as well tonight. He didn’t need the feeling he had persevered in its tiny glass jar locked in his heart. He would save that for later, for an emergency when things weren’t going well. The feelings hadn’t left him. In fact… they seemed to come back stronger every time he saw the lights.
He didn’t have to think in order to play. Lyre in hand, the music flowed out of him as though he were a well and it was a stream of water someone had drawn. The music was inexhaustible, though it was only pulled up to the surface in small streams. His eyes were wide, staring up at the sky as music filled the air, proud and mournful and hopeful and peaceful all at the same time.

Orpheus thought he understood why L was so quiet. This was everything he had wanted to see, everything Orpheus hadn’t even thought of doing for hundreds of years. When had L started wanting to see the Northern Lights? Had he given up on the idea at any point? Did he hope against hope that Orpheus would decide on a whim to go there, even after hundreds of years had passed? Orpheus didn’t think that L had been as much of a shadow as he seemed to be. He clearly had thoughts and desires, needs that probably hadn’t been met… a man who lived underground wasn’t a rock, so one who lived in the shadows wasn’t necessarily a shadow himself.
Orpheus could feel L approaching. A holdover, it seemed, from getting used to knowing where he was likely to be at any given moment. Érebos. Shadows didn’t have names. In giving L a name, even if it wasn’t his actual one, had he somehow managed to bring him a little further into the light? Orpheus allowed that thought to fall away, instead letting his attention focus back on the music.
The soft words he was singing died down as he heard L speak. That was unexpected, but not unwelcome. He gave a soft smile, letting the music decrescendo as he turned his head just enough to see L.
“It’s never been played before,” he responded softly. “It’s… less a composition as it is… I don’t know,” he admitted, giving a small shrug. “A moment in time, perhaps. A portrait, not of a person, but of a moment. A feeling.”

The lights didn’t mean as much to Orpheus as they did to L, but they meant a lot. It was like nothing he had ever seen. He wondered distantly if he would ever stop being surprised by what the world had to offer. If he would live long enough that eventually there would be nothing left to take his breath away. Being here… well, it had proven that if that did happen, it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. There was so much of the world they hadn’t seen. So much that they had wandered past on the way here that Orpheus had never even considered. He could see why L had wanted to come. He didn’t know why L had tolerated following him for so long when there were places like this he could have been visiting.
“A thought,” Orpheus echoed, glancing down from the lights and back up at L. “That’s a good word for it,” he considered, though it wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t sure there was a perfect word for it, at least not in Greek. Maybe he would find the perfect word as time went on.
Home. The thought made Orpheus sad for some reason. Home seemed… well, further away than he would have liked it to be.
“No, it’s not,” he agreed with a shake of his head. “But… the feeling is the closest I’ve gotten to home in a very long time.”

Orpheus glanced over at L, unaware of what his companion was thinking. Unaware that he was afraid of dropping the mask, of being someone that Orpheus was able to see as a person instead of just a shadow. Orpheus didn’t know L. He supposed L didn’t quite know him, either, but Orpheus had been more open on their walk than L had been, and L had been following Orpheus for four hundred years. Surely there were things he had picked up in that time that Orpheus wasn’t even aware of. If Orpheus wanted to know L, he had a lot of catching up to do. Fortunately for both of them, the one thing Orpheus had learned from being immortal was that patience paid off.
“It would be easier if what?” Orpheus asked distractedly, turning his gaze towards the sky again. He would stay here forever, if he could. He knew it was physically possible, but he also knew there was a lot to explore when they left. There were civilizations that were changing, things that were happening that neither of them were aware of. Time was passing, though it never felt like it did anymore. If they stayed here, how long would it take for them to stop being human? How long would they have before they could no longer remember what it was like to fear death? Of course, death could take them here, too, but it was much less likely where there were no other people, no risk of weapons being pointed their direction…
“Thank you for choosing somewhere peaceful,” Orpheus managed in a tiny voice, unable to express the magnitude of the emotion inside of him now that he had stopped playing. Feelings like that couldn’t be spoken, at least not in Orpheus’ experience. They had to be woven.

“I know I’ve changed,” Orpheus whispered after a long moment, not bringing his gaze down from the sky. “I don’t know if I could tell you exactly how, but I know I have. I know… if you were to bring me back and put me in the life I used to live, I don’t think I would know how to navigate it anymore. The world was so much smaller back then, and I never once thought of it as stifling. But maybe it was. Maybe… maybe I tried so hard to fix the world because I wasn’t sure of my place in it, because I wanted to make a difference beyond what I could in my tiny little town… I don’t know. I think I would still do a lot of what I chose to do all those years ago, but I wouldn’t be the same person. I would do the same things, but for very different reasons.” He let his voice trail off at the end as he took his gaze off the sky and cast it on L. “I don’t know if that’s a reason that home isn’t… home anymore. Maybe… home was a person for me. It always was. It was… it was Mister Hermes, at first, and then when I met Eurydice… she was home. And when she died… when she… left… there was nowhere for me to go home to. And it’s only gotten worse since then.” Would anyone ever be home again? There was only one option, and he was standing a few feet away. Orpheus didn’t dare let his thoughts slide further than that.
Orpheus didn’t know if L had ever had a home. He had to imagine that he had… he must have come from somewhere, even if Orpheus didn’t know all the details.
“I think it was,” he said instead, looking at the reflection of the lights on the snow. The snow was dancing, too, though not as nimbly. “Worth it, I mean.”

Orpheus felt a bit of a disconnect between himself and L. They were tied together by the curse Orpheus had gotten placed on both of them, but they were very different people, ultimately. Orpheus wanted to keep traveling with L, but there was so much he didn’t know about him… so much he was going to have to figure out if he wanted this to work. He didn’t know how hard he was allowed to press about L’s past, so he didn’t press at all. He didn’t know for how long L was going to worry about things being poisoned. He didn’t know what might make L laugh, and he didn’t know what scared him. All he knew was that the feeling of not being alone outweighed every bit of confusion and uncertainty he felt around L. He could only hope that the other immortal felt the same.
“Oh,” Orpheus murmured, eyes widened as L shared something that sounded deeply, deeply personal. “I’m… I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured, though he knew the words couldn’t come even close to fixing the gaping hole that was left when someone exited your life. He didn’t know who it was for L, and he didn’t know if he could make it better at all. “I can’t… make pain like that feel better. But… when I first heard of the lights, someone said that the people who live here think of the lights as the spirits of their ancestors. Maybe… maybe home is closer here than either of us think.” He let his eyes close, trying to feel the presence of his gods here. Nothing. He let his eyes close, trying to breathe in and out as calmly as he could.
“There’s no point in saving the good things,” Orpheus replied softly, brow arching as he dropped his thoughts and turned to glance at L. “Because then you start saving it and saving it and nothing ever feels good enough to use it for. Besides… we don’t know how long these are going to be here. It would be a shame to have missed them if they go away, eventually. Or if it gets crowded, here. People are on the move.”