An Ocean of Lies (AFOS II)

Chapter 25: Alaric

Alaric sat on the bed, watching as Jo and Dante sat face to face near the revenant's desk. She looked tired, her hair messy, but her focus and that glistening drop of sweat falling off— he shook his head, briskly. He had to look after her, not look at her. It wasn't the time. But the couldn't help it. He admired her resilience, it wasn't like his girl to give up when things got tough: they'd be there all night, perhaps, Dante said so, but she seemed unfazed. She'd deal with it. He sighed, longingly. She would've made a wonderful knight, maybe not an Onturian, but one of the King's Knights, maybe. Someone who could make their own decisions, she wasn't cut out to be someone's puppet. But maybe he wasn't either, after all. It was hard to get used to all that freedom, but he'd get to it, eventually. Probably.

He bit his cheeks. The pain settled in again, his body was mutating once more. Good. It was good to feel something other than guilt. She didn't have to be there, if something happened to her, wouldn't it be all his fault? Not her grandmother, as much as she loved to repeat, but his. She loved him, so she'd decided to come with, and he would know: he would've done the same, in a heartbeat. He would've followed her to the underworld itself, if needed; well, he kind of had, hadn't he? He bit his cheeks harder. It had been her decision, as much as staying in the Faradian Forest had been his own back in the day. He got it. He didn't resent her, so maybe she didn't resent him back, right? He hoped. Creators, why did he have to overthink everything? Gerard teased him all the time "Alaric, your brain will turn into coal and your face will be stuck in that furrowed expression forever if you keep at it. Live a little, the world is not going to end if you decide to have a little fun." For him, he'd let it go. Gerard would've scolded him for not being present for her, for wasting precious time on mental ramblings that led absolutely nowhere instead of just enjoying what they had.

The Onturian Knight in him still felt he didn't deserve to be happy like that.

A few hours passed. His mind felt tired, but his body remained alert. His Onturian powers were slowly rolling in, and lucky for him, at that moment in particular, the coveted ability of going on with very little sleep, or no sleep at all, deigned to show its face. Dante didn't seem to have any trouble, being a revenant and all, but as the sun came up Jo struggled to even hold her head up. She clearly needed some rest, get her strength back, the old way, by taking a nap, snuggled up under a pile of cozy blankets. She was strong-minded, but she wasn't invincible, and it hurt to see her suffer like that. Sleep deprivation hurt the body, didn't it? It would make everything worse anyway. He coughed, trying to get the revenant's attention.

"No, is it morning already?" the revenant held her by one of her shoulders, made a little gesture in front of her eyes with his free hand. "We're done, for now, you did well, kiddo. You've earned your rest, I'm confident you won't sink us, hmm, at least for the time being. Make sure to eat something before you get some shut-eye, heh? Something sweet, to keep your blood all spiced up and, well, running," Jo wrinkled her nose. Alaric hid a tiny smile. She hated sweets, but Dante had no way of knowing.

"I can keep up, I've almost got it," she yawned. "I can keep it— I can..." she yawned again. The revenant chuckled. "But maybe I could use some sleep, definitely a bath. I guess a small break won't hurt me," she stood up.

"And food, don't forget some food or you'll sink us in your sleep, kid," Dante put his legs up in the chair she'd been sitting on.

That was it, then. Finally a break. He hugged her briefly before she entered the bathroom, she looked eager to go inside. Maybe he could read a book while she took a bath, Creators knew Dante had plenty of them, just not the ones he cared about. He'd kill to get his hands on a history book, maybe something about folklore. There was truth in such stories, if one read between the lines they could prove to be more accurate than any official history book; they felt like home, like sneaking into Gerard's office to read under his desk for hours snacking on a platter of sugar cookies, a gift from one of the cooks.