Chapter Text
Even almost-tragedies served a purpose, Robin had said, and that was why they were only almost tragedies.
It was strange for Lon'qu to wear the garb of an assassin. It had been near a fortnight before he'd been able to put on his clothes without accidentally nicking himself on his bladed gloves, and still longer before he became accustomed to using a bow. But, having had the unique experience of learning each vein of near-instant death firsthand, he was suited enough for the job. He would adjust, as he always had.
But he was well aware that it was more difficult for Libra, who had to get used to to the diaphanous silks and flowing capes of a sorcerer. Though weighty flaps of brocade guarded his legs, there were still slits up the side to allow for movement, and only pants of gauze underneath them. And still was it more difficult to forget holding an axe in one hand and a stave in the other, and remember what it was like to leach the blood of your enemies with a well-placed Nosferatu or Waste them completely.
In a war where being anything less than your absolute best could lead to everyone around you dying, Robin had postulated that Libra make use of what was very obviously an inborn talent for Dark Magic. Lon'qu wished they hadn't put it that way-- when they framed the consequences like that, how could Libra had said no? Some nights, Libra would sit up in their tent with a jar of suspiciously-red ink and painstakingly scribe out the pages to his own tomes, terrible ones that would plant parasites on enemies, slowly draining them of life no mater how far they ran from the caster, or complicated tracking hexes for finding obscured foes, each taking seven circles apiece to draw out.
And Libra slept worse. Lon'qu knew, because he'd never slept well himself, and when it was Libra writhing on their cot and mumbling terrified nonsense, it was impossible to not notice. It hurt too much to watch, though, and Lon'qu often shook him awake, his hand jostling a firm shoulder and a grunt of, "Libra. Libra."
Libra gasped, clutching his hand to his chest as he fell sharply into the world of the waking, "I'm--"
"In our tent," Lon'qu informed him, squeezing his shoulder to ground him. "Two days' march from the Dragon's Table."
"... right," Libra exhaled, practically sagging against the quilts. "I... I'm sorry. I must have woken you. Perhaps I should move out--"
"No," Lon'qu answered. He wouldn't pretend to know what Libra dreamed of, what the nightmares were about, but after Libra had been here to offer his comfort when Lon'qu had his own nightmares, to let him move himself out would be cruel. "I wasn't asleep. Couldn't sleep. Stay."
"I... all right," Libra buried his face in the pillow. He was quiet for a while, and Lon'qu thought he'd fallen back asleep until he sighed, "It's worse here than it was where we camped yesterday."
"What is?" Lon'qu's eyes shifted to him.
"The concentration of darkness," Libra replied with a discomfited shudder. "And the urge to take all of it, and make its power mine. That's how it gets into your mind, controls you. Stronger men than I have fallen prey to its wiles. I... I might've been better suited to resist, had I just stopped at the one blood spell, but for near a fortnight I've been... well, you know."
"Gods," Lon'qu clenched his jaw, sitting up and preparing to get out of bed. "We have to stop--"
Libra gripped Lon'qu's wrist, then, "Don't go; it's nothing. Surely both Tharja and Henry are suffering a dozen times worse-- at least I hadn't used it for some years... in between."
"So... it builds up," Lon'qu did not relax completely, but calmed down enough to at least sit beside Libra.
"Sort of," Libra admitted. "Really, it's... always there. Once you've felt the call of the darkness, it never completely goes away. For some, the darkness' lure is a dream, where they deal vengeance and destruction over everything that ever hurt them. For others, it's a nightmare, where you feel too-heady with power, grow unable to control yourself even as you kill everything you love."
Lon'qu shifted a bit closer, trying to offer what little comfort he could, "Which is it for you?"
"I only wish it were a nightmare," Libra turned his head and smiled with empty humor. "In truth... it's both."
"Then let it be both," Lon'qu tangled his fingers in Libra's. "Don't make it something it isn't."
"Oh, Lon'qu," Libra choked out a laugh that turned into a sob. "Lon'qu, please, I need you to do something for me."
"Name it," he said simply, unquestioning.
"Can you... can you pray for me?" Libra whispered hoarsely.
"I left the gods a long time ago," Lon'qu admitted, and Libra understood, because hadn't he done the same in the end? Then-- "But I'll try."
"You're certain?" Libra stroked his cheek softly.
"... for you? Yes," Lon'qu nodded. He left for a moment, struck up the match to light Libra's prayer candle (unused for so many nights now), and settled in on his knees, his forehead pressed to the floor. The prayer was quiet, but the night was quieter and Libra could hear him as he murmured, "Our Lady in the realm of spirits, hallowed be thy name. Let those who speak for you never speak in vain, let Your Voice carry Your Heart to those of the Earth, and carry them from pain, whether it be to the mortal arms of they we love or to Your arms in death, blessed be those who walk in Naga's name."
Libra looked at him in surprise, "You know Alm's Prayer."
Lon'qu did not look up, but replied regardless, "It's shorter than Marth's."
Libra's eyes crinkled, "It's a little funny. I never knew you were religious."
"I... used to be," Lon'qu answered, sitting and unsticking the joints of his knees. They cracked faintly as he blew out the light. "That prayer has no meaning to me anymore."
Libra wished he could say he didn't understand. But as he remembered the stave shattering over this prayer and Lon'qu's blood, all he could reply was, "I know."
"Let me--" Lon'qu started, cutting himself off as he thought better of it. Hesitation, and then beginning again, "Let me pray to something I really believe in."
Libra looked at him, his eyes very soft, "You don't have to ask me if you wish to pray."
"Then," and here Lon'qu coughed awkwardly. "Blessed be those who walk in Libra's name, those healed by hands bearing staves, those protected by hands bearing axes or tomes or whatever the hell Robin wants you to use now."
"What are you--" Libra sat up with a start. "Lon'qu, that's sacrilegious."
"You said I could pray," Lon'qu shifted, shutting his eyes and resolutely ignoring the flushing heat of his own cheeks. "And, um, you're something I believe in."
"I... suppose I did," Libra answered hesitantly, and then decisively, "And I can't very well tell you what to pray to."
"Then blessed be the ones who you inspire, whose strengths are taught by your example. Blessed be the ones who inspire you, who give you strength in battle," Lon'qu mumbled quickly, his ears aflame with mortification. "Blessed be the children carrying dolls made by your hand. Blessed be those who die by the same hand, because the heart behind it is full of mercy. Blessed be those you've guarded from injury, but double-blessed are those who block the blows meant for you. Blessed am I, to draw strength from your support. And, I guess, blessed are the gods, who don't deserve your praise but receive it anyways."
"... oh," Libra said, blush spreading up to his ears, and wondering what he'd done to deserve this kind of praise. There were, perhaps, more words in this prayer than Lon'qu had ever spoken at once in his entire life.
"Blessed are those who walk in Libra's name," Lon'qu chose his words carefully. "Because it's the only name I believe in."
"No," whispered Libra, the feeling in his chest driving him to pull Lon'qu in and seal the prayer with a kiss. And, though it was surely sacrilege, "Blessed am I to walk in Lon'qu's name."
"Gods, Libra," Lon'qu shuddered, saying the words like they were one and the same to him. Finding himself unable to say anything that hadn't already been said, he brought Libra in for another kiss, open-mouthed and desperate.
Libra answered by twining his legs around Lon'qu's waist, falling back and pulling them against the bedroll together. Their teeth clicked together awkwardly, but they cared enough only to separate briefly and come back again on less-painful terms. Lon'qu's newfound pseudo-religious fervor drove him to kiss more roughly, more sloppily than usual, his teeth snagging on Libra's lip in a way that Libra shouldn't have found so arousing, but still filled him with a desire that pooled in his groin. He felt faintly guilty, having become so turned-on by something so close to worship, but the way Lon'qu pulled away only to nip at his jaw was just too good.
"H-hey," Lon'qu breathed, still red-faced and nervous. "Can I... can I try something?"
A ripple of arousal spread down Libra's spine as he watched Lon'qu's pinkened, debauched lips form the words, and the only way he could reply was, "Yes."
"Tell me if it hurts," Lon'qu hesitated for a second, shy even as his fingers toyed with the ties of Libra's sleeping pants.
"Of course," Libra breathed, feeling rather light-headed from the way Lon'qu eyed his crotch. Rather like a man who thirsted watching water drawn from a well.
Lon'qu's deft fingers undid his pants very rapidly after that, slowly guiding them over his hips and down his thighs with an entirely too-thorough hand. The pressure of his lover's fingers, even through a layer of cloth, made Libra bite his lip. Lon'qu watched Libra's cock bob out of the fabric and, subconsciously, his tongue flicked out against his lip.
It was unexpected, to say the least, when Lon'qu pressed his smooth cheek against the side of Libra's cock, inhaling the scent of it, gently cradling the other side with a coarse palm. He turned his face and let his moistened lips trail against the side of it, the jutting varicose vein and flushed skin, before returning and trailing the same pathway with the flat of his tongue. Libra watched, unable to look away, as Lon'qu tongued the openings of his looped skin, soothing the healed-over parting, before moving on to lay his mouth wholly over the glans.
Libra gasped, his hips jerking up in a small, aborted motion. Lon'qu took this as an encouragement, sucking more firmly, hollowing his cheeks out the way he remembered Libra had done once. His reward was a soft sigh and lithe fingers brushing through his hair, and so he began to shift the hand that encircled the rest of Libra's shaft, stroking and pressing against the skin with a delicate touch.
Careful to leave his teeth out of it, Lon'qu gradually lowered his head until he could almost feel the tip encroaching on his gag reflex. There was no room for his hand, then, as it slid to the jut of Libra's hip. He began to bob his head, slowly and then, as his confidence progressed, at a faster pace. Libra (ever courteous of the neighboring tents) muffled his moans in his hand, thighs clenching as he could feel the release begin to encroach on him.
"Lon'qu, I'm going to--" he began, but Lon'qu looked up at him with a gaze that was downright smoldering and he lost it completely, then, spilling into his mouth with a keening groan. His cock valiantly gave another twitch as Lon'qu pulled away, cum shining at his lips, and (by the gods) swallowed.
And then Lon'qu shoved his hand down his own sleepwear, jerking himself urgently as the taste of Libra's orgasm still lingered in his mouth-- once, twice-- before groaning and releasing into his own hand. He drew it out, still embarrassed, and wiped it against what looked like one of Libra's spare handkerchiefs.
"Gods," Libra groaned, his thighs still trembling from the intensity of it all.
"Libra," Lon'qu answered in the same reverent tone of voice before he, too, fell against their bedroll.
They laid together, then, curled up against one another in the sheets, Lon'qu's gangly figure spooning around Libra's back, the hand that had been the end of thousands of foes slung warmly over Libra's waist. Once upon a time, he thought, he could never be this close to another human being, much less willingly. But now, as hope and wonder and adoration built up pressure in his chest, it was far easier to believe-- if only because Lon'qu was something so easy to believe in.
"Lon'qu," he whispered, half-asleep and fuzzily post-coital. "I think it hurts."
"What hurts?" Lon'qu's forehead leaned comfortingly into the back of Libra's neck, where he could feel the gesture in his heart.
Libra smiled, "I think I might be so happy that it hurts."
Bonus Scene
"Libra, darling, what on Earth do you require all those tinctures for?" Maribelle frowned as she entered Anna's in-camp shop, where the merchant was very happily selling him a rather large case of vulneraries (buy-in-bulk discount, as she liked to say). She shut her fan and narrowed her eyes, "You haven't been concealing an injury, have you? Because I would be more than happy to share my own stock, and offer stave therapy besides."
"Thank you for your concern, Maribelle, but I am all right," Libra smiled pleasantly, but Maribelle's sharp eyes caught how he limped and buckled as he walked.
"Nonsense!" she scoffed, guiding him into a chair (Anna's shout of "you break it, you buy it" going mostly ignored). "You will at least let me examine you, so my mind can be put at ease?"
"I--" Libra started, but there was no arguing with her. She had already lifted his foot with the end of her parasol and was assessing it for sprains. "If you insist."
Then she, with a scowl, set the foot down and tapped his knee, as if checking for his reflex. Libra yelped in pain, narrowly missing kicking her in the leg, and Maribelle shouted, "Aha! Please do kindly roll up your pant legs for me, dear."
"Really, it's--" Libra cringed, not exactly eager to allow someone the sight of his mangled knees. One look from her, though, had him sighing and obeying anyways.
"Good heavens! How did you attain these?" Maribelle scolded, carefully avoiding the cracked, coagulating scabs, the bloodied seams where they met whitened flesh. "Libra, darling, this will not heal after something so simple as slapping on a vulnerary! Anna, be a dear and add a skein of bandages to my tab, if you would?"
"Only the best for one of my best customers," Anna winked, tossing her a tied roll. Maribelle caught it without even looking in her direction.
"I simply cannot imagine how you could have possibly injured yourself this way," the noblewoman tisked, even as she cracked the lid off a vulnerary with her teeth and poured the salve over the wounds. "At the battle on the skiffs with the Plegians? When we were fighting Risen in Ylisse's mountains? Or even at the hot springs three weeks ago-- the stones were terribly slippery."
"I, um," Libra stuttered, turning red as he tried to keep his dignity. He offered weakly, in a half-truth nobody believed, "Praying?"
Anna smothered her laughter, "In bed, you mean."
"Hmmm, yes," Maribelle answered thoughtfully, re-thinking Libra's limp. She tied the bandages with a careful series of knots, "In any case, change the bandages and re-apply your salves twice a day, take care to see me if you start bleeding again, and I mean from any part of your body-- and do try to keep off of these for a few weeks. Don't let that callous brute of a man you call your boyfriend pressure you into anything rough-- honestly, the way Feroxi men behave, you'd think they were complete savages."
Libra blushed furiously, too embarrassed to correct any of her assumptions, "I... of course."
Perhaps, just this once, he would follow her advice-- if only just to save himself from absolute mortification the next time he thought it would be safe to restock on lubricant.