Work Text:
“Well, shit.”
Nicolò nods his agreement with his daemon, panting with exertion from the fight. He carefully tucks his knife back in his belt, careless of the blood getting on his clothes. On impulse, he kneels down next to the man he’d just killed and relieves him of his sword, tucking that away as well.
“You said we would avoid any encounters with guards if we entered through the eastern warehouse,” Aurelio says. He uses his hooked beak to set some of his feathers back in order, messed as they are from being attacked by one of the guards’ horned viper daemon.
“I said we would avoid more than if we entered through the village square,” Nicolò clarifies.
“Perhaps Yusuf also encountered more than we anticipated,” Aurelio says.
Yusuf, who is the reason they find themselves sneaking into this captured village a second time. Yusuf, whose job had been to clear a path for the escaped villagers who were imprisoned after refusing to leave their homes. Yusuf, who missed their rendezvous at the well after recklessly starting some loud fight with the Christian guards.
Yusuf, whose otter daemon practically dragged themself alone back to their hideout several hours later, begging Nicolò to help free Yusuf before they hurt him any further.
It didn’t take long for Yusuf or Nicolò to realise that they could be separated from their daemons by longer distances than should even be conceivable. Yet another strange side effect of this immunity to death. But while being separated from Aurelio doesn’t cause them pain or lessen their connection, it still makes his skin crawl, makes him want to tuck his beloved shearwater-shaped soul under his shirt and never let him go. From their conversations, lately more amicable and less prone to outbursts of argument, he knows Yusuf feels the same about any distance from Noor.
For Noor to have crawled so far from Yusuf suggested that Yusuf was in much more trouble in captivity than Nicolò predicted.
(It also suggested a substantial amount of trust that Yusuf must have placed in him, whether consciously or not. Nicolò has tried very hard not to ruminate on that too much.)
“Here, let me help,” Noor offers now, their soft paws pulling what looks like a snake fang from the joint of Aurelio’s wing. As always, Nicolò shudders a little at the echoed feeling of Yusuf’s daemon touching his. He’s given up trying to understand why their souls are so interested in each other, when he and Yusuf have taken months to forge any kind of harmony between them as individuals. It is as mysterious as this unnatural immortality that binds them together.
“We need to keep moving,” Nicolò presses, picking up his torch from the stone floor. “Noor, are we getting close?”
“Yes,” Noor replies. Lethargically, they climb up on a crate to get a look at the hallway. “I think I escaped through here. Follow me.”
Nicolò is encouraged that Noor is awake enough to direct them, as they spent much of the day sleeping fitfully, watched over by Aurelio as he and Nicolò hastily made a plan that would minimise casualties and get them out unnoticed. A plan that has gone off … reasonably well, he supposes, risking a quick glance back at the three bodies on the floor. (And thinking back to the one he’d knocked out at the gates, hoping it would buy them enough time to sneak in.) More guards than he would have expected for a single prisoner. Yusuf must have really made a nuisance of himself. Nicolò hopes he is alright.
Blessedly, they encounter no more guards on their way down through the lower level of the building. Nicolò has only been here in the dark, but by the light of the torch he carries, he guesses it was a communal market or gathering place, with a fortified building at the back. He picks the lock to its front door and the three of them press on.
Noor seems to regain some energy as they feel Yusuf nearby. After another turn, they rush to the end of the hallway, and press themselves against the wooden door to the cellar as Nicolò fumbles with the lock.
“Yusuf,” they hiss through the door. “Yusuf, we are coming!”
“Agh,” Nicolò growls as his lockpick breaks. “Fuck this.”
With the pommel of his sword, he smashes the lock, and the door swings open.
His travel companion (though friend is the word that comes to mind when Nicolò thinks of how comfortably Noor worked alongside him the last couple days) is pale, leaning heavily against a wall, eyes closed. Nicolò’s voice rouses him a little, and Nicolò breathes a sigh of relief. He knew, logically, that Yusuf was as untouchable by death as he, but seeing his brow crease and eyes open settles him.
“Yusuf!” cries Noor, padding towards him.
There is a lecture poised on Nicolò’s tongue, one he has been waiting to deliver to Yusuf once they found him, about how his recklessness had nearly gotten him captured and discovered.
All of his words and thoughts freeze as Aurelio dives past Noor, crashing into Yusuf’s side and settling there.
Nicolò has never touched another person’s daemon. Nicolò has never considered touching another person’s daemon. Even in the heat of battle, baking under the sun outside the walls of Jerusalem, Nicolò kept his sword and crossbow drawn on the men on the battlefield, as Aurelio gracefully dove at their daemons to startle and disarm them.
(Nicolò has experienced someone else touching his daemon, once. A Christian knight, bloodied and crazed, had grabbed Aurelio and tore him away from the macaque daemon of an enemy soldier, intent on killing the daemon himself. Nicolò remembers aiming a crossbow bolt at the soldier’s head, pure instinct, but not whether it hit. It felt like someone was choking him, like ice-cold knives had been plunged into his chest. The fighting around him dissolved. It was nightmarish. No matter how hard he tried, his body couldn’t move fast enough through the space keeping him and Aurelio apart.
It can’t have been more than five seconds before Aurelio was back in his arms, but it was enough to send Nicolò stumbling behind a half-collapsed wall. He vomited up the little he’d had to eat in the last few days.
“Are you okay?” he demanded, shaking fingers digging into Aurelio’s feathers.
“Never, ever do that again,” Aurelio said, shivering in his arms. Nicolò rose to his feet and rejoined the siege shortly thereafter, but Aurelio did not move from his shoulder for at least an hour.)
Even as he and Yusuf tore each other down again and again, ever exhausted but never dying, Noor and Aurelio fought each other separately. Eventually, they realised the futility of this and withdrew, long before Yusuf and Nicolò called their own truce.
Since then, that truce has developed into … something. Something that has taken them from regular silent treatments to slowly learning the other’s preferred language, from sleeping in shifts to huddling for warmth when the nights require, their daemons curled together at their feet. He may have entertained passing thoughts of how soft Noor’s fur looked, or how comfortable Yusuf always seemed with them wrapped around his shoulders, but those were just thoughts. Fantasies and mind tricks, when he knows the pain of having another’s hands on his soul, claws reaching deep inside him and tearing through muscle and sinew on the way out.
The heat of Yusuf’s chest against Aurelio’s feathers feels nothing like that. It doesn’t feel like being choked or buried—it feels like being struck by lightning, like seeing every colour clearly for the first time. Nicolò’s whole body goes warm. He’s hyper-aware of every inch of contact between Yusuf and Aurelio, but it doesn’t feel cloying. It feels right. It feels like Nicolò should never be so far from Yusuf again.
Noor finally reaches Yusuf, and curls up by his side. Nicolò desperately restrains himself from joining them all on the floor, wanting that warmth up close.
“Yusuf, it’s alright,” Noor says. “Nicolò and Aurelio are here to rescue you.”
Yusuf, awake but still clearly disoriented, lifts a hand and strokes it down one of Aurelio’s feathers.
Aurelio preens. Nicolò feels like he’s on fucking fire, and he never wants it to stop.
“Nico? You’re here. Are you alright?” Yusuf croaks.
Nicolò’s face warms. “I should be asking you that.” He tries to sound indignant, but his voice shakes.
“I’ve had worse,” Yusuf says. The corner of his lips twitch. “At least these Franks only managed to kill me the once.”
Nicolò, busy trying to remind himself why he absolutely doesn’t want to kiss and bite those lips for hours, fails to think of a good comeback. Aurelio, usually the more talkative of the pair of them, offers no help beyond burrowing further into Yusuf’s armpit. Nicolò catches himself inhaling deeply, comforted (and a little aroused) by the familiar smell of Yusuf, filling his senses.
“I’m sorry for leaving,” Noor says. “I didn’t know if Nicolò would be able to find us without help.”
“His tracking skills do need some work,” Yusuf agrees. He strokes Aurelio’s wing again, ever so gently, and Nicolò’s heart skips several beats.
After a few measured breaths, trying to clear his head, Nicolò finds his voice. “I’m sorry, would you care to be rescued, or would you like to insult me more?”
“We should get out of here before more guards follow the commotion,” Noor agrees.
“Thank you, Noor,” Nicolò says, glad at least one being in this room can be sensible. He looks to Yusuf. “Can you walk?”
“I think so. I—oh,” Yusuf says. He looks down at Aurelio, at the hand he has lightly resting on his tail. If possible, the colour drains from Yusuf’s face even more in the firelight. He snatches his hand away like it’s been burned.
Nicolò tries not to feel too much like he’s been kicked in the knees as Aurelio takes a couple steps away.
Yusuf’s eyes seem clearer now – with horror. “Nicolò, I didn’t mean—I’m so s—”
“We need to move,” Nicolò snaps. “The guards here are undisciplined but our entrance was not silent. I would rather leave before we have company.”
Yusuf is still staring at him, eyes wide. Nicolò holds his gaze. Their language barrier has been greatly diminished in the last couple months, but they are well-versed in communicating non-verbally. There will be time, he tries to convey, to talk about this later.
A shaky nod. “Help me up.”
Nicolò tries not to thrill too much at the contact of their hands as he pulls Yusuf to his feet.
After a few unsteady wobbles, Yusuf seems to get his bearings. Noor settles around his neck, their favourite position to keep a lookout. Aurelio, instead of perching on Nicolò’s shoulder, remains on the desk by Yusuf’s side. Nicolò is going to have words for his soul once they get out of here.
Yusuf squints, looking around the room for a moment, before his eyes land on Nicolò. “Why is your arm covered in blood?”
Nicolò shrugs. “I encountered more guards than I planned for on my way here. I improvised.”
“Is it your blood, or …?”
“Probably some of both,” Nicolò says. Then realises what Yusuf is actually asking. “I’m fine.”
“Good. And better now that I know you are not against deviations to the plan when necessary.”
Nicolò raises an eyebrow. “Bold words from someone whose deviations landed him in a cellar for a full day and night.”
“Had I not cut off their access to the armoury, none of the captive villagers would have been able to escape unscathed,” Yusuf says. “Your plan was clean but it missed a critical step.”
“Except you failed to do that critical step, or any of the others I suggested, and now look where we are! No villagers freed, and you captured!”
“Yusuf is right, Nicolò,” says Aurelio. “Their armoury was bigger than we thought, we all risked being caught had Yusuf not tried to block off the guards.”
“Yusuf’s ri—” Nicolò sputters. “Whose side are you on?”
“Hey!” Noor calls, making a chittering sound above all their voices. “Even if Yusuf did obstruct them for a while, that was a whole day ago. The longer we wait to get out of here, the higher our chances of encountering armed resistance rise.”
Yusuf sinks back onto the table a little. His face is drawn, and he looks in need of food and water, but his eyes are clear enough. “Of course. Nicolò, do you have a spare blade?”
Nicolò pulls the spare short sword from his belt, dirty but well-made. Goosebumps travel up his arm as their hands brush.
“I lifted this from one of the guards on the way here.” He smirks. “Perhaps my improvisation was not so needless after all.”
“Yes, yes, you are a master of foresight and an expert tactician.”
“This cellar is in a building in the middle of a larger complex. There should be a route out through the gardens, however, so I hope you will not need the sword.”
“And the other prisoners? They were being held in tents on the periphery of the village, right?”
Nicolò blinks. “You can’t be serious. It was dangerous enough for me to break you out of here, let alone a dozen others. It would be chaos.”
“It would be a good way to cover our escape, make sure we aren’t followed,” Aurelio offers.
Nicolò scowls at him.
“Yusuf, please, you need rest,” Noor says. “I could barely feel you while you were in here.”
“But we are together now,” Yusuf says, nuzzling into their fur. “And I am feeling much better. We have already come this far.”
“It is dangerous, and we have already been reckless,” Nicolò retorts. “Let us at least regroup at a safe distance, and begin this plan anew.”
“Nicolò, please.” Yusuf puts a hand over his. Even with Aurelio back to standing on Nicolò’s shoulder, Nicolò feels that lightning again at the contact. He wonders if any contact with Yusuf will ever feel normal again, after this. “I can’t do this without you.”
Yusuf’s eyes are bloodshot, but still profoundly beautiful, Nicolò thinks.
“Fine,” Nicolò concedes. God help them all. Aurelio wiggles excitedly on his shoulder. “Do you have a plan?”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with one for me to ignore in short order,” Yusuf replies with a grin, stepping out of the cellar, ready to take on the world.
Nicolò sighs. Fate, it seems, has irrevocably entwined his soul with that of a fool, and he is helpless to follow him into the night.