Having gotten it out in the air, it's suddenly terrible, awkward and strange, to be so vulnerable. He tries to shake it off, almost literally, with a convulsive, full-body shiver, but it's no use. There's no way out, except through.
"A criminal from White Gryphon," He says, at last, not quite able to look at Viktor, and not sure why. It's humiliating, embarrassing, as if he were plucked naked and put before an audience, "Someone I'd met before, someone we'd caught, and then exiled. We don't execute people, above my objections, we just— we sent him into the wilderness, presumably to die. But of course he came back."
He falls silent, ears back, and feathers slicked-down with distress. There's the strange need, yet again, to justify himself: that he wasn't weak, wasn't unwary, to have been caught by such a hideous little worm of a man, and yet... And yet he had been caught, hadn't he? Inexcusable arrogance.
"Of course, there's always the chance for a daring escape, but— it'd been days, and I was in a bad way. In a way, we're neither of us all that far from death," He manages it then, to look up, and see what Viktor is making of all this, to meet his eyes, "What rankles most was, we had the chance to stop him, and we chose not to. But here... I can at least make sure we're not— that it's safe. That you're safe. Even if that does mean disappointing you."
Viktor's heart twists with the news that Skan could be days away from death in his own world. Some deep inner part of him has the urge to cry out, to lunge forward and hold onto Skan, as if to pull him back from the brink of death.
No, that can't- that can't-
He doesn't cry out. He doesn't grab Skandranon. But his expression does taint with a pre-emptive grief. It seems to travel through the rest of his body, too; sagging his posture, deflating him.
"I..." He struggles to stay on the topic. Now he's just thinking about how unbearable it would be to lose Skan. "You never told me that."
He looks into his glass, this time pouring sadness into it with his gaze. When he continues, it's quiet.
"Jax can come back, just as your criminal did... Do you not fear he will hold ire for you when he does? Or for me, knowing that you did it on my behalf?"
"I've... been trying not to think about it, ever since I woke up here," He admits, shamefacedly, "I haven't told anyone. I've just been... blustering. Avoiding the subject."
Avoiding himself.
Skan sighs, wings heavy alongside his heart. Viktor is no less cheered, and he comes at last to sit by him, his broad shoulder within Viktor's reach and the stone cool and grounding under his elbows. The whole business is a rotten mess: living, and dying, and being brought here. Vengeance was a sour meal. But he can't help any of it, and there's no fighting death itself, was there? Only that which killed you.
"No, I'm not afraid," Skan replies, quietly, and a little ashamed at his own vehemence. It wasn't exactly an honorable path to take, after all, "My initial reaction to him was from the gut, but I've thought about it a great deal since. If my family is here now, then for as long as I'm alive, then I'll defend it to the hilt, no matter what it takes."
Reason be damned, his reputation be damned. He's lost everything else, and is running out of things to lose: it was no time for timidity, here at the end of the road. He refused to lose Viktor too— and he can't bear even the thought of it, without bending to preen at Viktor's hair, to seek the physical closeness that might provide some measure of relief, and comfort.
"I'm no monster: so long as he minds himself, neither will I be any threat to him; I made my line very clear. But the next one might come as Percival did: pointlessly bloodthirsty, with allies and weapons we can't predict. I'm finished with playing games with the safety of those I care about."
Avoiding the subject. As you are wont to do, Viktor thinks. Skan would rather talk about anything under the sun than admit there was ever a time he was vulnerable.
Skan sits next to him, preens his hair. Viktor sighs, closes his eyes. Skan must feel that his revenge adequately scared Jax off from any retaliation, but Viktor isn't so sure. Skan must be committed to doing something worse if Jax retaliates, which is also unsettling. Nonetheless, he allows himself to be selfishly comforted by the closeness and the oath to protect family.
He leans against the Gryphon's side a little.
"I appreciate your desire to protect and defend me. I do not know where I would be, had you and Gadriel not stuck up for me. Likely hiding away from everyone for weeks." Which, in his condition, would be a very bad idea. "And I admit that I felt substantial relief as I watched you carry him off, knowing he would not be in the audience as I performed, nor around to bother me at the event otherwise. But then I felt incredible guilt for being relieved that a man was about to die, and that I did not try to stop you at any point."
"I think most would say that that's a good sign, reacting that way," He mutters, a little resentfully. He had meant what he said about not going after Jax, unless the little twerp started something, but even posthumously he still had the ability to rouse anger, "The first one is always the hardest, they say."
If they're lucky, children grow up believing that the world has some fundamental fairness in it, even if things aren't fair to them, personally. Then you see how it is, and it's terrible. But Skan was created to fight, brought up in a time of war, and of a fighter's temperament, besides. He doesn't even remember the first time he killed.
"I wouldn't waste the sentiment on him, though. He wouldn't have felt for you, had your positions been reversed. And really, he'll be fine in a few days— it isn't as if I truly ended him."
"That is true. Had our positions been reversed, he likely would have watched and laughed," Viktor mutters bitterly. The thought does make him feel less guilty, though.
"He is not worth thinking about or discussing further, so let us endeavour not to do so again unless it is truly necessary."
In other words: Jax is a waste of oxygen, in all ways. There are better things Viktor's limited lung capacity can be used for, such as expressing his love for Skan, for example. He leans more against the Gryphon, allowing himself to finally relax some.
He allows for silence and breathes for some long, stretching moments, reflecting on what's been said already. His mind returns to Skan's declaration that he protects his family, no matter what. That is the take home message, here.
"You are my family too," he admits quietly. "Well... Actually, the word I had begun to associate with you, and with Xander as well, is partner."
He takes a moment to try to fathom how to explain that word's meaning to someone else.
"Jayce and I were partners. Brothers, colleagues, friends... But more than that, we were dedicated to the same ambitions. We fuelled each other's successes, and picked each other up after failures. With Jayce, things were possible that I could have never done alone, and vice versa. We saved one another. He was the most important person in my life, and while no one can replace him... I have come to think of you and Xander in a similar way. Of course, each of these partnerships is fully unique, but they all mean a great deal to me, in ways I can never fully quantify or even put into words properly."
He looks away, feeling oddly wistful.
"I can only hope that... That I am not burdensome to you, and that I have helped you even half as much as you have helped me."
For a few blinking moments, Skandranon has no idea what to say to that. The word, partner rings in his heart like battle-cry, like a repressed keen, and he flushes to the nares to be so flattered. Despite his bluster, Skan never quite knows how to face with this sort of real, genuine praise.
"If ever you are a burden, my friend," Skan replies, eventually, feeling as if his voice is as thick as beeswax in his throat, "You are one I have chosen and will choose again, and that is a privilege to carry. Urtho made my back strong and my wings broad for a reason, and it's the whole point of family to share burdens as well as joys. Isn't it?"
He spreads the wing on Viktor's side, draping it over his head and shoulders, and the back of his chair, like a brotherly buffet, the bracing pressure of solidarity. We're in this together, you and I. For better, worse, and all else in between.
"It is." That is exactly how he feels about the word partner. Sharing burdens and joys of life, holding onto one another through trials and tribulations.
It means a lot, that Skan doesn't act like what he said was preposterous, like Viktor could never be burdensome. He knows his illness burdens more than just himself. But Skan feels that the weight of it is something he is able and willing to carry, and that any difficulties that arise from their friendship are worth it. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Skan, petting his feathers. He thinks back even earlier, to Skan talking about the torture and death.
"I don't want to lose you. If you disappeared, I..." Well, he doesn't know what he would do, but he doesn't want to sound quite so helpless. Of course, he'd assess if Skan had left his gem, et cetera, but that's not what he means. "What if you are forced home for good? What if I am?" They know by now that it is not their choice, not unless they explicitly request to stay permanently.
"What if all my feathers fall out? What if Heaven's Bow turns upside down? What if the moon is made of cheese?" Skan rebuts, flat and droll and unrelenting as ever, "The future is something neither of us can fully control, no matter what we do. All one can do is meet the wind where it blows, and try to rise above it."
And if that meant ignoring the past a little, well... Good. Who needs nightmares, anyways? They're a waste of good sleep.
"Everyone dies someday, ke'chara," Skan reminds him, not ungently, "It's twice-over now that I shouldn't even be alive to have today, here and now. I'm not afraid. But I won't leave you a-purpose, you do know that? It isn't home without you."
Viktor huffs, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
"I believe what I proposed was far more likely than any of those things, given how often it happens to Visitors here, but I suppose you have a point."
Fretting is useless when the future is out of your hands.
"I know." Even when Skan wasn't thinking straight and was terrified by what he thought was an immediate threat to their lives, he didn't leave Viktor behind. Still, he is wistful from thinking of all the ways they could be separated against their wishes.
"Have... Have you thought about... The option to stay here permanently? I did not want to bring it up to you, because I would never suggest that you not go back home to your children, but if your chance of survival there is so low... Perhaps it is worth considering?"
Skan sighs and cocks his head back, the feathers along his neck and shoulders ruffling and then settling back down again in a Gryphonic gesture of uncertainty. Forever was a long time, and what did permanence mean in this context? Forever a Visitor, unable to truly die? Forever here, in soul as well as body? How long was forever— would he grow old here, and die, and... then revive again?
"I have considered it," He says finally, almost more to the ceiling than to Viktor, "But in the end, it's too unknown. And who knows what they even mean by permanently, hm? I wish you could see my home, and all we've built together. They would love you there."
Of that, Skan is certain; Amberdrake would love Viktor, and Winterhart, and they would all welcome him as another part of the family, heart and hearth, body and soul. For a minute or two, Skandranon is caught up in the image of that proposed future... and then he lets it go. Alas, it is impossible. But it would have been sweet.
"One day, when I really do die, I want to see my father again, and fly with the spirits of all the gryphons who came before me. Until then, I want to live, and I want to fly with you, and our friends here. Lucky me, I get to have both!"
For that minute or two that Skan's head is in the clouds dreaming, Viktor is sinking. Somehow, the inevitability of one day living without his best friend is harder to stomach than the certainty of his own death. He feels his heart break a little, but he will respect Skandranon's decision.
"I understand," he says quietly.
He spends few long, silent, somber moments leaning into Skan's side. Feeling his warmth, staring at the floor.
"I'd like to go to bed," he murmurs. He's unsure if Skan would like him to sleep down in the lair tonight, or if he's set for his own bed, so he leaves the request in the air for his friend to decide.
For a few moments there is silence. The sun is set, the night air cool and cooling, and Skan silently brings his wing a bit more forward, cloak-like, to guard against it. Viktor is so slight, after all, and it is good to keep him close.
Skandranon has flown so close with death, for all these years, and though it is something to fight with beak and claw, fought to the utter end, it is still a familiar friend. It has lost much of its horror. But he knows: it is one thing to face one's own end bravely, and another to consider the same for someone you love.
So, he tilts his weight ever-so-slightly into Viktor's seeking touch, and says nothing. There is no argument that can truly counter the inevitability of the eternal.
"It has been a long day," He agrees, when Viktor finally speaks, "Would you like to stay, or would you prefer to go up?"
There was much to think on, and Skan knew that Viktor often preferred privacy for his brooding moods.
So it's up to him, then. Viktor contemplates this. He's not exceedingly pleased with Skan for a variety of reasons tonight, and he'd usually prefer the space to sort out his thoughts. But... The talk of death and returning to their worlds has made salient how short their time together is destined to be. He should absorb every moment he has with Skan, like he didn't do with Jayce before he was brought here. He regrets that, now.
"I'll stay."
The day has been long, and he was tense with nerves for a good portion of it, so his muscles are more sore and tired than usual. He rises from the chair with difficulty and hobbles with Skan over to one of the big cushions.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Viktor looks at Skan with growing concern as he breathes like that and paces. Just what is going on here? Why is Skan so upset?
That statement leaves Viktor's jaw agape, staring up at Skan in horror and confusion.
"What?"
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Having gotten it out in the air, it's suddenly terrible, awkward and strange, to be so vulnerable. He tries to shake it off, almost literally, with a convulsive, full-body shiver, but it's no use. There's no way out, except through.
"A criminal from White Gryphon," He says, at last, not quite able to look at Viktor, and not sure why. It's humiliating, embarrassing, as if he were plucked naked and put before an audience, "Someone I'd met before, someone we'd caught, and then exiled. We don't execute people, above my objections, we just— we sent him into the wilderness, presumably to die. But of course he came back."
He falls silent, ears back, and feathers slicked-down with distress. There's the strange need, yet again, to justify himself: that he wasn't weak, wasn't unwary, to have been caught by such a hideous little worm of a man, and yet... And yet he had been caught, hadn't he? Inexcusable arrogance.
"Of course, there's always the chance for a daring escape, but— it'd been days, and I was in a bad way. In a way, we're neither of us all that far from death," He manages it then, to look up, and see what Viktor is making of all this, to meet his eyes, "What rankles most was, we had the chance to stop him, and we chose not to. But here... I can at least make sure we're not— that it's safe. That you're safe. Even if that does mean disappointing you."
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No, that can't- that can't-
He doesn't cry out. He doesn't grab Skandranon. But his expression does taint with a pre-emptive grief. It seems to travel through the rest of his body, too; sagging his posture, deflating him.
"I..." He struggles to stay on the topic. Now he's just thinking about how unbearable it would be to lose Skan. "You never told me that."
He looks into his glass, this time pouring sadness into it with his gaze. When he continues, it's quiet.
"Jax can come back, just as your criminal did... Do you not fear he will hold ire for you when he does? Or for me, knowing that you did it on my behalf?"
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Avoiding himself.
Skan sighs, wings heavy alongside his heart. Viktor is no less cheered, and he comes at last to sit by him, his broad shoulder within Viktor's reach and the stone cool and grounding under his elbows. The whole business is a rotten mess: living, and dying, and being brought here. Vengeance was a sour meal. But he can't help any of it, and there's no fighting death itself, was there? Only that which killed you.
"No, I'm not afraid," Skan replies, quietly, and a little ashamed at his own vehemence. It wasn't exactly an honorable path to take, after all, "My initial reaction to him was from the gut, but I've thought about it a great deal since. If my family is here now, then for as long as I'm alive, then I'll defend it to the hilt, no matter what it takes."
Reason be damned, his reputation be damned. He's lost everything else, and is running out of things to lose: it was no time for timidity, here at the end of the road. He refused to lose Viktor too— and he can't bear even the thought of it, without bending to preen at Viktor's hair, to seek the physical closeness that might provide some measure of relief, and comfort.
"I'm no monster: so long as he minds himself, neither will I be any threat to him; I made my line very clear. But the next one might come as Percival did: pointlessly bloodthirsty, with allies and weapons we can't predict. I'm finished with playing games with the safety of those I care about."
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Skan sits next to him, preens his hair. Viktor sighs, closes his eyes. Skan must feel that his revenge adequately scared Jax off from any retaliation, but Viktor isn't so sure. Skan must be committed to doing something worse if Jax retaliates, which is also unsettling. Nonetheless, he allows himself to be selfishly comforted by the closeness and the oath to protect family.
He leans against the Gryphon's side a little.
"I appreciate your desire to protect and defend me. I do not know where I would be, had you and Gadriel not stuck up for me. Likely hiding away from everyone for weeks." Which, in his condition, would be a very bad idea. "And I admit that I felt substantial relief as I watched you carry him off, knowing he would not be in the audience as I performed, nor around to bother me at the event otherwise. But then I felt incredible guilt for being relieved that a man was about to die, and that I did not try to stop you at any point."
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If they're lucky, children grow up believing that the world has some fundamental fairness in it, even if things aren't fair to them, personally. Then you see how it is, and it's terrible. But Skan was created to fight, brought up in a time of war, and of a fighter's temperament, besides. He doesn't even remember the first time he killed.
"I wouldn't waste the sentiment on him, though. He wouldn't have felt for you, had your positions been reversed. And really, he'll be fine in a few days— it isn't as if I truly ended him."
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"He is not worth thinking about or discussing further, so let us endeavour not to do so again unless it is truly necessary."
In other words: Jax is a waste of oxygen, in all ways. There are better things Viktor's limited lung capacity can be used for, such as expressing his love for Skan, for example. He leans more against the Gryphon, allowing himself to finally relax some.
He allows for silence and breathes for some long, stretching moments, reflecting on what's been said already. His mind returns to Skan's declaration that he protects his family, no matter what. That is the take home message, here.
"You are my family too," he admits quietly. "Well... Actually, the word I had begun to associate with you, and with Xander as well, is partner."
He takes a moment to try to fathom how to explain that word's meaning to someone else.
"Jayce and I were partners. Brothers, colleagues, friends... But more than that, we were dedicated to the same ambitions. We fuelled each other's successes, and picked each other up after failures. With Jayce, things were possible that I could have never done alone, and vice versa. We saved one another. He was the most important person in my life, and while no one can replace him... I have come to think of you and Xander in a similar way. Of course, each of these partnerships is fully unique, but they all mean a great deal to me, in ways I can never fully quantify or even put into words properly."
He looks away, feeling oddly wistful.
"I can only hope that... That I am not burdensome to you, and that I have helped you even half as much as you have helped me."
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"If ever you are a burden, my friend," Skan replies, eventually, feeling as if his voice is as thick as beeswax in his throat, "You are one I have chosen and will choose again, and that is a privilege to carry. Urtho made my back strong and my wings broad for a reason, and it's the whole point of family to share burdens as well as joys. Isn't it?"
He spreads the wing on Viktor's side, draping it over his head and shoulders, and the back of his chair, like a brotherly buffet, the bracing pressure of solidarity. We're in this together, you and I. For better, worse, and all else in between.
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It means a lot, that Skan doesn't act like what he said was preposterous, like Viktor could never be burdensome. He knows his illness burdens more than just himself. But Skan feels that the weight of it is something he is able and willing to carry, and that any difficulties that arise from their friendship are worth it. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Skan, petting his feathers. He thinks back even earlier, to Skan talking about the torture and death.
"I don't want to lose you. If you disappeared, I..." Well, he doesn't know what he would do, but he doesn't want to sound quite so helpless. Of course, he'd assess if Skan had left his gem, et cetera, but that's not what he means. "What if you are forced home for good? What if I am?" They know by now that it is not their choice, not unless they explicitly request to stay permanently.
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And if that meant ignoring the past a little, well... Good. Who needs nightmares, anyways? They're a waste of good sleep.
"Everyone dies someday, ke'chara," Skan reminds him, not ungently, "It's twice-over now that I shouldn't even be alive to have today, here and now. I'm not afraid. But I won't leave you a-purpose, you do know that? It isn't home without you."
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"I believe what I proposed was far more likely than any of those things, given how often it happens to Visitors here, but I suppose you have a point."
Fretting is useless when the future is out of your hands.
"I know." Even when Skan wasn't thinking straight and was terrified by what he thought was an immediate threat to their lives, he didn't leave Viktor behind. Still, he is wistful from thinking of all the ways they could be separated against their wishes.
"Have... Have you thought about... The option to stay here permanently? I did not want to bring it up to you, because I would never suggest that you not go back home to your children, but if your chance of survival there is so low... Perhaps it is worth considering?"
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"I have considered it," He says finally, almost more to the ceiling than to Viktor, "But in the end, it's too unknown. And who knows what they even mean by permanently, hm? I wish you could see my home, and all we've built together. They would love you there."
Of that, Skan is certain; Amberdrake would love Viktor, and Winterhart, and they would all welcome him as another part of the family, heart and hearth, body and soul. For a minute or two, Skandranon is caught up in the image of that proposed future... and then he lets it go. Alas, it is impossible. But it would have been sweet.
"One day, when I really do die, I want to see my father again, and fly with the spirits of all the gryphons who came before me. Until then, I want to live, and I want to fly with you, and our friends here. Lucky me, I get to have both!"
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For that minute or two that Skan's head is in the clouds dreaming, Viktor is sinking. Somehow, the inevitability of one day living without his best friend is harder to stomach than the certainty of his own death. He feels his heart break a little, but he will respect Skandranon's decision.
"I understand," he says quietly.
He spends few long, silent, somber moments leaning into Skan's side. Feeling his warmth, staring at the floor.
"I'd like to go to bed," he murmurs. He's unsure if Skan would like him to sleep down in the lair tonight, or if he's set for his own bed, so he leaves the request in the air for his friend to decide.
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Skandranon has flown so close with death, for all these years, and though it is something to fight with beak and claw, fought to the utter end, it is still a familiar friend. It has lost much of its horror. But he knows: it is one thing to face one's own end bravely, and another to consider the same for someone you love.
So, he tilts his weight ever-so-slightly into Viktor's seeking touch, and says nothing. There is no argument that can truly counter the inevitability of the eternal.
"It has been a long day," He agrees, when Viktor finally speaks, "Would you like to stay, or would you prefer to go up?"
There was much to think on, and Skan knew that Viktor often preferred privacy for his brooding moods.
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"I'll stay."
The day has been long, and he was tense with nerves for a good portion of it, so his muscles are more sore and tired than usual. He rises from the chair with difficulty and hobbles with Skan over to one of the big cushions.