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}
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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?"
no subject
"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!"
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.