Solo Log: Under the Wrong Stars

**Day 1 After The End, Madame Andromeda’s House**

Madame Andromeda opens the door, sees Cleone, and immediately yells behind her into the house at the top of her lungs. *“Nathan!”*

The sound of hurried movement, the sound of a flung-open door, and rapid footsteps as Nathan dashes into the foyer. He looks beyond Cleone at first - to the sky behind her - before his eyes settle on her, widening with shock before narrowing with tears.

“You’re alive,” he says hoarsely. “We thought–when the sky–the singing yesterday. Andi heard the knights had returned, but…”

Cleone barely registers Madame Andromeda closing the door behind her as she strides forward to close the gap between them, standing up on her toes and reaching upward to circle her arms around his shoulders and hold on tight. Nathan leans down in response and they stay like that for a long moment, pressing against each other as much as physically possible. Cleone feels wetness on her shoulder.

Eventually they have the presence of mind to start heading towards the study and Cleone can see Chatwood poking her head into the hallway from a different room, staring for a beat before ducking away. Cleone can be grateful later, when she has the emotional capacity for anything but exhausted relief.

Nathan’s study is a mess, notes and calculations scribbled in two different handwritings on papers laid out on the desk. Cleone knows enough by now to realize after a moment’s examination that Nathan and Chatwood have been trying to compare observations about the planes.

They sit down on a pair of chairs hastily pushed together, a haunted look in Nathan’s eyes as he clutches Cleone’s hands. “What happened?”

Cleone stares at him mutely for a moment, unable to even guess where to begin with that question. Nathan seems to catch on, and elaborates: “Yesterday. The sky. The Gyre.”

That’s still too much, and Cleone tries to find an anchor in the flood of everything to begin with. What she comes up with is: “I saw your cousin.”

Nathan jolts. “What?”

“Both of them, actually,” she adds airily. Right. Methia. Luc Jierre. That was an age ago, for all it was a number of days. “We’ve met…a lot of ghosts. Luc is glad you’re safe. Lya is still working for the Obscurati. *They* did this. They moved the planes, and…they must have made a mistake in the process, and now we’re in the Gyre.”

“Lya…” Nathan bows his head, grip tight on Cleone’s hand. “She’s better than this.”

“She believes in what she’s doing,” Cleone offers, though she doesn’t really feel like justifying Lya Jierre or anyone else. And speaking of Jierres - goodness, the truth behind Danor is something Nathan deserves to know too. “There is…so much I need to tell you. And I’m sorry I’ve been gone.” Nathan hasn’t said anything, but she knows that losing both his cousins has hit him hard. Her disappearance…she hadn’t wanted to do that to him.

“I know you were working.” Nathan leans into her side, a bit more shyly now that the rush of their reunion has faded, and she runs a hand through his hair reassuringly. “How much worse would it be without you and the other knights?”

That’s a good question, honestly. Right now it feels like they haven’t made much of a difference all told, but Cleone tries to run through the past few days to try and look at things objectively. “Well, Kasavarina might have been killed or captured by the Obscurati. The Dreaming might be at war still - yes, we were there, that’s another long story. Actually no, damn it, there wouldn’t even have been a war if not for our presence. Never mind that. Er…King Aodhan - *former* King Aodhan might have been killed by the Ob, again. Flint might be under Roland Stanfield’s control - would you believe he was Obscurati, too?”

In better circumstances, the sound Nathan makes might have been a laugh. “They’re everywhere. But it sounds like you’ve saved a lot of people.”

“Not enough.” She rests her head on his shoulder, and closes her eyes. “The Obscurati controls most of the world now. If we’re lucky, we’ll have contacted enough people to save a few more cities. But that’s it. And our world is still…”

A lightless daytime. Fires across the city. Restless fey titans. Stars turning and turning like gears in the night sky. Their continued existence is a net positive all told, probably, but it still feels insignificant compared to what they’ve failed to stop.

She feels Nathan shift, and there’s a light brush of lips on her forehead. “You saved all of Flint,” he murmurs, and the soft vibrations of his throat are soothing to her frayed nerves. “We all saw what happened. Don’t think that not being able to save an entire planet makes you any less amazing.”

And damn it, he’s so sincere it hurts. Cleone moves her head just enough to press a kiss into his neck, and she can feel him flush. “I-it’s true!”

She opens her eyes and moves up to kiss him again, this time on the lips. “And that’s why I love you.”

There’s a lot more to fill in, but for once they have a little bit of time for the first time since the one-day stop in Flint. Cleone tells him about Danor's history, the Dreaming, the change of crown and Nathan’s semi-official pardon. Nathan tells her about meeting Chatwood, their observations of the sky, Madame Andromeda's attempts to keep people's spirits up in the knights’ month-long absence.

“I didn’t want to be gone this long,” she murmurs to him guiltily. “I’m sorry it took me until now. I know we all gave everyone a scare.”

“We all knew you were up to something big.” Still, Nathan’s hand brushes up and down her arm, seeking the reassurance of contact. “And you came home in the end. That’s all I wanted.”

And from there they just take the time to catch up and enjoy each other’s presence, until the wrong stars become visible in the sky and Madame Andromeda knocks to summon them for dinner.

Eventually Cleone has to head back out, because Florette and Andrei von Recklinghausen are still camping out at her house and she most definitely does not have anything besides rice and tea back there. Madame Andromeda (“call me Andi, dear, you’re part of the family”) thrusts some of the leftovers into her hands once she mentions that, and Nathan escorts her out to find a carriage still taking riders after the end of the world.

“My squad will come by here tomorrow,” she warns him once they manage to find someone. “We have…a lot of questions, and you’re the best expert on planes we have.”

“I know.” Nathan frowns, and he looks as exhausted as she feels. “It’s for the best. I’ve got questions for all of you, myself. Will…will you be able to come early?”

Like when they came back from the convocation, Cleone thinks, though she leaves it unspoken. “I will. I'll see you again first thing in the morning.”

They embrace one last time, and Cleone gives Nathan one last kiss on the cheek before stepping away and into the carriage.

Cleone arrives home to a spotlessly cleaned house and Florette staring out the window, posture tight as a bowstring. Andrei is sitting on her living room sofa, absorbed in a book.

Her friend relaxes minutely when she sees Cleone come up beside her, but her eyes are blank. “You’ve been busy.” (And Cleone can hear, unspoken: *I’m glad you’re alive.*)

“Yeah.” Cleone sighs. “I don’t know if you’ve gone out” - Florette shakes her head grimly - “but it’s one thing after another.” She goes on to explain things for the second time today: the Ob, the planes, the Gyre, the changes in magic, the fires all over Flint. “And to top it all off, the fey titans are about to stir up some bullshit.”

"Like that…" Florette grimaces. "That thing that threw us out of the Dreaming?"

Cleone smiles ruefully. "Just one of four that seem to be rumbling about trouble. And the fifth is the one that trapped us there to begin with. "

Florette doesn't respond for a long minute. When she finally does, it's with resignation. "It's not safe to go back to Danor, is it." A beat. "Not that what's happening here isn't important. But…"

"I know." Cleone stares at the sky, and its ceaseless churning stars. Florette is solely loyal to Danor, and neither of them know what’s happening at home anymore. “Unfortunately, I don't think so. Especially not without backup." She remembers, hazily, her friends ushering Hoya-as-Oscan out of the hall in Mutravir. Her own dazed obedience. All of that, forced upon Lloyd and Charles and–

Well. Florette going out there on her own doesn’t seem viable, in any case.

She glances at Andrei, still reading on the couch after a brief side-eye, and tugs on Florette’s arm to lead her to the kitchen. Cleone grabs two bottles of whiskey from a cabinet (“No, I’m not drinking *that* much, one’s for a coworker tomorrow who’s had even worse a day than I did”) before sitting at the table and gesturing for Florette to follow. “I won’t force you to stay,” she murmurs. “Not that I could make you if I wanted. But I don’t think it’s safe for you to go back alone.”

Florette gives a humorless chuckle as she sits down next to Cleone. "I suppose this is a feeling you're familiar with."

*Do not return to Danor* has a place next to Aodhan's suggestion of war among Cleone’s worst memories. "Pretty much. It…” Her voice grows a bit hoarser, the grief never fully gone. “It was hard. Meeting Nathan helped, but I missed you and everyone else so much.”

“I missed you, too.” Florette slides an arm over her shoulder, which after another few seconds turns into a full-out embrace that Cleone gladly returns. They stay like that for a while, Florette only speaking up again once Cleone wills herself to separate. “One of these days I need to thank your Risuri friends, for being here when I wasn’t. And Nathan Jierre.”

Cleone can pick up the slight incredulity at Nathan’s name, and she laughs. “He’s sweet, I promise. You have more to worry about from my squad.”

Which isn't nothing, either. But they've at least tolerated Florette's continued presence, and at this point she's *pretty* sure the worst Florette could get for an honest thank-you would be a few sarcastic comments and a warning from Marcel-as-king.

Florette, meanwhile, only looks more tired, though she gives Cleone a weary smile. “Yeah, well, I’ve got practice talking to friends of yours who don’t like me anyway. Gauthier came to see me late autumn, and the way he looked at me he might think I murdered you personally.”

Several thoughts collide into each other in Cleone’s head, and she needs to take a second to untangle them. First of all: that’s right, Lloyd had mentioned Florette in his letter. Second: of course, Florette wouldn’t know about the smuggled letter. Third: it’s a tad on the nose after Methia, and the too-wry twist to Florette’s mouth indicates she seems to think so too.

“Lloyd doesn’t have close to half an understanding of what’s going on,” Cleone reminds her. “It’s better that way. But he, um…he does know I’m alive.” A beat, as she awkwardly fetches some cups for the whiskey. “Gatria has connections with the Family.” (Florette already knows this, obviously.) “I *may* have asked someone to smuggle a letter to him hinting that I was alive. I was…desperate.”

Desperate is an understatement, but Florette catches what she hasn’t managed to say out loud. Before last year Cleone would have steered miles clear of anything that might have the scent of the Family, too afraid it might lead her to something about Alastor she didn’t want to know. These days long association with Gatria has desensitized her, but actively asking them for a personal favor was a last resort in a way none of her squadmates understood. But Florette knows, and within seconds Cleone’s being squeezed in a tight hug.

“I’m tired,” Cleone confesses into her shoulder, because Florette and Nathan are maybe the only ones who won’t either take pity on her or tell her to suck it up and she didn’t want to scare Nathan off with this after disappearing for a month already. “I’m trying to tell myself it’s not all bad. Risur isn’t a bad place. Its relationship with the fey poses interesting challenges for development. I only need to hold this damn minister position for as long as Marcel needs me. But I’m tired of having to abandon everyone I love for the sake of the mission or the world. I’m tired of wondering how much more of me Risur will claim before the Obscurati officially brands me a traitor to Danor and I begin to forget what Gagneux even looks like.”

She’s getting Florette’s jacket wet with tears. It’s absolutely not good for the leather, but when she makes to pry herself away Florette holds on tight and she can’t bring herself to fight it. “Everything I was afraid of in Methia is coming true.” she mumbles. “And I still feel like I’m losing who I am.”

“If you lose yourself, I’ll remind you who you are.” Florette loosens her embrace, one of her hands finding one of Cleone’s and gripping it tightly - the same way she used to when Cleone had vague nightmares about past lives. “You are Cleone Weld. You picked your first name out of a book, and your surname offhand when signing up for a job. You came to Danor when you were five years old to study engineering. You met a girl studying medicine and trusted her even when she told you some impossible story about spywork. Your first date was with your class rival, but you were better friends. Your real first crush was your boss from the alchemicals company.”

Oh. “I, um, I didn’t know you knew about that.”

Florette lets go of the hug with her other arm to poke her cheek smugly. “You should have. You’d always get way too anxious about all those half-hour meetings with her, you know.” Cleone makes a face but doesn’t argue, and Florette continues. “You built a simulacrum as your capstone project and named him Floyd to embarrass your ex, and you loved him so much you somehow brought him to life. You have a drive to help the common people, because you found a home in Danor and wanted to give back to it. You reminded me why I took on the work I did, even when I saw and did things I might regret, because I knew who I wanted to protect. You love Danor, even after learning the truth about its history, and want to save our country even after it’s tried to kill you repeatedly.”

She takes Cleone’s free hand with hers, and brings their joined hands to rest on the table. “And none of that will change, no matter what some kid in a crown asks of you or what a puppet Sovereign might say.”

And Cleone doesn’t deserve Florette, she really doesn’t. “I–” She bows her head, unable to find her words, and Florette bumps their heads together affectionately.

“Don’t forget, Lady Weld,” she teases. “Not everyone is part goddess or chosen by a fey titan, but you aren’t alone either.” Florette’s jaw sets firm, and she gazes towards the door. “Maybe it’s not safe for me to go back to Danor alone right now. But I *will* return and free our country, and so will you. I’ll remind you of that as many times as I have to, and I’ll fight that brat king if he ever tries to keep you from going back when the time comes.”

Cleone finds the voice for a weak chuckle. “Marcel wouldn’t do that.”

Florette hums, not quite agreeing or disagreeing, and lets go of her hands to pick up one of the bottles of whiskey. “Come on, let’s open this up. We deserved this days ago.”

And that Cleone can agree with quite easily.