Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun was setting, the last hints of it just barely lying over the horizon. Their group of companions - somewhere between allies and friends - had been sitting around a communal fire, but only the embers remained now. Similarly, only Corsica and Rosana were still outside. Corsica repaired a chestplate, while Rosana simply sat, hands folded on her lap, lost in thought.

Corsica looked over at her, curious, and without moving away from her work, said, “Do you still pray?”

Rosana paused, not sure how to answer. “Not often,” she said, honestly. “I’m not praying right now, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I was wondering how much of that was for show.”

She bristled at that. “I believe in people, in the church, in the community we’ve built and maintained. I don’t quite know how I feel about gods right now.”

“I will try not to take offense at that.”

Rosana frowned. “You’re not…”

“Only technically.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “It feels like I had finally figured the world out, and then the last two years happened, and I’m back to feeling lost again.”

Corsica sighed. “I think you have the world more figured out than you believe. You are certainly a source of strength for me.”

“I am?”

“Of course you are.” Corsica finally set down her chestplate and moved to sit next to Rosana. “I will forever envy your ability to lead with kindness and emotion. I know that my type of leadership requires a cold and careful hand, but it is reassuring to know that the people have someone to look to who can fill a room with warmth.”

“Thank you,” Rosana said, smiling a little to herself. “And you know that includes you too, right?”

Now it was Corsica’s turn to look confused, the bandages above her eyes pressing together.

“If you ever need help or advice or,” Rosana blushed here, “a source of warmth, I’m here for you.”

“Oh.” Corsica’s eyes flicked over her, examining close, then she reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thank you. You should get some rest, now.”

“So should you.”

“I’m keeping watch.”

Rosana placed her other hand on top of Corsica’s. “We have the wall, and the star stuff. You don’t need to keep watch anymore.”

“Rosana.” She turned her head, looking up into Corsica’s eyes. “I am a general at heart. You will never be able to convince me not to keep watch.” The remaining light of the fire glinted over her smirking eyes.

“Oh? Never?” Rosana teased, taking the six inches separating their faces and turning them into two.

“Never.” Corsica took her hand that was not clasped between Rosana’s and placed it delicately on her shoulder, her thumb brushing lightly over Rosana’s collarbone. Her breath hitched at the touch, fueling her with confidence. She leaned upwards, and Corsica bent to meet her kiss. She had expected Corsica to be cold, but maybe since it was so much colder outside, there was a small warmth in her touch that pulled Rosana in further. Her hand dipped into her jacket, clutching the collar of Corsica’s button up underneath. She felt Corsica smile against her lips.

“Let me try this again,” Rosana breathed, pulling away only slightly. “Corsica, you should get some rest.”

“And you as well.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Corsica lifted her hand, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I think it is.”

“Well, you don’t have to sound so surprised now.”

Corsica huffed a laugh. “Forgive me, it’s been a while since I had a girl over.”

Rosana giggled too. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

Severea, the first wolf, embodiment of the sea, creator of peoples and animals, she who blows the wind in our sails so that we may trade our work, she who weaves our world together, hear my prayer.

Oh, please, hear my prayer.

I ask you for guidance in this time. I am… I am lost. I am tired.

There was a time when I thought that god, singular, was so close to us, watching over us. Then the sun was gone and I thought surely the gods had abandoned us. Now I live somewhere in between, a place which is only minimally reassuring and incredibly precarious.

I know I have devoted much of my life to the worship of Samothes. But the image of you arriving with your Grand Tour will never leave my mind. That night, I returned to my tent, and I held my son close, and I cried. There had been two gods standing in front of me, and they weren’t just standing, they were working, and they were working in the same way I was working. You led a Grand Tour, I led a group of refugees. For the first time in my life, I understood how a god felt.

I am not so self-important as to assume you remember meeting me that day, but the image of you, draped in shimmering blue, your hair floating in the non-existent breeze, as you swing gracefully off your horse to come down to earth and shake my hand…

Meeting you has stuck with me because they day I met you is the day I learned I was holy. You stitch the world back together and I stitch shirts back together. I know those look different on the outside, but you and I understand why they feel the same.

So I come to you, I pray to you, not to ask what you would have me do. I know what I have to do. I ask for guidance on how to keep doing it. The winter has been so long, Severea. I feel as though I have been mending forever, and yet nothing has changed at all.

I am tired. I am so, so tired. I cannot fathom doing this for three hundred years. Please, I pray to you, grant me your strength, so I may continue my work.

Blessed be the sun, the sea, the moons, the sky, and above all, the people.

“You are holy, Rosana,” Severea whispers to her that night. “You are right, you are holy.”

She shifts her body, wrapping tighter around Rosana. Rosana wraps her hand around her neck, pulling them into a kiss. Her lips are impossibly soft, and she doesn’t want to break away from their kiss but then she twitches the two fingers inside her and she’s moaning her name.

“Severea,” she breathes, “the first wolf…” She struggles to concentrate, to remember all of the goddess’ titles, but she cuts her off with a laugh.

“I’m worshipping you tonight,” she says, letting her other hand trail across her breasts. “Let’s see…” She adds a third finger, and Rosana moans low into her hand. “Rosana, stitcher of shirts, provider of love, she who turns the spring into medicine.” Severea presses a kiss to her after each title: to her lips, her thigh, her breast. “She who looks so good spread out in front of me.” Rosana moans again and grabs Severea by the hair, who lets her guide her head down, tongue circling her clit while she thrusts inside of her.

It doesn’t take long for the dual sensations to send her up to the edge. “Severea, Severea, I’m going to--”

“You have to wait,” Severea says, slowing her fingers. “I’ve learned that if I want to give advice, I need to do it before you come, or you won’t remember it.”

Rosana covers her face with her hand. “Oh my god, okay, sure. Give me your advice.”

“Hey, you called on me. You asked me to grant you my strength, but you already have that, dear.” She leans in close, her voice the softest it has been all night. “What you really need is to remember that I did not lead the Grand Tour alone. Teach someone else how to sew. Let others lead the evening prayers. You do not have to do this by yourself.” Her fingers begin to pick up speed again. “I, for one, am here, and it is so much more enjoyable when we do things together, isn’t it?”

She grins, and Rosana is hurtling towards that peak again. She motions for her to come closer and Severea does, pressing her soft curves into her side. Rosana grabs her and kisses her and she comes like that, moaning into Severea’s mouth, spilling onto Severea’s fingers.

Her kisses become fainter as she drifts either back into a dream or back to reality, she’s not quite sure. But Rosana does sleep, that night, the best she’s slept in a long time.