Archive of Our Own ^beta

The bonfires are lit as the sun goes down, when the sky is more blue than red, and the singing starts when the flames are leaping high. It's a joyful, festival atmosphere; a lot of the crew are in attendance to see how things turn out now that they've helped make this possible. The plague that threatened the village is gone now, between the healing magic they offered to the villagers and the hard work they did tracking down the monsters contaminating the river.

Gran watches from the front of the crowd, eyes wide, as the dancers ring the fire. Even this far away he can feel the warmth on his face. The dancers don't seem to care, leaping and spinning around the blaze, laughing, daring each other to get closer and closer to the fire itself.

A different warmth appears behind Gran, and he looks back to see Shiva standing there, watching the fire with a small, pleased smile. "The children of men rejoice in their blessings," he says, glancing down at Gran. "This is good."

"We couldn't have done it without you," Gran says.

A shout from the crowd makes him turn back to the fire. One of the dancers has just run through its center, laughing, gasping, skin glistening with sweat. Another follows suit, quick and light on her feet, not giving the flames time to catch her. The music grows louder, drums and song and a wild flute.

Shiva slips out from behind Gran and steps forward. He must have left his armor behind on the Grandcypher, and now sheds his outer robe before the fire. The dancers pause, waiting for him, and then the flames seem to bow toward him in welcome. He takes one more step, two—

And then leaps into the heart of the fire, not springing out again but starting to dance there, barefoot on the coals with the flames rising around him on all sides. The firelight gleams on his jewelry. His hair flies out behind him as he turns. His hands form graceful shapes in the air that Gran would swear must have meanings, though he can't read them. The crowd, after a moment's stunned silence, starts to cheer.

They love you, Gran thinks. The worship you told me about, this is it. His heart feels warm and light—it was Shiva's understanding of the plague that helped them find the source, his holy fire that burned out the monster nest, and this is the best possible reward.

Not to mention it's just beautiful to watch. There's this feeling of joy in Shiva's dance, this strength and energy in his movements. Earlier, in battle, he wielded fire as a force of destruction, but here he's showing the way that it's passion, too. Sparks fly up into the night sky from the flourish of his hands, and flames lick harmlessly at his legs.

Gran doesn't even realize he's walked out of the crowd toward the fire until he sees the dancers looking at him. He stops. He should back up, get out of the way, this isn't his party, but he looks up and Shiva's eyes meet his and he doesn't want to retreat from this.

Shiva extends a hand. Gran's breath catches in his throat. This is dangerous, for a mortal, but he's the captain of the Grandcypher and the equal of an Eternal and he's on a journey to the far end of the sky. He takes Shiva's hand.

Shiva pulls him into the fire. The flames leap and dance around them like excited dogs, and it's warm but not burning, and the light shining in Shiva's eyes is so beautiful. "Rejoice with me, son of man, for the fire has purified."

Gran nods, smiling. The steps of Shiva's dance are unfamiliar but he follows the music, remembering the lessons Anthuria and Gayne taught him, and he finds that he knows how to move. The crowd cheers, clapping out a rhythm, as Gran basks in Shiva's blessing and dances with him in the fire. The music and the flame share a rhythm, pushing them toward each other and then away, making Gran's heart leap.

And when the steps of the dance push them close again, Gran leans in, lets one of Shiva's arms slip around his waist while another pushes his hair back from his forehead. He looks up into Shiva's face, the play of light and shadow on those handsome features, and says the first thing that comes to mind: "You're so beautiful."

"I'm glad to have joined you on this journey, child of man," Shiva says. He leans down in the quiet moment when the drums have fallen silent and presses his lips to Gran's.

His lips are soft and warm, and his mouth tastes like hot chilis and lotus blossoms both at once, and heat flushes Gran's skin from head to toe. They kiss until the drums start up again, a slowly rising crescendo to invite the next dance. Gran pulls back.

"I'm glad too."