Archive of Our Own

Wriothesley let out a choked cry of agony. It was low, guttural and wracked by sobs.

He desperately clung on to the rapidly cooling body of the Chief Justice of Fontaine, his sunken form barely resembling the strong, righteous being that had watched over Fontaine for the past four hundred years.

Wriothesley blinked the overflowing tears away, keeping his eyes trained on Neuvillete's face even as sobs wrecked his body, unable to bear missing even a single moment.

He searched for signs of life, anything that signalled Neuvillette was still there with him, somehow, that he would be able to once again hear that voice of his. The voice that calmly and distantly presided over trials. The same voice that would mellow out and warm in a way only Wriothesley could tell, whenever they exchanged words in private.

He clung to his form until he could no longer, nothing but water flowing out from his arms, mingling with the rainwater on the ground from the storm wracking through Fontaine only minutes earlier.

Even as all of Neuvillette had disappeared, Wriothesley continued to stare at his empty arms, the clear sunny sky above him making him feel ever colder.