Author's Note: Just a whimsical one-shot based on a combination of my favourite game (Ico), and the rather stirring promo of how SotC started out ('Nico'). The latter can be found on YouTube if you're curious. Thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: (is suitably humble)

The Beginning

At first he thought it a mirage.

He had been slumped on the sand, his hand straying to the place that pained him most.

His bane.

His curse.

Gone.

How long he sat there, bloodying his fingers on the ruined stumps, he couldn't tell. But his thirst was a hot savage thing and eventually he reached for the prize he'd found nestled in the sand.

It broke open easily, the flesh pink and mouth watering.

He barely noticed.

She was a white sketch against the azure sky, feet scarcely marking the sand. He didn't know which was louder; the pounding of the surf or the wild thing trying to break out of his chest.

She drew closer, closer still until she was sat beside him. He could scent her under the tang of the fruit, a sweet, spice smell that was utterly her.

He did the only thing he could. He offered her the melon.

They sat in companionable silence, he a salt-stained, bloodied mess, she pale and pristine as the first time he saw her, a caged and songless bird. Oh, he knew it couldn't be true. But he wasn't ready to admit it. Not yet.

After a while she turned to him. How well he remembered her, down to the white flecks in her eyes. She smiled.

'Nico,' she said.

oOo

It was five sundowns before they found the settlement, a scatter of tents on the cusp of coast and land.

The fierce sun had wilted Yorda like spring flower, so he bartered his belt for a snatch of rough fabric and fashioned her a crude cloak. The remnants he wrapped about his head in a sort of cowl, concealing the bloody stubs which had begun to itch fiercely.

They made a strange pair, taller than the swarthy nomads and marked with a possessiveness that made folk wary. A huntsman foolish enough to walk between them would later remark how the boy had hunched, as though to charge him. It was then the rumours began to swarm.

They spent a miserable night shivering under the cloak, unable to secure a tent from their mistrusting neighbours.

By morning the mistrust had darkened to hostility, whispers to threats.

And so onward they fled, into flat and featureless terrain where little grew and what did was sparse and scrubby.

They crossed a northerly trail, pausing only to sleep and eat and scour the horizon for something other than wild horses and strange, waddling birds. His companion chased the birds at every opportunity, a sight so familiar he didn't know whether to laugh or weep.

Secretly, he mourned how the flowers were different from those of his homeland, how even the sky looked a different shade of blue.

He refused to remove his cowl, afraid of what was causing the maddening itch beneath. Once, he woke to find her hand poised above his bare head. He snatched the cowl from her, breathing hard in his efforts to replace it. He didn't have to ask her not to do it again.

And he never had the courage to ask what she had called him that day on the beach.

oOo

At first he didn't know what had jolted him from sleep. The night was clear and silent, the sky studded with light. He turned his head.

Yorda was gone.

A cry left him before he had scrambled from beneath the cloak. Frantic, he ran, her name turned claxon in his panic.

A laugh; light, rippling.

She was a vision in starlight, brighter than a solstice moon. The dark shape next to her moved closer, stretching to nuzzle her palm. Another delighted laugh as she flung her arms around the creature's neck. She turned to him, eyes shining.

'Bird!'

'No, Yorda.' He was still panting, wheezy with fear. 'Horse.'

'Bird,' she said firmly, stroking the beast's dark muzzle.

'All right.' He took her free hand, desperate to have her closer, safer. 'Bird it is.'

'Bird. Nico.'

The breath died in his throat.

oOo

Smoke; a dark smudge on the horizon.

He nudged Bird on warily, certain they had already been spotted from the dust churned under the mount's hooves. Yorda was a warm, light pressure on his back, arms curved loosely about his waist. He tried not to think about that too often.

They had tried several settlements these past few weeks, most comprised of conical nomad tents. But each had turned snapping dogs on them when they approached, forcing them to heel Bird in retreat.

It was little comfort that the dogs never chased them far, that the villagers looked more fearful than murderous. Little comfort for an outcast.

On this day there was no barking. No yells or burly sentries. No sound at all.

He hauled reign some distance from the scattered tents, wanting to be sure they had been seen. Moments later a slim figure appeared.

By the time he yelped Yorda's name it was too late – she had already hit the ground running.

He kicked Bird into a gallop, vaulted from the horse when Yorda was a mere three paces from the stranger. Cursing, he grabbed and pulled her close.

'Travellers,' said a heavily accented voice.

Yorda was smiling. Jaw set, he turned to the speaker.

In his right hand the man carried a small, sturdy bow. His left was open, revealing a naked, calloused palm. He was grinning. 'Welcome to Managua.'

Ico stared at the horned man, and laughed.

oOo

It was named after the lake, he learned, the vast expanse of water that burned by day and glittered in moonlight.

A source of food and play and life, it was the perfect place for a settlement, even one filled entirely with exiles.

The young man who had welcomed them was named Luo, and if he had any clue what lay under the cowl he gave no indication other than the odd sideways look.

He immediately gifted Yorda with a garland of white flowers, roared with laughter when she placed it askew on her pale head.

'What is your name, little one?'

'Yorda,' he heard himself snap as the girl experimentally patted her flowery hair.

The fellow turned to him, eyes raking over his ragged appearance. 'And what of you, youngling? What name do you bear?'

Naturally, Yorda complicated matter by piping 'Nico' before he could answer.

'He's a long way to go yet, pretty one,' Luo boomed, knuckling a tear.

Horned folk, Ico decided, were odd.

Yorda was transfixed by the villagers, from the babes sprouting nubs from downy heads to elders whose horns were gnarled and yellowed with years.

He himself was often caught staring at the latter – he never imagined his kind reaching such an age.

Except they weren't his kind now. He belonged no more here than his own faraway village. He was a half-breed. A new kind of shame.

His companion settled in as though she'd been born lakeside, playing with the children, shyly accepting tokens from admirers. Her favourite place was amongst the elders who wheezed tales of heroes and great giants that trammelled the earth, leaving him to scuff his heels and grimace as they spoke of the coming of a horned hero reborn.

Even Bird was happy to graze with the penned horses, a taller, darker shape among the dun herd.

It seemed everyone was content. Except one. One who refused to remove his cowl, even in the heat of the strange, pointed tents, who found the weight of eyes so unbearable he took to sitting by the lake, staring glumly at his reflection.

The thought of what lay beneath the dark cowl made him sink into despair. Once he even resolved to dig them out - better scars than pitiful, ragged stumps. But his courage failed when he reached for the sharpened flint. He could not bear to see them. Not yet.

Yorda often sought him by the lake, which only deepened his misery. How cruel he was, stifling her happiness after so long in the dark!

It was for her that he made the decision.

She didn't need him now, not when there were others to protect her with bows and arrows and staffs. Bigger others. Bigger others with horns. Horns he used to wish he never had.

The night he chose was still and starless. Easy enough to persuade Bird; a shrill whistle and the promise of melon rind was encouragement enough.

He waited until the camp was a dim glow before turning back.

She would understand. And if she didn't, she would soon forget. He had never seen pain in those pale eyes. Perhaps she wasn't capable of feeling at all.

He envied her.

oOo

He peered harder. No, definitely not a mountain.

Mountains didn't move. Or bellow. Or have eyes like burning blue moons. It was lumbering away from the camp, he could see that much. But if there were others…? Muttering a curse he had learned from Luo, he urged Bird into a gallop, tearing for the pale, widening slash on the horizon.

It hadn't crossed his mind that they might have noticed his desertion. That she might have noticed.

He was therefore unprepared for her cry as he slid, panting, from Bird's back.

How could he have thought there was nothing in those snowstorm eyes? There was anger now, and reproach, but hurt above all. He found and grasped her hand, feeling her heartbeat slow in time with his. How strange; she had to tilt her head to look up at him now. 'Nico?'

His smile smoothed the worry from her face.

It was Luo he told of the beast. The man nodded instead of looking at him like he was deranged. There were rumours, he said, whispers carried by the trader's caravans. Creatures like mountains. Titans. Roaming the plains like lost Gods. The Return was here.

'Return? Return of what?'

But Luo simply smiled.

The villagers were staring at him. There was no fear in their eyes. Curiosity, yes, and expectation that made his neck prickle, but no fear.

Yorda swayed and he forgot their scrutiny; how wan she looked to him, as though somehow diminished. Decision made, he squeezed her small hand tight.

Nothing – no foolish return or giant beasts - would threaten her or these people. His people.

Managua was his home.

oOo

'You told Luo to lead us into the ranges.'

At once he knew it was Nuala, her hands no doubt balled into fists. Face set, he turned.

'Why must we hide?' she demanded, head low so her horns glinted savagely. Her cheeks were red, as they always were when he was around; he supposed she must dislike him a great deal. 'You can't be scared.'

Can't I? he thought wearily. He looked once more to the rippling surface of the lake.

'You're supposed to help us,' she cried, rounding him so her wooden sandals stomped in the mud. 'You're supposed to be—'

'Nico.'

Yorda was smiling as she approached.

Nuala's glare grew even hotter before she stormed off. Stranger still, he had a feeling that glare was aimed at Yorda.

'Why do you call me that?'

Yorda merely picked her way to the water's edge, toe-tips grazing the water.

He sighed. 'I don't know what I'm supposed to do.'

But Yorda was elsewhere, hair drifting on the breeze as she moved to gather pebbles.

He studied her a moment then squinted at the sky – no, the sun was full and high. She didn't look greyer than usual. Certainly not darker. A trick of the light, that was all…

He jumped when she placed a flat pebble into his palm. 'Not again?'

There was no use in protesting. One, two, three…he turned with a sheepish grin as his pebble sank on the fourth bounce

Yorda's stone skipped six times before disappearing into the lake.

'You win,' he declared, arms wide. 'I suppose you're going to tie flowers round my toes again.'

Her smile faded, shining to solemn in a heartbeat.

'No flowers?' A shake of her pale head and a hesitant step forward. He responded with a step back. 'Yorda?'

But he understood. She had earned the forfeit. He would simply have to do as he was told. Sighing, he settled on a smooth rock and waited.

He ducked from the small tug on the cowl. 'No,' he said firmly, squinting at her. But her face was unreadable shadow in its halo of sunlight. Another tug, more insistent this time. His teeth clenched and he regretted ever playing her stupid game at all. She knew what she was doing. Part of him felt proud of her sneakiness; the part that didn't want to dunk her in the lake.

The cowl slumped to the dirt.

His head felt suddenly too light, the lake too loud as it lapped the soft bank, beckoning him closer, urging him to take a peek…he dragged a wavering breath. 'Well?'

Silence.

He rose, perturbed by the way her head was craned to the camp. A moment later he heard it too.

A pounding of bell-drums. The alarm.

He grabbed her and ran, feeling a familiar heartbeat merge with his.

'Luo!' He skidded to a halt as the man turned to him with wild, wide eyes. Nuala was at side. This time she didn't blush; she paled and stared as though she had never seen him before.

'One of your mountains,' Luo said, recovering enough to give them a grim smile. 'How are you with a bow?'

He shook his head angrily, dragged Yorda towards a huddle of wailing elders. She reached imploringly for him before they held her back.

'A sword then. I've seen the calluses.'

Dazed, he uncurled his right hand. True enough, roughened pads dotted the palm.

The drums hammered like a death knell, but there was a deeper beat now, like the beat of the earth itself. The footsteps of some great and terrible God.

He blinked at the sword being forced into his hand, the hilt almost slipping through his fingers before he grasped it.

'You will do well.' Luo pressed close; the sound of their horns locking was brittle, savage. 'You are our Nico.'

Before he could ask what that meant, a scream sounded. It shivered like the last strands of a nightmare, making even the drums falter.

He turned, slow and dream-like, as the elders shrank back in horror, recoiling from the blackness of un-being. Of chaos. Of Death.

No trick of the sun.

His Yorda.

Gone.

His Yorda.

Ah, Gods.

A hand rose, a black star, reaching…falling. No one ran to her as she crumpled, a midnight girl-shape in the dirt.

'Bring Bird to me.'

He tore his despairing gaze from Yorda.

Not Yorda.

No.

'My horse,' he snarled. 'Now!'

oOo

Hooves thrummed, a staccato counterpoint to the footsteps of the beast.

Luo on his left side, Gui and Nuala on his right, he rode, heels pounding Bird's side.

Even at a distance, the creature was immense, a giant of giants.

Looking at it made him want to laugh wildly so he glared at the see-sawing horizon and tried not to think of the girl he'd left at the camp, the girl with the dark-star hand and eyeless gaze...

Gaining now, close enough to catch a stink of rot and spoiled meat. Beneath that was a reek of darkness deeper than death. He knew it well.

Hooves the size of columns rose, sailed ever higher then crashed with stunning force. If Bird were to stumble…

He trusted the others to cover him as he spurred Bird onward, the wind a wildwoman's shriek in his ears. Sword low, he charged under the creature, sensing Gui bringing up the rear. He yelled at the boy to fall back, but it was too late. Gui's mount reared wildly as a mammoth foot crunched a mere hairsbreadth from its hindquarters – horse and rider went down in a haze of dust and screams.

No time to check if the boy was hurt. He squeezed his eyes against a spray of dirt as Luo rounded the front of the monster, body taut as he positioned both feet in the saddle with the ease of a practised horseman.

He lost a shocked cry as Luo leapt onto the creature's great, matted leg, jamming his sword into flesh for leverage. He lost another when he forced himself to do the same, springing from Bird's back and onto the coarse, reeking pelt of the monster.

Not so hard, not really. No different from climbing rocks or crevisses. Nothing more than a living ruin, a walking fortress. He had scaled worse.

Luo was higher now, close to the beast's massive shoulder, plunging his sword into sinew for purchase as the horses wheeled below, circling and disorientating the giant.

Grimacing, he rammed his own sword between the creature's shortribs. He realised his mistake as the thing vented a shocked, idiot bawl. He scrabbled higher, mindful of how the creature had groaned to a ponderous stop and braced its huge forelegs like a dog about to shake a flea. Sure enough, with great, creaking rocks of its shanks and withers, it tried to fling the interlopers from its bulk.

He sensed Luo's fall, a dreadful, dizzying descent, then he himself was sliding from thebeast's shoulder. Desperate, he clutched fistfuls of dense fur, not caring how it sliced his palms like firegrass.

All alone now. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. Not without Yorda.

A shriek sang nearby; Nuala, loosing arrows.

Silently thanking his comrade, he hauled himself higher, grunting with the effort.

He hefted atop the beast's back, swaying with its gait. A few seconds to catch his breath and he was creeping low along its spine, steadying himself on jutting bones.

He caught sight of Bird circling below, small as a cricket, a meaningless insect to a giant. Eyes shut, he leapt, knowing it was going to happen…the blade sliding through ancient flesh, piercing a blackened core. He hadn't wanted to kill. But for Yorda he had. For Yorda he would do it again. And again. And…

Landing hard, he slammed to his knees, thighs braced, sword aloft and blade-down. Yorda, help me

Screaming, he plunged the sword deep, feeling his muscles roar with protest.

A shudder like soundless thunder, the beast slowing, slowing, the sword pulsing with its dark heartbeat.

It hasn't worked, oh Gods, it hasn't…

The monster lost its soul in a slew of darkness, a familiar spill of night that closed around him like the darkest dream. Still he roared, not caring that the stuff was flooding his mouth, his lungs. He roared, and the name on his lips was hers.

Boneless, muscle no better than water now, the giant began its slow descent. He held on with all the strength he had left, cheek pressed to its fetid fur. All he could do was hope he wouldn't be crushed under its bulk.

His teeth clicked hard at the impact, numbing his jaw and cheekbones. He heard the creature's bones groan, settle, still. A steadying breath and he was on his feet, pushing to a run, charging along the terrain of the dead colossus, the hills and valleys of dead flesh.

Bird – swift as the plains wind – ran close to the motionless beast, close enough for him to leap and grab the pommel of the saddle.

Luo roared a victory cry, savage, glorious, as his friend swung himself atop Bird, teeth bared as he sheathed his sword.

And then it was over; they were riding, riding towards the light.

Towards home.

Towards Yorda.

oOo

Nico…

He had no heart for their celebrations, their congratulations, their cheers.

Luo was already riding a sea of shoulders, despite his protestations that the true hero was the one barging frantically through the crowd.

Nico…

A thousand cries, each drowning the one in his own raw throat.

Someone grabbed him, spun him to lock horns in a triumphant, primal roar. He wrenched free, ploughing onward, wishing the crowd would stop chanting that ceaseless word over

Nico…

and over

Nico…

and over

'Nico.'

He thought he imagined it. After all, he shouldn't have heard it over the clamour. But somehow he did. That wordless voice. The one he'd followed through endless halls, shadowed corners, the one that kept him moving through the guts and bowels of a grey and hateful place.

He rocked to a stop, wanting to blink, not wanting to lose sight of her. 'It's back.'

She nodded even though he had only managed to croak the words.

It was she who reached him first. He caught her hand and breathed and stared; a pale, perfect star.

How small she was to him now, small enough to rest her head on his shoulder. In turn, he lay his head atop hers, eyes closing only to spring open when he realised – truly realised – what the crowd was chanting.

Dazed, he lifted his hand to where his horns should be, certain it would rasp only tender stubs. But there was no pain, for how can you lock horns if you have none yourself?

'Then everything will be all right,' he murmured. Her face tilted to his and he brushed the soft, familiar curve of her cheek. 'I swear it.'

He felt her smile when their lips met, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

And it was.