On nights like these, Kydin feels old. He feels old and used up and useless, like the elderly pirates he sees hobbling around the docks. No one takes them out to sea; no one spares them a second glance. They are next to useless, and everyone knows it. "Cyma, Cyma," he says, and no one answers. "You lose your grip on life, and it'll leave you behind. It never...it never even looks back."

"Sir?"

Kydin looks up, looks up to find a Guard standing uncertainly twelve paces back up the shoreline. Kydin swallows hard and looks away, his paw tightening around the whiskey bottle. He's been drunk for five long days, and he has no plans to change his state anytime soon. When he brings the bottle to the lips, the burn of it barely even registers. Kydin stares at the sea and tries hard not to sob like a newborn.

"Sir, Riya's coming down to see you."

Kydin laughs, brisk and brittle, and buries his head in his knees. Of course she's coming down to see him. Of course she is. The rest of this damn island is content to leave their king in peace when he's in one of his infamous moods, but Riya has always been precisely the kind of proud that sends her face-first into riptides. Someday, she's going to meet Death and slap him across the face. Kydin hopes he's around to see that.

He hears the slithering of silk on sand before he hears her footsteps, and Kydin wishes she would wear pants instead of dresses, just once, just like old times. He wishes she would just revert back to the king's daughter who fought and raided and killed and did not play dress up for anyone. These dresses of hers are occasionally lovely, but he's never liked them. They are blunt reminders of who they are now and how far they've come from who they were supposed to be.

"Kydin." And there's no question in her voice. Only grimness and sorrow and fatigue. This is not a greeting; this is a call to arms. He exhales slowly, feels his lungs hitch just the slightest bit. It has been a trying week. "Kydin, it's time to come back up to the castle."

Kydin doesn't move, just takes another swig of the whiskey, and feels nostalgic for the burn. He remembers when he used to do this more often; he's starting to think maybe it wasn't such a bad time, after all. Anyway, he certainly never wound up like this...or, if he did, he never remembered it in the morning. "Take a seat, Riya." He says suddenly, and his voice is low and harsh, scratching like sandpaper. He clears his throat and lifts his head a little, makes a gesture towards the sand beside him. Like most of his gestures these days, it is grand and almost entirely empty.

She hesitates for one long second, and he knows her well enough now (and it had taken him awhile to figure out who she was rather than who she had been; he still sometimes has trouble reconciling their childhood and their adulthood, in his head) to know that she is giving him that long, doubtful look she gets when she's trying to convince herself not to give in to his demands. But he outlasts her, doesn't move at all, and finally she comes to stand beside him, peering out at the ocean. Kydin leans against her a little, just enough to remind himself that she's real and that she's here. Her paw comes down to rest easily on his shoulders. They are comfortable with each other now. They didn't used to be. Kydin thinks that, maybe, the old days weren't worth much, after all.

The dress she's wearing tonight is pure black silk, and Kydin thinks he bought it for her in better days that he can't quite remember right now. Anyway, she's wearing it in mourning, and Kydin wants to sever as many ties to grief as he can. As far as he can tell, he's already paid his debt of tears and pain to Death; he doesn't owe it anything anymore. He doesn't like seeing that dress right now; he lets his eyes slip closed.

"Kydin..." But whatever she wanted to say lodges in her throat. She falls silent and shifts uneasily, unhappily. Kydin understands; he's had words rotting in his throat for days now.

They sit in silence for a long time, listening to the ocean, and finally – finally – Riya sinks to the ground beside him. She presses her forehead against his shoulder and takes deep, steadying breaths. "I am so, so sorry." She says, and the words sound like they came out fighting, sound like they ripped her apart.

"No," he says, "No." And he wraps his arms around her and pulls her against him and tries to offer her comfort. He fails, but at least he can give warmth. "How can you say that? How the hell can you say that?"

Her shoulders tremble, and she makes a low, tortured sound in the back of her throat. Her paws clench in the front of his shirt, and Kydin can't give her comfort, so he presses the whiskey bottle to her lips. She pulls back a little, meets his earnest gaze, and then drinks. She drains the whole damn bottle, greedy in her desperation, and Kydin lets her have it. After all, he's had enough. He's been drunk for five days, and Riya's been facing down the world with clear eyes. He wouldn't begrudge her all the whiskey on the island.

They sit there for an hour, in silence, in pain.

"I just...I don't understand it." Riya's voice, when she speaks, is steely and cold. Kydin recognizes it as the voice she uses when she is trying desperately to hide her fear. "What kind of world is it, Kydin? Where cubs die before they reach their first season?"

Kydin shakes his head. He doesn't know. He's not on speaking terms with this world, and he hasn't been since he realized what his place in it was. It's a cold world, and a cruel one, and he would hate it if it didn't have the strangest tendency to be heartbreakingly beautiful. He sighs and, in his mind, he's playing out a lifetime that will never be lived.

He hadn't known Nika for long, but she had been brave and sweet, and, in those last couple of days when she couldn't sleep and could barely breath, she hadn't cried. She'd lain awake, curled in Riya's lap or in Kydin's arms, and stared up at them with wide, trusting eyes. She was expecting them to save her, and they had failed her. Kydin will never see Nika win a fight, will never see her captain a ship, will never see her fall in love, and he doesn't know what to do with all these plans and expectations that are still waiting oh-so-patiently for Nika to come back.

He hates – he hates – this whole world right now. And, most of all, he hates sitting next to Riya and being completely unable to reach her. They are isolated from each other by all the things they cannot explain. The words in Kydin's throat and the emotions hidden behind Riya's tone have separated them completely. They cannot reach across the division between them. It is too much, it is too far, and it isn't how Kydin is used to feeling these days. It has been awhile since he's felt so damnably alone.

And then suddenly he's standing, his paw holding tight to hers and tugging, and she stands with him, confused and surprised. "Come on," he says and pulls her towards the sea, "come on."

"Kydin," she protests, digging her feet in, resisting, "the dress-"

He turns to her, eyes wide and wild. "What the hell does that dress matter now?"

She doesn't question him after that. He pulls again, and she follows. They run into the sea, throw themselves into the fury of the waves, and they swim. They swim out farther than they should, pitting their waning strength against an infinity of apathy, and Kydin is surprised to realize he had forgotten just a little how important this fight really was. He knows that, in the grand scheme of things, the pain and grief and disorientation he's feeling doesn't mean a damn thing; he barely matters at all. But if all he has is the struggle, than he is going to struggle.

Fate doesn't give a damn about him, but that isn't going to stop him from spitting in its face.

After an eternity of burning energy and wasting fury, they surface and stop, gasping and weak. Riya stares at him, weary and sad just like before, but with an undercurrent of something else. Its just a glimmer, really, but Kydin knows what he's looking for now and he sees it all this time around. Defiance. Pride. Courage.

The single most endearing of Riya's traits is that she's too proud to give in. Kydin sees a bit of himself in her, and he thinks that maybe it's narcissistic to love someone for reminding you of yourself, but he doesn't care. At this point, he truly doesn't care.

He's spent the last five days trying to find himself in the bottom of a bottle, and, turns out, he was in Riya's eyes all along.

When they swim back to the shore, they lean on each other for support. And Kydin thinks, maybe, they can do anything (fight any battle, suffer any loss,) as long as they have each other to lean on.