"This isn't funny, Helianthus!" Cadmus gasped, jogging to keep up as Helianthus walked swiftly downhill. A herding dog nudged incessantly at the backs of his knees, urging him to go faster. He swore at the sheep slung over his shoulder for kicking him in the back.

"Isn't it?" Helianthus asked, grinning as he turned to face him. He only slowed slightly as he continued to walk backwards through the trees. The sheep nestled in his arms seemed to be half asleep, undisturbed by the steady rhythm of his footsteps. "Because if I remember right, you were laughing it up just a few hours ago."

"That was before I- Fuck." The impatient dog yapped at his heels, startling the sheep. He stopped to get a better grip in the beast's matted wool. The last thing he wanted to do was go chasing after it again. "That was before I knew we had stumbled into the great tragedy of Euphonia and The Gentle Spring."

His honey-brown eyes turned to the sky as he tried to remember Cadmus's favorite play. The one they'd seen together about a dozen times. "Is that the one with... the snake?"

"No! It's the one where a young bride is seduced by The Spring on her wedding day and dies horrifically! It's in the title!" Cadmus fell into cursing again as he tripped over a stray root. "You always have to go on about how long it takes Euphonia to die during the play."

"Oh, that one." Helianthus scratched behind his sheep's ear absentmindedly. "You think The Sun is going to tear me away from married life? Because if you haven't noticed yet I'm not likely to-"

"I'm very aware that you're not the marrying type. That's not what I'm worried about!" Sex and love were like a sport to Helianthus, to be played at when the ale ran out and the conversation got dull. Such things as commitment and heartbreak were as foreign to him as bookbinding to a bee. That was why Cadmus considered himself lucky to have learned early not to fall for Helianthus's charms.

"I'm worried about-" The words clung to Cadmus's lips. How could he say that he'd been watching how The Sun looked at him without sounding like a jealous lover? "How he talked about you."

Helianthus grinned, as though they still boys at the academy going on about their extracurricular wrestling matches. "Oh, he talked about me?"

He wasn't sure how to warn his old friend about the danger of adoration. He didn't know how to convince him that the interest of a god was a dangerous thing to have. Not after so many of the plays and poetry readings Cadmus had dragged him to had clearly failed. The sheep bit him. He cursed. "Forget it."

When they emerged from the tree cover, Astera was waiting for them at the base of the hill with a sheep under each arm and a nasty expression on her face. The Sun stood a few feet away, clutching at his nose.

"Done with your little chat?" She asked, adjusting her hold on the left-hand sheep. The dog circled her ankles, looking very pleased with itself for having gotten them to the same place.

"Cadmus was having sheep troubles," Helianthus explained. He glanced over to The Sun with some concern. "You didn't..."

"Punch him in the nose? No."

The Sun groaned wetly, eyes and nose drizzling pathetically down his noble face. "It seems I'm... leaking."

Astera sighed, rolling her eyes. "Your Sun, King among Gods and Lord of the Skies, is allergic to sheep. Come on, let's get these into town before my arms fall off. The blacksmith is already on his way back up to get the last two."

The way back to Convallis was flat and soft with grass but Astera's acid tongue made Cadmus which he was still tripping over roots and rocks on that awful hill.

"One-legged Achillea would be faster than you two." She complained yet again, shooting a glance back at Cadmus and The Sun who stumbled about sneezing and sniffling a few feet away.

"Do you want me to carry that extra sheep?" Helianthus asked, attempting to appease his sister. She brushed him off, marching a little further ahead of them.

Cadmus sighed, stopping to catch his breath. "She really doesn't like me."

"She'll warm up to you."

"Are you lying?"

"Yes." Helianthus gave him a sympathetic smile, his tarnished brass hair turning reddish gold in the fading sunlight, skin glowing pink to match.

It dawned on Cadmus how his friend would be the perfect model for a richly painted marble statue, standing triumphant over the city walls of Astuvia. This was not the first time the idea struck him. But every time it did, it struck like lightning, leaving scars all through the insides of his ribcage.

It always astonished him that Helianthus was completely oblivious to his own destiny as a leader. Everyone else in the Legion knew he was bound for something big. It was in the height he'd tried so hard to hide, the voice that seemed to startle even himself.

And while he was off claiming victory and honor, Cadmus would be taking over the family rug business and raising a kid with the wife his parents were already picking out for him.

"We have to get moving." The Sun said, his smooth voice suddenly panicked. "Night falls quickly and she has no mercy. Quickly, quickly!"

Helianthus of course was more than willing to humor the god, but Cadmus had been stumbling all over himself all day to please Astera. He hung back, exhausted and out of breath, and watched as Helianthus laid a comforting hand on The Sun's back. In his other arm, the sheep kicked helplessly against the cooling evening air.

Cadmus tried to catch his breath as he walked at his own plodding speed, but it stayed just a few paces ahead of him.

The Sun got more and more panicked as the sky darkened and nothing Helianthus could say would calm him. After handing off the sheep to a passing farmer, the soldier managed to maneuver him into the stable. It was being used as a shelter for the walking wounded. There were less people to accidentally throw into a panic.

"She'll find me! She'll find me and she won't take mercy. She'll take revenge and this mortal body is so damned fragile." He babbled on as Helianthus shut them both into a horse stall. "A bonfire! We need to light a bonfire to keep her away. It'll have to be big enough to light up the town."

"We can't spare the fuel for that. Just sit down, take a deep breath." Helianthus said soft and low as though he were soothing a horse. The Sun settled onto a hay bale, shuffling uncomfortably in the darkness.

"A torch!" The god gasped, his voice breaking under the weight of the night. "A candle, anything. The Night, she's choking me."

The thin tendrils of light from a lantern crept through the wooden slats of the stall door. Helianthus couldn't expose the wounded men to The Sun in this state, not after they'd already been through so much. After a moment's deliberation, he burst out of the stall.

"Cap- what?" A bewildered pig farmer looked up at him, wide-eyed through his blood-spattered bandages. The spoon in his hand clattered to the floor.

"I'm sorry, find another lantern." He said quickly, already disappearing into the stall.

In the red light of the flame, Helianthus could see the god's fear more clearly. The smoothly polished features of The Sun's face pulled into a grimace of fear as he clutched at his own throat, black eyes drowning within the bloodshot whites. His breath came out in gasps and whimpers.

Helianthus took to his knees, setting the lantern on the ground as he gently pulled the god's shaking hands away from his neck.

"The Night doesn't know we're here. We'll be just fine. Look, at me. We're still here, she hasn't found us." He remembered being afraid of the dark as a kid. He'd wake up night after night, screaming at the imagined horrors in every dark corner and shadow.

His mother would tell him a story that always stuck with him in dark places even today. She would tell him that in the dark there was a massive, bloodthirsty she-wolf named The Night who hated all things warm and bright with a passion. Whenever The Sun's protection faded, she would stalk over the stag-goddesses black earth, searching for something living to eat. She spoke of entire cities and kingdoms that simply disappeared, swallowed down in a blink of her great, pale eye.

"If ever you find yourself afraid of The Night, little Eli, be thankful," His mother would whisper gently into his ear.

"It means she has yet to find you."

"You're still here, just breathe for me. That's it." Helianthus eased him through the worst of it, clutching The Sun's fever-warm hands between his. Slowly, the wild terror in the god's eyes left, though Helianthus could still feel him shaking. "Better?"

The Sun reached out to brush a strand of tangled hair from his face, gazing down at him with an expression of bittersweet wonder. "Thank you. For the light."

"Of course." The breath caught in Helianthus's chest as The Sun's fingers brushed accidentally against his cheek. He squeezed the god's hand between both of his own, feeling the strength in the delicate configuration of muscle and bone so like his own. "Anything you need."

He got up, brushing the straw off his trousers, though they were already hopelessly stained. "This place is as."

"Leave it lit?"

He glanced over to the lantern to avoid the insistence in those dark, heavy eyes. Its light flickered innocently over the dried hay scattered across the dirt floor. "Can't risk burning the place down."

He swallowed, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, do not apologize to me." The Sun stood up on unsteady feet, cross the space between them in one cautious step. He lifted a hand to Helianthus's face, cradling his cheek in one warm palm. Helianthus's eyelashes fluttered shut.

For a moment, he could imagine it was midday. That the heat of the other man's skin was a ray of sunlight weaving through the branches of the woods near home, waking him from a long nap. For a moment, the last ten years were just a childish dream. "Look at you, running yourself ragged trying to soothe my childish fear of the dark. What do you have to apologize for?"

Helianthus couldn't find the words to answer him.

The straw crinkled and cracked as The Sun stepped forward, the humid warmth of his breath drifting over his other cheek. "Stay with me?"

He smiled, eyes opening to find The Sun's face turned up to his, finely polished features gleaming red and gold in the dim light. The flickering of the lantern shifted his expression from tender fondness to fearful and back again.

He lifted a hand to cover the one cupping his cheek so softly. "Of course."