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azissuffering · 4 years

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Rocks and Water - Chapter 1: Finitude

Moonfam Origins Fic. Begins with Runaan and Lain in the Silvergrove.

Link to Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24565177/chapters/59325352

The girl was pretty, he supposed, pretty enough that she caught his eye from a hundred yards and a breathless four miles into his training routine. She had a narrowish face and a wire-thin frame that did not match with the easy way she worked over the mass of vine and rock that blocked the forest path some three hundred feet behind him. He didn’t recognize her from his own troupe, but it was common enough for training exercises to overlap, even within the boundary of neighboring communities.

“Hurry up, Lain.”

Runaan rapped him on the shoulder as he passed, which Lain did not appreciate — he did not exactly have a gentle touch. Lain tore his gaze from the girl’s retreating back and hurried to catch up with his errant friend.

Runaan slowed and allowed him to fall in step beside him, and they ran in silence for a while, following the bare path carving through the foliage from decades of drilled training exercises. It was a balmy summer morning, the forest still recovering from the previous night’s rain, and the ground was dangerously slick from wet. The thick canopy would shield the world beneath until high noon, and even still it would be hours yet before the land was comfortably dry. Most would be holed away in their homes at this hour of the morning, and probably for much of the foreseeable day, but sleeping late was a luxury that the guild apprentices did not have. They were young, and thus the rigors not quite as demanding as their elders in their specialized occupations, but they were challenged, still.

Lain didn’t particularly mind the rain or the demands of his to-be profession, but he knew his friend had different feelings, and he finally saw fit to break the silence with a query after his health.

“How are you doing?” he asked between steps.

“It’s wet. It’s early. My ankle aches from when you stepped on it yesterday. How am I supposed to feel?”

Lain rolled his eyes. “Runaan. I meant your sister.”

Runaan scowled. “What about her?”

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted when, ahead, the ground split into a series of uneven gnolls, empty pockets of earth knotted into the ground as if hacked away with a great axe. It was messy, and obviously artificial, one of the many obstacles that the guild students were to be faced with on the daily.

“The guildmasters were unhappy this morning,” Runaan muttered, hopping gingerly from foot to foot to avoid slipping. Lain noticed with a pang that he was favoring his right leg. Still, guilty conscience or no, he had a moral duty as “friend” to ensure his partner’s wellbeing.

“Well, how is she?”

When there was no response, Lain glanced away from his footwork to find Runaan’s jaw set and lips pressed into a line.

“Ru —”

“I don’t see how that matters,” he snapped. “It’s not relevant.”

The ground smoothed over and began a slender slope downwards. In the distance, Lain could just barely make out the lively sounds of morning bustle, shops opening and those stubborn enough to brave the weather. They were nearing the end of the loop.

“Hey! Runaan!”

Lain scurried forward and caught hold of Runaan’s arm.

Runaan shrugged him aside, twitching, but he stopped all the same.

“Listen, you need to slow down for a second. I —” Lain cut off when he saw Runaan stiffen and sighed. His friend could really use a lesson on emotional vulnerability. He softened his tone and tried again, “I just want to help.”

“I understand that.” His words came out tight, but the fact that he responded at all was promising, from him. “I just don’t think it’s important.”

“Don’t think it’s —” Lain ran a hand through his hair and forced himself to lower his voice. “Runaan, your sister almost died. That’s a very big deal, especially when you choose to pursue the very path that put her there.”

A heavy pause.

“Look, can’t you at least try to explain? You haven’t talked to me the whole week. Actually, you’ve actively avoided me the whole week.”

“I haven’t —”

“Yes, you have, and you weren’t even trying to be discreet. I got stuck with green recruits four days in a row because you were absent on partnering rounds.”

“I needed to think.”

“Well, you’ve had your time, so let’s talk.”

Runaan looked away, shifted on his feet and glanced back at Lain. “She’s not getting better,” he muttered. “And she won’t talk to me.”

Lain waited.

“It’s not like she’s ever talked to me before.” Runaan huffed a laugh, harsh and scathing, then turned on his heel and began walking again.

Lain began to protest, but Runaan threw a hand over his shoulder and said, “I’m not evading, but the guildmasters will get suspicious if we’re late. We’ll speak while we walk.”

That was Runaan, thinking about his reputation even while he was hurting. Lain swallowed his sigh and followed.

Runaan began unprompted this time, which probably meant he was more worried than he let on. “When the blackspine hit her, it got her in the stomach, but she fell on her back. She was unconscious when her troupe brought her back, so they didn’t know how bad it was, but when she woke up, she couldn’t move her legs.” Runaan swallowed hard and turned his head to the sky as if checking the degree of the sun. Of course, he wasn’t. He was just stalling.

“Go on,” Lain prompted gently.

Runaan sighed heavily. “The healer said she broke something. He suspects the spinal cord, but it’s not like he’s going to cut her open and check. He doesn’t know if it’s a full break or a damage that will heal naturally, and he said it’s too early to be sure. We’ll only know if her recovery gets better with time.”

“And you worry she won’t,” Lain guessed.

“No — yes, obviously, but it’s more than that.” Runaan waved a hand through the air. “We’ve...talked about her injury and the possibility of no recovery. Neither of us are happy, obviously, but you know us. We’ve never lied about reality. It’s not our way. It’s the waiting I can’t stand. I wish these weeks would be gone so I could know how to accommodate her.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” Lain touched his shoulder. “Besides, moments like these are the best opportunities for growth. When else would you prompt yourself into juggling dual responsibilities? Family and work?”

“Never,” Runaan muttered. “Precisely because it means I can’t focus properly on either.”

“Runaan. You have to learn how to do both. Life’s the best teacher, if you’ll just let it guide you.”

Runaan did not respond, and Lain didn’t push him. They walked the last two miles in silence, then paused at the top of the hill that hid them from the view of the rest of the village.

Runaan turned to Lain and offered him a small smile.

“I appreciate your help, Lain,” he said, “even if you are a pushy ass about it.”

Lain smiled and pulled him into an unwarranted embrace. “That part just means I care. Now, let’s get back down there before Liam eats our breakfast.”

When they entered the mess hall, they were greeted by Laida’s unhappy timbre. Normally, nothing could stand between an elf just off training and their prospective meal, but as guildmaster and keeper of the twelve that made up their troupe, Laida had just enough authority to do so.

“You’re late,” she said, stepping before them in that imperious way of hers. Despite being a bare inch above five foot, she managed to convey the affluent air of the Dragon King himself.

“Guildmaster,” Runaan greeted with a respectful tilt of his horns, but his tone belied his apparent regard. “I have to disagree. We’re a full half hour before the deadline, and the hall isn’t even close to full, meaning that even the year-ups haven’t completed their run before us.”

Laida interrupted him with a knock between the horns. It was the sort of reprimand you’d give a child, not a seventeen year old assassin-to-be, and given to such a revered pupil, doubly humiliating.

“I meant in a personal regard, you twit,” she snapped. “That arrogance will get you flogged by a testier master, Runaan. Curb it now.”

Runaan looked at her, wincing, but the ire in his eyes did not leak into his tone. “Yes, Guildmaster.”

Laida nodded, then reassessed her stance. “Now, what I meant was that you’ve come in a full fourteen minutes after your usual time. I don’t know what the reason for that could be, given you aren’t lovers, so far as I know —”

Lain spluttered an affronted protest, but Laida plowed right on.

“Nor have either of you ever been severely impeded by the rain. I’m old enough to know when further prying is necessary, and this is not such a time, but I am giving you fair warning. I placed my repute and career in advocating for you all those years ago. You’re my most promising students, and I expect you both to make it as Knives by next winter’s end. Do not ruin this opportunity with frivolities, do you understand?”

Both Lain and Runaan nodded.

Mollified, Laida stepped aside and let them pass.

They did so cautiously, then hastened their step once they’d passed her. Laida had a glare like forge-heated steel. They slipped past the first-years along their way to their corner table, and Lain was uncomfortably aware of their bright eyes and hopeful expressions, knowing that such youthful optimism would soon be ripped from them and gutted beneath the guildmasters’ scrupulous attentions. Softness had no place in an assassin’s life until they were well and truly broken in, and at that point it was enforced merely to preserve one’s sanity.

They approached the table in the corner, and with the already seated ten, plus Lain and Runaan’s two, it was the least crowded but for the tenth-years who had lost three in the year-end cuts and were now down to a scant seven. The occupants were mostly quiet, focused on their meals, but they chipped into the main conversation every now and then so as not to be excluded.

Liam was, as usual, hollering about something or other, to Talis, who was not paying him attention other than the occasional nod. He cut off when he noticed them approaching, face breaking out into a broad grin.

He half rose in his chair with his wave. “Lain, Runaan! About time! I was debating with my friend here whether or not you’d been devoured by a blackspine, them being so prevalent this year — ow.”

The girl on his right had elbowed him sharply in the ribs and was now glaring at him with gray eyes gone furious.

“What?” Liam cried.

“Not funny,” she said mildly.

Lain shot a glance at Runaan just in time to notice him forcibly unclench his jaw. Sure not to let his worry show, he plastered on an easy smile and slung an arm over his shoulders.

“That’s alright, Talis,” he said, “I’m sure he wasn’t thinking of how it’d affect Runaan when he said it.”

“No, he just wasn’t thinking, as usual,” Talis said, but she returned to her fruit without saying more.

“I didn’t even do anything,” Liam muttered, and Lain did his best to ignore him.

Jara scooted over to offer him space, and Lain seated himself with a gracious smile, pulling Runaan along with him. Runaan settled with a grimace. He preferred to sit on the end of the bench, but they were lucky to receive a space at all. They were taught early to show no pity to comrades come late to breakfast; the guildmasters’ punishment. Luckily, their troupe was closer than most, and Laida enjoyed spiting the system enough to encourage their small rebellions.

“So,” Liam began, “can I ask why you two are so late, or will I get punished for that, too?”

Lain helped himself to a pair of bread loaves and what was left of the fruit and filled a second plate for Runaan. Runaan took it with that same confused gratitude he always expressed whenever someone offered him a kindness. Lain patted him on the head before turning to address Liam.

“No reason in particular,” he said. “We found a dry patch amidst the wet, and we got to talking.”

“Oooh.” Liam pounded a triumphant fist on the table. “I knew it. You hear that, Talis? They got to talking —”

“That’s not a euphemism,” Talis interrupted, but Liam wasn’t listening.

He pointed at Runaan. “I always knew you swung the other way, but Lain — that’s a surprise. Wasn’t he into that one girl from the Highgrove last year?”

Lain colored. “Hold on —”

“Oh, yeah,” Rhys piped up with a mouth full of ham. “The one with the pretty eyes. She clocked him in the jaw for staring.”

Liam cackled. “That’ll teach you!”

“Actually, not,” Runaan added. “I caught him staring at her ass just an hour ago.”

Lain spun around to look at him. “I thought you were running.”

“I still have eyes, Lain,” Runaan said hotly. “You’re not discreet with your affections.”

“Except with Runaan apparently — ” Liam began but cut off with a yelp when Talis saw fit to intercede again with the sharp end of her fist.

“Would you cut it out?” she snapped. “You’re not funny. Next time, I’ll break your arm instead of bruise it.”

“Oh, she’s mad now.” Rhys, who had been scooping butter into his mouth by the spoonful, paused to speak. “Better listen, Liam. You know she’s serious when she threatens violence.”

“I’m always serious,” Talis interjected, “I just don’t like idiots who can’t close their mouths long enough to let a thought interject once in a while.”

“STUDENTS.”

Farin’s exclamation, animated by his respectable reservoir of magic, jarred most conversation by its root. Youth or not, they were still military trained.

‘THE MEAL IS CONCLUDED. YOU MAY STEP OUTSIDE FOR PAIR DRILLS. YOU WILL BEGIN AS STUDENTS TO YOUR YEAR-UPS, FOLLOWED BY MONITORED INSTRUCTION WITH YOUR YEAR-DOWNS.” Farin nodded at the now-silent room. “DISMISSED.”

The room stood as a single unit, then began filling for the exit in uneven rows. Guildmasters called for troupes over the sound of marching feet and scattered conversation. Runaan trailed after Lain with a hand on his elbow. He wasn’t overly fond of crowds, and he preferred a tactile stimulus. Lain was glad to be of service.

“Over — fuck — over here, damn it!”

Laida’s flushed face popped through the crowd before disappearing again, an airborne fish dropped back into the waves. Lain tracked her by the disgruntled expressions pointed down, the unwitting leader to Runaan and the rest of his fellows.

“This way — shit, fuck, just follow me,” was Laida’s greeting, to which Lain did not give a response other than a passive nod.

When they’d squeezed out through the hundred bodies and come out into the grassy courtyard that served as the training yard, Laida drew in a breath and threw her hands to the heavens.

“Moon and fucking shadow! That gets worse with every passing year!” She took in one last suffering inhale before her posture shifted and her tone went crisp. “Right. To business. They’ve put me in charge of this team, so Silha’s brats are mine, now.”

Indeed, a slow stream of bodies came to stand beside those already gathered, tentative and guarded as Moonshadows were with those they didn’t know well. There were fifteen in total; Lain recognized a few faces, but most were strangers. Laida gave them a few minutes to gather themselves before she began again.

“As the numbers are uneven, we will have to amend the rules in order to comply with the requirements of a pair drill,” Laida said. “Now, be honest now, who is the best among the lot of you?”

There was a moment of uneasy silence, a murmur passed through the crowd. Two stepped forward confidently, one with mild prompting and a final unsure glance thrown over his shoulder, and the last was shoved out from behind her friend with barely concealed annoyance.

“Four of you,” Laida nodded. “That makes this easy, then. Each one of you will take three of my recruits; in succession, not all together. Don’t get excited.” Laida began to assign their troupe to each of the four leaders. When she reached Runaan and Lain, she said, “Runaan to Saia, Lain to Malik. I’m sorry to separate you, but I think it’s unfair to have you both on a single person, don’t you agree?”

Lain nodded sagely. “Of course, Guildmaster.”

Laida gave him a wan smile. “You just agree no matter what I say.” Before Lain could voice a word of protest, she leaned in and whispered, “Just between the three of us: wipe the floor with them, won’t you?”

Runaan smiled wolfishly. “Of course, Guildmaster.”

It was high noon when they switched from roles. Though the physical tax was not the same, Runaan found it far more exhausting playing teacher than student, restraining his abilities as opposed to stretching them. He knew how to speak plainly, which he thought more efficient than the flowered words of encouragement Lain offered, and his partner was an amiable enough student, but still. By the end of the day, he was drenched in sweat and his temper was sharp enough to cut himself on.

Still, he dragged himself to meet Lain at the edge of the training yard, as they always did at the end of the day. Thankfully, Lain didn’t seem to be in the mood for a chat, merely yelled, “See you, tomorrow!” and dashed off in that happy shadowpaw way of his.

Runaan shook his head on a smile and turned for home.

His home was on the southern edge of the grove, nestled between two firs and only a handful of steps from the ritual pool. It was a melancholy house, shadowed as it was and set beside a place of mourning, and as Runaan stepped closer, he felt the familiar gloom more apt than ever.

He stepped inside and shut the door with deliberate strength, for between his taciturn air and his sister’s even quieter nature, the sound of the door served just as well as a shouted hello. He pulled off his boots and left them stacked in tandem with a second, smaller pair before padding off for the kitchen.

It was a small house, but the threadbare furnishings made it seem overly large. Indeed, one would not fully know the effect a soft chair and a bit of upholstery had on the dreary emptiness of a room until one stepped into Runaan’s house. It was bare, void of color or personality save the staple necessities to survive, an oven, a cooling box with enchantments carved down the side, a smattering of cutlery amidst other, more poignant knives.

Runaan pulled a clean plate off the rack beside the sink, kneeled on the black chestnut of his floor and pulled the cooling box open. Inside was a half-eaten torte, a jug of milk, and a variety of fruits kept fresh by the enchantments. He stacked the plate with fruit and the bread left over from their pre-breakfast, then headed for the hallway.

He found Nia in much the same position as he’d left her, except when he’d left her she hadn’t had inkstains smudged across her nose and hands, nor had there been a mountain of crumpled papers littering the floor like the Silvergrove’s first snowfall.

Runaan paused in the doorway and raised an eyebrow. “What’s all this?” he asked.

“Boredom,” Nia said flatly. She hurled something at the wall beside his head, and he tracked its trajectory from her hand until the point it came to rest at the space between his feet. He reached down and picked it up off the floor, then held it up between two fingers for examination.

“A pen?” he said.

“Yes, it’s what people use to write,” she retorted dryly. “Hands are for more than knives, remember?”

Runaan’s lips thinned. He let the pen slip from his fingers and kicked the door shut behind him. He didn’t have any particular reason to do so — it was just the two of them — but he’d acquired the habit and had never seen reason to part with it. Besides, he felt more secure with four walls around him.

As he approached the bedside, Nia reached above her head and took hold of the bedframe with both hands. She heaved herself upright without outward effort, then arranged her legs beneath her as one might a stuffed doll. She scowled while she did it, then scowled some more when Runaan dropped the plate in her lap.

She prodded at the bread. “Leftovers?”

Runaan perched on the edge of the bed and settled his own frown across his lips. “That’s all we had. I haven’t been to the market since last week.”

Nia grunted and prodded at the bread before stuffing it into her mouth. “So, what’s new?” she mumbled.

“You could’ve asked before you started chewing,” Runaan said. “And nothing much. The guildmasters said something about a year skip for us, so that’s new.”

Nia choked on her mouthful and sat upright, pounding on her stomach. Runaan watched with mild interest.

“A year skip?” she managed after a moment. “Runaan, that’s not something they do for just anyone.”

“I am aware.”

“They didn’t even do that for me.” She stared at him. “You said ‘us.’ Who else are they considering?”

“Lain.”

She snorted. “Of course.”

Runaan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“No. If anyone could stand up to you, it’s him. You were first at everything, but he was always right on your heels.”

“Barring you. You were always better at everything.”

“Well.” Nia shoved a chunk of sweetmelon into her mouth. “You won’t have to worry about that now.”

“About that.” Runaan tucked a leg beneath himself and set his gaze to the ground. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you —”

“No.”

He looked up. “Pardon?”

“I said no. We’ve talked about it so many times I can hear your words before you say them. ‘Nia, it’s worrying, the way you shut down. Nia, don’t be a pessimist; we don’t even know all the facts yet. Nia, you know Mum wouldn’t want you to be down on yourself over something you can’t fix.’ Gods, Runaan, you’re like one of those self-esteem novels Dad gave me when I was thirteen.”

Runaan, whose jaw had tightened with each word that escaped her mouth and now felt like a wound spring, straightened. “Well, I’ll take my leave, then,” he said tightly. He made to get off the bed, but Nia spoke up again.

“Wait.”

He paused without looking.

She sighed heavily. “Stay there, you dramatic ass. I’m bored as all hell, and you’re probably the only entertainment I’ll get for the rest of the week.”

Runaan hid a vicious smile and scooted backwards on his hands. He waited.

“Toff’s putting his foot down about my rest period,” she said after a moment. “He told me this morning: three weeks minimum.”

Runaan frowned. “That’s not what he said two days ago.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I specified.”

He hesitated, and Nia leaned forward to swat him. “Stop that. I’m not made of glass.”

His lips twitched. “No, you are very much not.” He sobered again. “I just wondered...if the healer had mentioned anything new about your recovery?

Nia shook her head. “The same as always. He can’t make any decisive statements until he sees how my body adapts to the injury.”

Runaan nodded. He twisted halfway to look her over again, and his tone lightened considerably. “How’s the pain? Have you been doing the exercises like he said?”

“The pain?” Her brow furrowed. “There is none. Didn’t I tell you this already?”

She had, in fact, multiple times, but it was hard to remember that someone as vivid as Nia was also the bearer of two non-functioning limbs. His mind couldn't seem to pair the childhood memories of a girl that leapt from the rooftop of the bakery onto his father’s waiting back with the whip-thin approximation lying in a sickbed. Perhaps that was a flaw innate to his own self.

“I suppose you have,” he murmured.

Nia yawned and set the empty plate aside. “Why don’t you read to me from that book you like. The flowery shit. ‘Shakefist,’ or whatever.”

“Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, that.” She leaned back against the headboard and shut her eyes. “It’s nice. You have a good voice for it.”

Runaan sat very still and repeated what she’d said in his mind. Nia didn’t say things like that. To anyone, ever. “Of course,” he heard himself say, but it was from a very far away place.

He leaned over and reached an arm under the bed. He returned with a thick tome in his hand.

“Which one would you like?” he asked, blowing dust from the cover.

“The Rape of Lucrece,” she said without hesitation.

Runaan flipped through the book and began to read.

Lain crept along the cobbled path that ran between his mother’s garden. He moved quick and quiet, carefully avoiding sticks and fallen debris that might alert the house’s occupants to his presence. At the door, he paused, listening.

It was quiet inside, save the low burr of his father’s voice, and dark save the flicker of candlelight and the luminescence offered by the fading sun. Satisfied, Lain reared back on his heels and drew the door open.

His father did not react at his appearance, but his mother started, jolting upright before sinking back into the plush of her seat. She gave him an absent smile before returning her attention to the table. Lain spared them a glance as he shucked his coat off. They were playing tak, as usual, a game of stones.

When his boots were lying in a heap by the door, coat slung across the open closet door, he stood there in the foyer for a moment. The stones made little thunks when they hit the wood of the gameboard.

“I’m back,” he offered, hoping he might rouse one or both of his idle parents to attention.

“So we heard,” his father said and moved one of his stones into an offensive position. “Draw or idle?”

“Idle,” his mother said, to which his father laughed.

“You know I take the win when you play defensive.”

His mother reached across the table and tapped a finger against his cheek. “Well, I’m about to remedy that, don’t you worry.”

“We’ll see.”

Lain watched them blankly, and a sudden anger rose within him. They hadn’t done anything specific to warrant it. Their mere existence peeved him. Always idle, always waiting for something to happen while the world spun circles around the pocketed bubble they’d built for themselves.

“Lain.”

He glanced up at his father’s voice, momentarily pulled from his thoughts.

“What are you doing standing there like that? Why don’t you come over and greet your mother like a proper son?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes, Father.”

He crossed the foyer stiffly and moved around to stand beside his mother. She held her hand out in traditional greeting, and he took it between his.

She looked up from her game and smiled at him, the brown of her eyes twinkling merrily. “And how was your day, son?” she asked him.

“I’m continuing with the guild.”

Her eyes went round as saucers, her mouth fallen open in shock. His father looked not much better. Lain savored it. That had gotten a rise out of them.

“ ‘Continue.’ ” His mother breathed the word from somewhere very far away.

“Lain,” his father rumbled, “what nonsense are you speaking?”

“It’s not nonsense, father. You know I never lie to you.”

His father’s eyes narrowed dangerously. For all his flaws, stupidity was not one of them. “Explain.”

“Laida vouched for me,” he said. “Runaan and I are to join the Highgrove at winter’s end.” He left out the part about them not being officially approved by the Council. Laida’s intuition was right nine times out of ten, and besides, he was enjoying his parents’ discomfort.

“No, no, that can't be right," his mother muttered. "You're good, but you were never that good. You're a farmer, like your father."

"Listen to your mother, Lain," his father said. "You had your fun, but you're almost grown now. It's time you started thinking about the future."

"Future? What future?" Lain spat. "Will I sit here whittling away the days in the garden? Or perhaps you'd like me to get married." He snorted. "You've probably already found someone. Is that what you want? To drag another elf into this stain of a family?"

His mother seemed taken aback at his vitriol, and his father rose from his chair, a storm on his brow. "That's enough!" he bellowed. "You don't come into this house yelling profanities and threats. I raised you better than that. Your mother deserves your respect, and I damn well think I should too."

Lain laughed scathingly. " 'Respect is earned,' you always say. Best toughen up, Father."

His father stared at him a moment before shoving back from the table and storming across the living room. He threw open the door and pointed out into the night. "Get out of here," he snapped, "and don't return until you can be civil."

Lain sneered in his face. "Yes, Father."

Runaan sat upright. He cocked his ears and listened. Night owls, crickets, a singular pesky lyrebird, frogs and newts, nothing out of the ordinary. Except lyrebirds were diurnal and it was well past dusk, and he didn't think he'd ever heard one sound a mating call two months after the season.

"Not again," he muttered and leaned over to pull the window open. As expected, the moonlight illuminated a lonely figure standing with hands still cupped over his mouth in the shade of his family's elm tree.

As he watched, the figure dropped his hands to his sides and offered a lopsided grin. "Thank the Moon," Lain said. "I was one call away from scaling your roof and climbing in through your attic."

He ordered Lain to sit at the kitchen table while he set about making tea. "What was it this time?"

Runaan kept his voice low, wont to wake Nia but also because it felt wrong to raise his voice in the sobered ambiance they'd gathered between the two of them.

Lain traced the whorls along the table's grain, gaze downcast and thoughtful. "I got cocky when I shouldn't have," he said

Runaan hummed and walked back to the table carrying two cups. He set one down in front of Lain. "That sounds more like me than you."

Lain wrapped his hands around the mug but didn't drink. "Perhaps you've rubbed off on me."

"Is that a good thing?"

"They just make me so angry," he explained. "My whole life, they've done the same thing. Farm crops, play tak, sleep, repeat. According to them, that's all they ever wanted or will want." He shook his head in disgust. "They have no ambition. I don't understand."

Runaan eyed him. He nodded at Lain's still-full mug. "Drink some of that, and we'll talk."

Lain looked down at the mug as if he’d forgotten it, then took an idle sip.

Runaan waited until he’d downed half of it before speaking again. “You’ve explained your upset to me. Really, you’ve explained it every time you’ve come here. Still — do you think perhaps you’ve grown complacent?”

Lain paused with his lips an inch from the porcelain rim of his cup. “What?”

Runaan pursed his lips. “Do you ever stop to think that you’re lucky for having them at all?”

“Oh.” Lain set his cup down. “Runaan. I’m so sorry. Of course, I come in here complaining about my parents when you have none at all and your only sister has just had a scare with death — careless. I’m sorry. Do you need me to leave or —”

Runaan held up a hand. “You’re much too quick to pick up the blame,” he commented. “I ask out of curiosity, not as a criticism. Do you?”

Lain fell back into his seat, brow furrowing in thought. “Not really? Parents are just something you take for granted, I guess. Most people have them, so you kind of just assume you should, too.” He paused. “I’m sorry if that’s hurtful.”

“No,” Runaan said. “I think I understand. It’s how I feel about Nia. She’s always been there. Why shouldn’t she be? It’s only recently that I’ve been thinking otherwise.”

“Yeah… How is she?”

Runaan looked heavenwards, fingers clacking against the side of his cup. “She’s fine, and she can probably hear us talking about her, so best not.”

“Right. Sorry.” Lain hesitated. “And...what about you?”

Runaan looked at him. “You asked me this morning.”

“Well you didn’t exactly answer.”

Runaan scoffed. “Yes, I did. How is ‘I’m stressed’ not an answer?”

Lain pointed at him with a triumphant smile. “Yes, good! You’re stressed. Tell me more.”

“Would you like a list of my everyday peeves?” he said dryly.

“Have you got one?”

“No.”

“You should try it. Writing is good for emotional expression.”

“Lain, sometimes I wonder how you got hooked into the Guild at all when your calling as a poet is so clearly laid out before you. You have that overripe-speak, pain-in-my-ass dichotomy down pat.”

Lain shrugged. “I’m good at hitting people, I guess.”

After, they placed their dirtied cups in the sink to be washed in the morning, and Runaan led Lain down the hall to the far room. He took a quick pit stop in the closet for a fresh pair of linens and a down pillow that he never used because the softness disagreed with him.

“You’re putting me on your couch again?” Lain asked

“Yes. As a rule, we don’t have guests. No guests, no bed.” Runaan finished tucking the covers between the cushions and retreated with a flourish. “All pretty for you.”

Lain shuffled over and sat atop it gingerly. “You know I appreciate you always doing this for me,” he said earnestly.

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“But really, Runaan.”

Runaan rolled his eyes and walked to the doorway. “Goodnight, Lain.”

“Runaan.”

Nia’s voice came through the crack in her door. He mourned his empty bed for a moment before firming his resolve and slipping inside.

Nia was sitting upright against the bedframe with her eyes turned towards the window. She seemed to like that position. He wondered if she missed being outside, the way she looked so intently. She rolled her head around to face him when the door opened.

“He’s alright,” she said.

Runaan leaned against the doorjamb. “He is.”

“Why’s he here in the first place?”

“You were listening.”

“I was, but you got quieter towards the end, so fill me in.”

Runaan said, “He didn’t explain himself very well. Something about being angry at his parents, the usual. Probably offended his father.”

Nia grunted. “What do you suppose it’s like, having two living parents, yet never being intelligent enough to appreciate them?”

“Don’t be cruel,” Runaan snapped. “We all have our struggles to deal with, and Lain deserves my kindness more than you do.”

She snorted. “Don’t pretend, Runaan. We both know you value duty too seriously to abandon your family bonds.”

Runaan clenched his jaw. “Yes.”

They were silent for a moment.

“But, actually,” Nia said, “he’s not hurt?”

“No, his parents aren’t like that.” Runaan shook his head. “Honestly, I remember them being fairly pleasant the few times I met them. I’m not sure why he’s on such poor terms with them.”

Nia half-lifted herself into the air, then eased onto her back. The bed creaked defiantly. “Different ideas on how to live,” she said. “Your Lain has plans. His parents, it seems, do not, or they do, just the wrong ones. Clashing temperaments. Just imagine what it would be like if I was nice.”

“Can you imagine?” Runaan asked dryly. “Surely we wouldn’t get along nearly so well as we do.”

“Nah, you would be confused out of your mind. You’re used to taking my beatings.”

Runaan’s lip twitched. He fumbled the doorknob and half-slipped outside. Nia was already rolling onto her side, back facing him.

“Goodnight, Runaan,” she muttered into her pillow. “And look after yourself, would you? Now that I’m not around to do it?”

He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat and managed a hurried “Goodnight” before he shut the door behind him.

#moonfam origins #tdp fic #fanfic #first time posting a fic on here since the dark days #lain #runaan #mentions of tiadrin #no ethari yet

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