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glassworkspiderlilies · 3 years

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voilà le portrait sans retouches

Genshin Impact | Albedo/Lumine | AO3 Summary: “Sir Albedo,” she continues, and the quality of her voice changes to something more velvet, more compelling, “I’d like you to draw me like one of your Fontaine girls.” (Albedo receives a surprising commission. There's a little more than meets the eye.) Notes: significantly less sexy than it sounds aha. my friend said the line on another fic of mine and it held me hostage until i wrote it!!!! i’m baseball pitching this 18k monstrosity of a hot mess out of my sight after this took 800 years!!!

There are not many things that can surprise Albedo so wholly, but nearly every aspect of the meeting with the Lord Viatoris does.

First, the letter—hand delivered by Jean herself. It is not that Albedo is unknown as a Knight of Favonius, but even as Chief Alchemist and head of the Investigation Team, he is not a figure that often appears in public. His work tends to be very internal and he is left to his own devices most of the time, so to receive a request from the outside is…highly unusual.

And that it comes from the Lord Viatoris, who was considered a hero for his contributions in the most recent war a few years back, is not something that can be ignored.

Additionally—the Knights owe him a debt, for his service in defending the city, and to arrange a private meeting with their Chief Alchemist is hardly an equal trade. Albedo had looked to Jean for some indication of what this request could entail, but the Acting Grand Master had merely shrugged her shoulders and offered to take back his reply.

The letter was politely written and had addressed him simply—Sir Albedo of the Favonian Knights—and had not used any of his loftier titles, which previous letters in the past had when many a noble had tried (and failed) to curry his favor. But, Albedo thinks, while he neatly pens back his acceptance, that it had arrived in the hands of Jean…there was still influence and favor being pulled, no matter how friendly the request.

Second: the child that arrives at the Angel’s Share tavern where the meeting has been arranged at, a few moments before the lord himself. Albedo watches from the second floor when the door bursts open; she is a fairy-looking creature, with snow-white hair and dark eyes, and bounds right up to the bar and asks for three glasses of apple juice upfront, then rattles off an enormous list of dishes. Lord Ragnvindr—though he prefers Master Diluc when attending to the bar—seems to be familiar enough with her that he sighs and puts through her order without otherwise batting an eye, and fills up the empty glasses of juice as she drains them one-by-one.

Where’s your keeper? Diluc asks, his voice just barely audible from Albedo’s position.

Right behind me! The girl says, though with a pout at the word ‘keeper’. We have more of those dumb vials for you, too.

It is unusual enough that there is a child barging into such a place alone, but when said keeper arrives soon after her, Albedo has to wonder just who the girl is in relation to him. Surely not a sibling, with no resemblance at all between them, and likely not a noble child he is watching, with her manners and style of speech. Yet the girl is too richly dressed in her pink-and-white dress, matching boots, and dark navy cloak to be a mere servant. Why, then, cart around and cohort with a common child, of all people?

Third, Lord Viatoris himself is…a surprising man. Albedo had not made any particular assumptions about the young lord prior to this meeting, but due to the rumors, he had nonetheless developed some vague preconceived notions nonetheless. When Viatoris walks in, Albedo finds himself a little startled by his youth, and his manner of dress.

The young man is probably around the same age as Albedo himself, but the rumors had skewed his age to much older and Albedo had never sought to confirm them. The man’s suit is also not particularly striking—an average suit, for a not-at-all average noble, no matter how new to nobility he may be. His hair is also kept long, which is not strange in of itself, but it is braided neatly with a rather old-looking accessory tying the end, and a similarly battered-looking feather earring dangling from his left ear. It is those…antique (if one is being polite) to cheap-looking (if one is not) accessories that are so intriguingly out of place, so at odds with the status he bears. He wears them proudly, but it is clear that neither are worth anything, merely simple trinkets weathered by time.

What is particularly surprising, however, is the young man’s personality. Once the aforementioned vials are given to Diluc (who lets out a bark of laughter at the rather hefty pouch) and his guest’s arrival is pointed out, Lord Viatoris looks up to meet Albedo’s eyes and smiles a brilliant smile, as if Albedo were an old friend he had not seen in quite some time. It was the kind of smile that set one immediately at ease, and assured them that there was no one else he would rather be speaking with.

Oh, Albedo thinks, his elbow propped up and cheek in hand as he smiles slightly back, so, a dangerous man, in this way.

It’s the little girl that greets Albedo first when she bounds up, introducing herself as Paimon and Lord Viatoris as Aether, with the former being the latter’s assistant. There is a story here, what with the little girl addressing the lord not by his title and also extremely casually, and a certain amount of wry deference from the man to the girl, but Albedo cannot yet ask.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Aether says, holding out his hand to shake, while also gesturing with the other that Albedo should remain seated when he half-rises. “I appreciate it, truly.”

Albedo takes the man’s hand, curious at the apparently genuine feeling of gratitude the man exudes, and watches as the man and girl sit down.

“Please, Lord Viatoris. For the services that you have rendered Mondstadt and the Knights of Favonius, this can hardly repay you for what you’ve done.”

Aether smiles, and Albedo notices that he does not immediately deny it out of politeness.

A man who knows what his aid is worth.

“Ah, but you have not yet heard what it is I will ask of you,” he says, lacing his fingers together. “And please, call me Aether.”

Albedo inclines his head.

“Well, then, please let me know. Just what is it that I can do for you?”

Aether smiles again at his forthright attitude.

And so, the fourth surprise, and the most surprising of all: his request.

“A portrait,” Aether says, as a waitress sets down various plates of food on the table and his little assistant digs in without reserve. “I’d like you to paint a portrait.”

Albedo blinks, eyes wide. Of all the things he might have expected to hear, he confesses he did not think it would be this.

“A portrait?” he repeats, incredulous.

“Yes, or perhaps several. I do not know,” Aether shrugs. “It is not I who this is for.”

Albedo leans back, blinking some more.

“My artistry is merely a hobby, Lord Viatoris,” he says carefully, and Aether gives him a sharp look at the use of the title, “It is not…a knightly service that I quite…offer.”

“Yes, well, hence the reason for this meeting and this request, Sir Kreideprinz,” Aether says wryly, taking a sip from his glass. “It took quite a while to find you. I sent my letter through the Knights’ channels because it was the only option available to me. But the request is for you, and not as a Knight of Favonius.”

Albedo stares. The man had looked for him? How odd.

“Color me intrigued,” Albedo says, and Aether grins at the unintentional pun. “But I would have you tell me more. Of all the things I can do…my paintings are not the first thing one would bring up.”

Aether smiles, setting down his drink though he does not remove his hand from the top.

“How much do you know about me, Sir Albedo?”

Albedo raises a brow.

“Of you personally, not much. I know your aid in the last war turned the tides, and that you helped defend Mondstadt. Sometime just after the war you came into sudden fortune, and bought a title as well as a manse somewhere in Mondstadt—but out of the city—with some of that money, propelling yourself into newly minted nobility. While some may clamor at your origins, more accept this state of things, and are honored to make your acquaintance. But as for the type of man you are, not as much makes it into hearsay.”

Aether listens with amusement, drawing rings on the table with the condensation of his glass.

“You have a lovely voice,” he says, and Albedo blinks, but Aether merely continues, “You may judge the kind of man I am for yourself, but what did not seem to make it into half of the stories is this: I have a twin sister, and she fought alongside me, until we were separated during the war. There was…an explosion of some kind, during that decisive battle everyone sings about, and by the time I awoke, she was nowhere to be found, and no one could tell me if she was even still alive. I was bedridden for months; there were speculations of her being a spy, but quite frankly such talk infuriated me so much that after my first outburst that harshly set back my recovery, it was not brought up again. Perhaps that was why she did not make it into the tales.”

He pauses here to sip at his drink.

“I would not be deterred, however, despite no information being available. You must understand, my sister is all I have left, as is the same for her. Our separation left me devastated, especially in such circumstances. It was Paimon who brought me out of…near ruin.”

Paimon looks up at the sound of her name, her cheeks stuffed with meat, blinking once, clearly having not listened to any of the conversation before this. Aether ruffles her hair, and she grumbles but returns to her food.

“An orphan, who’d been assisting the nurses in the camps,” he supplies absently, watching her wolf down the plates in front of her with ease, “She’s a precocious thing, but I owe her my life, in some ways. But I digress—I searched high and low for my sister and did everything I could to obtain news that could be even tangentially related. In the end, it paid off, and we were reunited in Fontaine.”

It is an abrupt conclusion to a tragic tale, and Albedo waits for a continuation that does not come.

“I…I am glad you were able to find her,” he ventures hesitantly, and Aether smiles faintly.

“Oh, please do not misunderstand, I was overjoyed—am overjoyed, to have found her. But the separation was not kind to her, and I….worry for her. Which brings us to my request.”

Albedo raises an eyebrow, unsure of where this is going.

“I will confess that I do not entirely understand. But my sister had been reading a book—Legend of the Sword, I believe?—and said, ‘ah, the same artist.’ Upon questioning, she had mentioned that she had seen your drawings in Fontaine, and offhandedly mused that she should like to see herself reflected by your hand. She did not ask me to find you—I daresay she may not remember she uttered such a thing—but this was the first thing my sister has shown active interest in since our reunion. As such, I want to do everything in my power to give it to her.”

Aether leans forward, elbows on the table as he laces his fingers together and puts his chin atop them.

“I’m prepared to give you nearly everything I am able to,” he says, his tone still entirely amicable despite the sheer force of power behind that statement, “But I also know that you are not the type to be swayed by money or power. I have done what research I can, but you are a hard man to find information about, Sir Albedo. Which brings us here, with my request for a portrait or several on my sister’s whim, and the question of what I may offer you in return.”

There is a silence between them for a while, as Albedo gathers his thoughts, wholly taken aback by the story and the reasoning behind this meeting. At the moment, he has one of the most influential nobles in Teyvat at his mercy—though he does not miss the way Aether had stipulated nearly.

“Well,” he says, “Given that, the money may simply just be easier to take.”

Aether blinks, then throws his head back and laughs, drawing the attention from other patrons and causing them to smile before they turn back to their own business. He holds a hand to his stomach, slapping the table once before he gathers himself.

“Oh, I do like you,” he says, mirth brightening his eyes. “Well, in any case, if you accept, I’d like you to meet my sister, Lumine. We have a holding in Starfell; you’ll be welcome to stay for however long the portrait or portraits take, of course. Transportation will be made available to you if you prefer to commute. If you need any supplies, I’ll order it. Whatever you need taken care of, I will do.”

“Thank you,” Albedo says politely. “It would be far more efficient to take up temporary residence. But pardon—I also have someone I consider a sister; she is still quite young. She’s looked after by the Knights as well, of course, but it would be remiss of me to leave her for so long if this venture will take an indefinite amount of time. The work for the Knights I may leave to my own assistant, Sucrose, but…”

“Then bring her along,” Aether says easily, without hesitation, “It is a big enough place.”

Albedo coughs.

“I will confess she can be…ah…rambunctious,” he says cautiously.

Aether grins, patting Paimon’s head again. The girl still does not look up from her meal.

“Bring her along,” Aether repeats, emphatically. “So are we agreed, then? I’ll draw up a contract if you’d like, open to payment of your choosing.”

Albedo hums, considering his options.

“No need, for now,” he says, “Perhaps after I better understand what your sister would like from me. But I shall formally accept your request, Aether.”

The man smiles.

“Thank you, Albedo,” he says, and means it.

Regardless of the permission he is given, Albedo does not yet bring Klee with him. It is not that he mistrusts Aether, but…he knows nothing about the household, and will not take any risks with Klee.

The Viatoris mansion is…interesting, suffice to say. It is a more rustic house, and whoever had it built clearly had a taste for the style of the old world, given the large statues that adorn the expansive garden—Ruin Guards, they used to be called. But they are oddly charming, in a way, with vines and sprouts climbing over and through their stonework, the old giving life to the new.

It is perched in the palm of one such statue that Albedo meets the Lady Viatoris, who surprises him too—not due to her presence, like her brother, but rather the lack thereof. She is something almost transient; whereas her brother draws the eye due to the charm of his attitude, she draws the eye because one is not entirely sure of what they are seeing. She is a delicate thing, at least outwardly—pale and prim in her white and blue dress, but Albedo goes not forget that she fought a war with her brother.

Aether leads him towards her, tossing an apple procured from the kitchens up and down before throwing it towards his sister with a split-second warning.

“Lumi! Guess what!” he calls, and she looks just in time to catch the apple with one hand.

She peers down at him, frowning, blinking at Albedo.

“Brought you a present,” Aether grins, and Lumine squints.

“…The apple or this man?” she asks, as she slips a small knife out of the folds of her dress and cuts the apple in half.

Albedo blinks at the appearance of the blade. Lumine holds one half of the apple over the edge of her perch and drops it, forcing Aether to lunge forward to grab it, which he does, catching it with admirable deftness.

“Both,” Aether says smugly, biting into the fruit the same time his sister does, and Lumine narrows her eyes at him. Albedo coughs, but Aether holds up his hands placatingly, still grinning. “This is Albedo,” he introduces with no follow-up, clearly drawing out the situation.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Viatoris,” Albedo greets, with a polite bow.

Lumine dips her head in return, glancing back at her brother, knowing that there’s something more to this but unable to discern exactly what.

“Likewise. Welcome to the manor,” she says slowly, tilting her head a little as she scrutinizes Albedo. “…You have a lovely voice.”

Albedo blinks at the familiar line; Aether laughs.

“Doesn’t he? I said the same. But anyway—I thought he might be of service to you, and he agreed to come after hearing me out.”

Lumine narrows her eyes at him again, scooting closer to the edge of the statue’s palm so that her legs dangle over the side. She finishes up her half of the apple as Aether does his, and they both toss the partial cores into the dirt, which Aether scuffs over.

“Did he, now?” she says, frowning, and Aether puts his hands in his pockets casually, a picture of ease.

“I thought you might like your portrait done,” he says, and she furrows her eyebrows.

“My portrait?” she asks, still confused, “When did I ever give that indication?”

She looks to Albedo suspiciously, who coughs, giving her a sheepish look.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself more fully,” he says, and Aether lets out an awwww at the game being let up so soon, “My name is Albedo, of the Knights of Favonius. But perhaps you may better know me as the illustrator for Legend of the Sword.”

The change is immediate; Lumine solidifies, somehow, and it takes a moment for Albedo to realize that it is her eyes that are the crux of the change. She lights up, her posture straightening as she leans dangerously over the edge, and a delighted laugh escapes out of her.

“No,” she breathes, disbelievingly, as she looks to Aether, “You didn’t.”

“How rude, he’s right here, isn’t he?” he says, mocking affront.

Lumine laughs again, then slides off the statue’s palm, startling Albedo. But she lands gracefully, her skirts ballooning around her before she throws her arms around Aether’s neck, squeezing him tightly.

“Oof,” he wheezes at her strength, but she steps back and shakes him.

“You madman,” she grins back, “I can’t believe you. How did you find him? How did he find you?”

She turns to Albedo, taking his hands excitedly, and as she meets his eyes, Albedo can see how this girl too could take the world by storm if she could bear to stay in it.

“Started by tracing the book’s author, followed some trails, greased some palms at the Yae Publishing house—the usual,” Aether supplies, pleased by her reaction, “Just took a little time. You won’t turn him away, will you? I’ve got another business trip in a few days, I would hate for him to be uncomfortable here. I’ve rather grown to like him.”

Lumine laughs, tugging Albedo’s hand and waving at her brother as she heads back into the house.

“How dare you,” she says, eyes sparkling, “He’s more in danger of us not letting him leave, isn’t he?”

Aether sweeps a bow to Albedo as Lumine leads him away, and does not follow.

Albedo lets himself be led, bemused, into a solarium, with Lumine calling for food and drink along the way. She sinks down onto the couch, watching as he seats himself on the sofa across from her, thanking the servants as they lay down plates of little finger sandwiches, as well as a pot of tea and a bottle of whiskey with accompanying cups and glasses.

She pours herself of finger of liquor before offering the bottle to him, but he declines and opts for the tea instead. She drains her glass then pulls out a slim cigarette case, once more offering, and he once more declining. He watches as she affixes it to a beautiful enamel holder, balancing it between her teeth as she lights it up with a match.

She then blows the match out, placing it on the table, and takes a drag of her cigarette before turning her attention to him again.

“Hmmm,” she says, as she blows out the smoke, “I confess, now that I have you here, I’m not entirely sure how to proceed. I never expected my brother to go looking for you, let alone find you, so I just find it a marvel that you’re here at all.”

Albedo smiles a little and leans back, drinking from his teacup as he observes her. The cigarette and the whiskey—her movements are easy and practiced, but almost too much so, and he wonders at this sense of discrepancy, when he barely knows her.

“Well,” he says, placing his cup back on the saucer, “I myself am curious how you came to know of me completely outside of my work for the Knights of Favonius. According to your brother, it was in Fontaine first that you became aware of me.”

There is a silence as she puffs, and she seems to dim as she is caught up in her thoughts.

“Yes,” she murmurs absently, “Fontaine.”

But the separation was not kind to her, and I….worry for her, now, Aether had said, and Albedo can see why. She is a flickering lantern, with the approaching danger of flickering out.

“I was there briefly, when I was coming home from the war,” he supplies, setting his cup down on the table, “But I’m not sure how or where I made such an impression that would have stuck with you in that duration.”

Lumine blinks, focusing on him again. She doesn’t answer straight away, tapping the ashes into a crystal tray.

“How much do you know about me?” she asks, and Albedo’s lips twitch up again.

“…You really are similar sometimes, you and Aether,” he cannot help but say, and Lumine looks startled, and then deeply amused, but says nothing in response to that in particular. “Not much, I suppose. Aether said that you were separated during an explosion, and then he searched high and low for you. And…then he found you.”

She hums, leaning back as well, and turns her head to look out into the gardens.

“I shan’t bore you with the details,” she says, though he can tell it is more that she does not wish to speak of it. Aether too had avoided detailing the last part of his story. “I was prisoner for a time…and then I was released. But I was lost and penniless and so I…drifted. I was in Snezhnaya awhile. Then Natlan. And finally Fontaine. You did drawings for the common people around a certain café, do you remember? From the elderly to the youths to the children. From the administrators to the merchants to the working girls. The proprietor of the café was quite taken with some of them; had them framed and hung on the walls.”

“Oh,” Albedo says, truly surprised. “I had no idea.”

Lumine smiles, leaning forward, crossing her legs.

“Including the nude portraits,” she continues, perfectly at ease, “Fontaine had their artistic rebirth much quicker than Mondstadt did, no doubt due to you. They were beautiful, you know—all of them. Very honest.”

Albedo is quiet for a moment, thinking back. He does recall, now that she has brought it up; there had been a span of a few days where all the battle had finally winded down, and he was desperate for…something else. Businesses were opening again and celebrations were abound for the end of the war, and so he had simply chosen a café, sat, and drawn. He’d gained some attention, afterwards, when the sketches were left with the owner or given to the customers—especially from the women. He’d consented easily to the nude portraiture of the working girls, somewhat fascinated by the opportunity, whom in hindsight were also flirting with him. But he was much more intrigued by the way they held themselves, or the shape of her hands, or the curve of her nose to pay much attention to it at the time.

He had done many a portrait before he disappeared—in their eyes, at least, for he had been something of a stir before he decided to be on his way. No one had any detail of who he was.

“The war…” he begins, slowly, staring down at his hands, “Afterwards, I wanted to find normalcy in the ways that I could.”

He clenches his fist then relaxes it, flexing his fingers, and says nothing more. Silence stretches, before he remembers why he is here, and he lifts his head again.

The lady’s eyes are distant once more, her gaze turned elsewhere, her cigarette burning low.

“So, a portrait, or several,” Albedo says, reaching for his tea, and she turns to him, “Was what Aether said. Was he speaking your wishes true?”

Lumine blinks, then smiles slowly.

“Yes,” she says, and they stare at each other for a moment. “Sir Albedo,” she continues, and the quality of her voice changes to something more velvet, more compelling, “I’d like you to draw me like one of your Fontaine girls.”

A pause, his teacup halfway to his lips, and then he raises an eyebrow.

“Clothed, or unclothed?” he asks lightly, setting the cup back onto the saucer, and Lumine lets out an airy laugh.

“Whichever you think will capture me best,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette. “Or both, if you feel the need. I’m interested in what you see of me, Sir Albedo, because I’m finding it difficult to see anything at all.”

He stares, another silence enveloping them.

“I see,” he says.

She smiles faintly and pours another finger of whiskey.

“Good,” she says, and drinks.

The conversation ends thus.

He glances back once when he leaves, but Lumine is no longer there, already gone through one of the many glass doors.

They start with the standard—clothed—portraits, and he passes some days with Lumine in the solarium or out in the gardens, sketching her simply doing whatever she feels like. Aether joins them here and there to pass the time, but true to his word, he is gone again in a few days to Liyue for a business trip.

“Mr. Zhongli doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Aether says, on the day he is to leave, snapping his pocketwatch closed. “So I’d best be there early. Don’t let my sister get you into trouble. Look out for her, will you?”

Lumine snorts from the sofa, holding up a lazy hand in a goodbye wave.

“Give my regards to Mr. Zhongli,” she says, “And my thanks to Lady Ningguang, for the brocade and new cigarette holders.”

He promises he will, while Paimon promises to bring back local snacks.

The manor is quieter without them, and Lumine is even more prone to getting lost in her thoughts. She smokes more too, and he begins to see more reason behind Aether’s parting words.

His assignment is much more difficult than it seems; despite the days spent in her company, none of the sketches he’s done so far feel right. It is a very particular kind of portrait she is seeking, and even if he knows what she wants, it is another story to capture it properly. It is far, far more than simply drawing what he sees, even if his insight is, perhaps, a little keener than others.

He’d expected this to be a trial, however—welcomed it, even—and continues unperturbed, no matter how many pages he goes through. Lumine watches as he flips through page after page in his sketchbook and says nothing.

It takes him a little longer than he would have liked to realize at least part of the discrepancy between what he draws and what he sees.

Lumine is not…comfortable.

It’s not that she is uncomfortable around him; she likes him well enough and behaves more and more casually around him by the day. No, it’s a certain quality that she’s had since he met her, something that she’s had even around Aether. It creates a sense of distance, like a thin glass wall.

(One could break it, indeed. But the resulting shatter might cut both of their hands to ribbons.)

There’s something inhibiting her, somehow, and once again he thinks back to Aether saying the separation was not kind to her. Lumine had glossed over her history, and Albedo was in no place to push, but he thinks now, perhaps, that hearing it, or some of it, may be necessary in order to achieve what she wants from him.

But she does not want to speak of it, and he cannot nor wants to tear it out of her.

Still; she needs something else to shake her out of these doldrums, or they will remain at a permanent standstill. Now that he’s pinpointed an issue, he can start attempting solutions.

For something like this, however, he simply goes to the strongest thing in his arsenal.

He notifies Lumine of his plans, takes a short leave, and comes back with Klee bouncing excitedly up and down behind him. She spins around slowly as she walks, running a little to close the gap between her and her and Albedo when she realizes she’s gotten distracted trying to take in all the sights and unusual structures of the Viatoris mansion.

Lumine greets them with a bemused smile. Albedo notices that her dress for the day is…a little different than her standard. It is far simpler—almost rustic—with the red and white layers matching Klee’s own outfit. She has a fur stole draped over her shoulders as well, and though it is still a refined ensemble, she looks less…intimidating, somehow, more fairylike instead of ghostly. Klee sticks closer to Albedo’s back once she notices the lady waiting for them, peeking out with wide eyes as she grips her brother’s coat. But Albedo can tell that her fingers are just itching to touch the fur of Lumine’s stole.

As they near, Lumine’s eyes crinkle as she looks at Albedo and sinks down to meet Klee’s eyes, not minding her skirts touching the ground.

“Hello,” she greets with a smile, “You must be Klee. Welcome.”

Klee beams at her, instantly overcoming her brief shyness, stepping out from behind Albedo and coming a little closer.

“Hello, Lady Viatoris!” she says cheerfully, curtsying clumsily. “Thank you for having me.” She hesitates for a second, expression turning a little bashful. “May I please touch your fluffy scarf?”

Lumine laughs, removing it from her shoulders and wrapping it around Klee’s, enveloping her in its soft texture. The little girl gasps delightedly, stroking it once, then continues to do so, unable to stop.

“A present, then,” Lumine says, “For helping keep me company.”

Albedo startles a little, on both accounts, and Lumine gives him a wry smile. First, the fur must be worth a fortune, and second…he hadn’t thought she would catch on so immediately.

“Waaa…thank you!” Klee says, grinning widely, “And I’m excited to be here! I get to spend time with Albedo…and also make a new friend! So Klee is really happy!”

Her attitude is infectious, and both Albedo and Lumine smile at her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Lumine chuckles softly, “Shall we get a snack first, before I show you around?”

“Yaaay! Yes, please!”

Klee runs ahead, with the aid of a maid to point the way to the kitchens, while Albedo and Lumine linger behind.

“You did not have to do that, but thank you,” he says, referring to the fur.

“I wanted to,” she replies, watching Klee go, “She’s an adorable thing.”

“As I warned Aether, she can be rambunctious. She often gets herself into some sort of trouble.”

“Ah, but did Aether not warn you the same about me? You may have simply created more work for yourself.”

He blinks, and she throws a cheeky grin over her shoulder before she makes her way to the kitchens too.

A spot of tea and a plate of Fontaine-style cookies called macarons later, they are roaming the mansion grounds, with Klee wide-eyed at everything she sees.

Not unexpectedly, she is fondest of the gardens, enamored with the statues that Lumine so loves to sit on.

“They used to ‘splode?” Klee squeals, when she spots the replicated mechanisms on the Ruin Guard’s back with wide eyes as she jumps up and down.

Lumine glances at Albedo, somewhat unsure if she should be telling a little girl this, but he merely gives her a wry smile. She does not yet know Klee’s history.

“Well…not quite. It’s said they would release missiles from their backs. They were meant to protect ruins, but…”

She trails off. The Ruin Guards have a more complicated history, with scholars debating hotly over the common discrepancy of the age of ruins they protect and the age of the Guards themselves. But thankfully Klee doesn’t notice, as she is far more taken with the idea of these big missile-shooting automata being things that actually existed once upon a time.

“Klee wants to make something like that, too!” she exclaims, “Like…a big Dodoco! Then she could help Klee blow up even more bad guys!”

Lumine blinks, confused on two accounts, glancing at Albedo.

“Dodoco is her stuffed friend hanging off of her bag—a handmade gift, from her mother, who took me in. And…despite her age, Klee is an expert on bombs,” Albedo explains lightly, “Her…education with her mother was…unconventional, due to unconventional times.”

Lumine blinks at him, then looks to Klee.

“Ah,” she says, sadly. “So she is a Knight, too.”

“Yes,” Albedo replies somberly. “Yes, she is.”

Lumine says nothing, and simply watches Klee circle the statue for a while before walking towards her and suggesting a game of tag. Albedo watches with some alarm as Lumine shucks off her delicate shoes and ties the up the excess fabric of her dress to the side, revealing a peek of her garters.

She looks surprised at his wide eyes, smiling as she straightens.

“Surely Sir Albedo is not embarrassed by a little flesh, when he has seen far more?” she asks, bemused, and he coughs lightly.

“The situation was more established then,” he returns, dragging his eyes from her leg to her face, “One does not expect a noble lady to hike up her skirts so brazenly.”

Lumine lets out a laugh—a bark, really, partly harsh and partly genuine, and Albedo wonders if he’s said something wrong. But she doesn’t respond, and simply goes to Klee to set the rules of the game before running off, the little girl chasing after her with enthusiasm.

In a few moments he will play a few rounds with them when Klee begs his participation, but right now, he simply watches Lumine flit about the hedges and trees, looking back occasionally to make sure Klee has not lost her entirely.

She meets his eyes, startling him, somehow, with the quality of her gaze. It is measuring, and distant, and also…doubtful, even as she mouths—

Come get me.

In the time that Klee stays within the mansion, they spend it simply entertaining her and ensuring her well-being. They play games, running around in the gardens or hosting hide-and-seek within the house, the halls filled with Klee’s laughter, softly echoed by Lumine’s own and accompanied by Albedo’s chuckles. Other times Klee sprawls on the ground of the solarium and draws with crayons as Lumine watches over her and Albedo continues with his portraiture.

Though the mansion staff largely takes care of their meals, Albedo sometimes takes over the kitchen. Klee has her favorites from him, and it’s not the same to have someone else cook them.

So at present, in the kitchen, Klee stands on a box to reach the counter as she uses small cookie cutters to cut vegetables into fun shapes, while Albedo prepares everything else. The roles are familiar between them, and though he occasionally looks over at Klee to make sure she is still doing well, he trusts her to do so as he focuses on other aspects.

It takes a while before he realizes Lumine is leaning against the doorframe. She does not tend to eat meals with them—snacks and teatime, yes, but not usually meals—and so it is unusual that she is here at this time. But here she is, watching quietly, her expression unguarded.

There is an unfocused quality to her gaze as she takes in the whole scene and not just a single part of it, as though she is trying to seep herself into a daydream. But her eyes are also tender, and longing, and the emotion she bares is so palpable that it nearly takes his breath away.

Lumine shifts after a moment, as though she is going to slip away without a word, but Albedo does not let her.

“Good afternoon,” he says, making her jump a little, “Will you join us for lunch?”

Klee turns and spots her, a wide grin stretching across her face as she jumps up and down on her box.

“Lady Lumi! Please, will you? Albedo’s making Woodland Dream, it’s my very favorite! Klee wants it to be your favorite, too!”

Lumine hesitates by the door, her hand tightening into a fist by her side, and she tilts forward a little as if she’ll take a step before she stops herself. She presses her lips together, as though there is an insurmountable wall that she cannot pass even within her own home.

Albedo steps over the threshold, taking her hand without a word and leading her next to Klee.

“Come on, then,” he smiles, “I’ll make another portion. We could use an extra hand.”

“Yay! Look, Klee will show you how the carrots become flowers!”

Lumine doesn’t look at him, all of her attention turned onto Klee as she demonstrates how she uses the little cutters to punch the slices of carrot into shapes. Albedo turns away and lets them be, the kitchen full of Klee’s chatter and the occasional returning murmur from Lumine.

Later, as Albedo prepares to sear the fish, Klee brings over a bowl of vegetables to him, and he smiles down at her.

“Albedo, look! Lady Lumi cut some into Dodoco shapes!”

He peers at the carved carrot that his sister is holding up, impressed. He glances back, where Lumine has taken a seat by the counter, her chin in her hands as she continues to watch the two of them.

“That’s some workmanship,” he says curiously.

“I know my way around a knife,” she replies simply, and he’s not entirely sure what to make of that.

He remembers their first meeting, where she had a hidden knife for the apple that Aether had brought her. He remembers her telling him but I was lost and penniless and so I…drifted, across three countries entirely alone.

Nevertheless, there is lunch to finish up. He steams the vegetables with butter and sears the fish with herbs, quickly making a sauce of reduced balsamic vinaigrette and honey in the meantime. Klee watches with excitement with Lumine, as she sings the dish’s praises.

It’s the plating, really, that is the most impressive; he has timed everything perfectly, and all parts of the dish leave their respective pans within seconds of each other. He arranges the vegetables efficiently, adding a flourish with the sauce, and delivers two plates to the table piping hot.

Lumine’s eyes widen a little, and the corner of Albedo’s lips turn up. She notices, and her eyes crinkle.

“A man of many talents,” she says, and he chuckles a little.

“Only some,” he says, and turns to plate his own.

The three of them eat in the kitchen, not bothering with the more complicated place settings of the formal dining room even though Lumine is here. She doesn’t seem to mind—on the contrary, she seems more relaxed, even though she’s reverted back to not speaking much.

Klee tries to sneak her pearl onions onto Lumine’s plate, but Albedo notices and gives her a pointed look. She grins and lets out a sheepish hehehe before taking back her fork and putting it into her mouth, chewing the vegetable dutifully.

Lumine looks amused, and offers one of her Dodoco-shaped carrots. Albedo raises a brow, and Lumine smiles.

“A reward,” she protests, and Klee looks between her and Albedo before offering one of her cherry tomatoes, which Lumine seemed to particularly enjoy.

“Me too!” Klee says cheerfully, “Klee’s good at sharing!”

“She is,” Albedo smiles, his eyes just a touch mischievous, “Which is why she’ll share her fish too, won’t she?”

Klee wilts, her eyes growing big. She hesitates, looking back and forth.

“Noo…that’s Klee’s favorite part…”

Albedo smothers a laugh.

“Honesty is also a valuable trait,” he says somberly, and gives her a portion of his fish, instead. “It is important not to let others take what you don’t want to give.”

She perks up instantly, giving him some of her broccoli, digging into the rest of her meal happily.

“This is the best!” she says, swinging her legs, beaming at Lumine, but her eyes widen a little when she catches sight of the lady’s face. “Miss Lumi, what’s wrong?”

Lumine blinks, then smiles a little tremulously.

“I….think I just miss my brother,” she says, faltering a little.

It doesn’t sound like a lie, but there also seems to be more than that. But Klee doesn’t notice, nodding sagely.

“Klee understands! I’m also sad when I don’t get to see Albedo for a long time,” she says, “So…maybe it’s not the same, but…Klee will share Albedo with you!”

Albedo raises an amused brow, while Lumine looks startled.

“Oh!” she says, laughing a little. “Thank you, Klee.”

“If you’re in trouble, Albedo will help you!” the little girl continues, eager to share the merits of her brother, “He gets Klee out of all kinds of trouble! And he’ll never ever lie to you, so you can always trust his promises! Albedo is the best!”

Lumine blinks, her eyes growing thoughtful.

“I see,” she says, her voice a little absent again. “I’ll remember that.”

Klee beams again, turning back to her food with satisfaction.

Albedo glances at the lady before turning to his own plate, and pretends not to notice when her gaze eventually slides over to him and sears with her scrutiny.

It is Lumine who suggests a walk after lunch, guiding them to the famous old watchtower in the area. They do not climb the structure, but admire the view from the Stormbearer Point.

“No storms today!” Klee reports, shading her eyes with both hands and sweeping the horizon. “All clear!”

Lumine gazes into the distance for a little while longer.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “Indeed.” She then turns to Klee with a slight smile. “Have you ever had valberries before? They only grow in these parts. They’re very sweet and refreshing.”

“Ooooh, Klee wants some!”

Despite the fact that they just ate not long ago, Lumine leads them to the berry bushes, plucking them from their vines and eating them directly. They are indeed delicious, and they make makeshift baskets with their clothes and bring as many back as they can.

Over the next few days, they continue to pick berries and spend time making them into jam, and use the jam in cookies and other desserts.

Klee stays for a little over a fortnight; though she’s enjoyed her time terribly, it is a lonely area without other children or otherwise much to do, and she misses the bustle of the city. On the day she returns, the carriage is loaded with various gifts—a huge basket of food (including fresh berries and their handmade jam), the fur stole, and other trinkets and games that she’d found an interest in during her stay. Albedo will escort her back to the city so he can check in on his affairs as well, and Lumine sees them off in the afternoon.

“Will you be alright?” he asks, and she gives him an amused look.

“You’re taking my brother too seriously,” she says, as she kneels down to speak to Klee. “Come back and play sometime, okay?”

“I will!” Klee says, hugging Lumine tightly, and the lady looks surprised before she hugs back.

When she rises, she tilts her head at Albedo.

“Safe travels, the both of you,” she says, and he nods back in acknowledgement.

Klee waves all the way until Lumine is out and sight, and Albedo watches until he cannot see her anymore.

In the distance, Lumine is still until the carriage disappears entirely.

It takes about four days for him to return; though the Knights of Favonius are not incapable, Albedo is simply too good at his job. Things are less efficient without him, and though it is not imperative that things move so quickly, it is not how Albedo runs the department when he is present. He is not displeased with how things have been during his absence, but now that he’s here, work is brought up to speed, tasks reassigned, assignments evaluated and new ones given.

No one asks much about how his own assignment is going or what the details are; the commonfolk know that he is on Lord Viatoris’ business, and do not pry. But the others—Jean, Kaeya, and Diluc especially—have a more knowing manner when he speaks to them, and on the day he is to return, load him up with various items. From Jean, a tin of tea, the nondescript container showing it is not bought from a shop. From Kaeya, a sealed envelope and a secretive smile. From Diluc, a bottle of what seems like particularly fine wine, but turns out to be grape juice. None of them say anything in particular when they hand over the items, and because they don’t, he’s aware that these are not for Aether, whom they must know is not currently in Mondstadt.

So Albedo too takes them without a word.

There is some trouble on the road—a broken wheel, and then a group of bandits—so he arrives well into the night. The manse is nearly completely dark, and he frowns as he walks in; the few servants still on duty greet him with somewhat veiled relief.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, concerned.

“Yes,” one of the maids says simply, “But it is better, now that you’ve returned. Lady Lumine called for whiskey and tea about an hour ago, on the balcony. If you are not too worn out…may we suggest you join her?”

Albedo blinks, but does not hesitate and nods.

“We’ll unload the carriage,” a butler smiles, “Perhaps you can take a fresh pot with you.”

And so Albedo is accompanied by another maid holding a tray as they go up the stairs, who leaves him by the door with the beverages.

It’s a chilly night, and the other door to the balcony has been left wide open so that the room too has turned cold, though the fireplace fights a losing battle for dominance of the temperature. Lumine has her chin propped up on her hand, but turns when she hears noise.

Her face brightens when she sees him; she smiles, leaning back in her seat.

“Albedo,” she says, his name warm and thick on her tongue. She is, perhaps, just the slightest bit tipsy. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” he says, setting the tray down. “May I join you?”

“Of course.”

She watches with interest as he prepares them both drinks—a mix of honey, whiskey, and lemon first, topped with hot tea, then stirred.

“Are you drinking to humor me?” she asks, and he smiles, “You needn’t to.”

“I find myself wanting to,” he says, handing her one of the mugs as he sips, and she smiles back.

They are quiet for a while, enjoying the warmth of the liquid, before Albedo remembers that there are items he is meant to convey.

“I’ve some gifts for you, from Mondstadt,” he says, “From various well-wishers.”

“Oh?”

Her tone is deceptively mild.

“Yes. I was surprised; I was under the impression you were something of a secret.”

“Are you disappointed?” she asks teasingly, “But you are not wrong. Those who feel the need to know, do.”

He tilts his head in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes on her, measuring. She blinks back at him, the corners of her lips curling up a little. There is more to it; the gifts meant for her all have a personal touch. Especially from Diluc and Kaeya—neither give easily, no matter what it is.

“You have far more of a hand in your brother’s dealings than you seem, don’t you?”

She blinks at him in mild surprise, then chuckles.

“Are you asking because you believed me nothing more than a housepet?”

It startles a laugh out of him, how wrong that impression is, even though the time he has spent with her does often involve her lounging.

“No, I am merely seeking confirmation. Though I will admit…had I known nothing at all about you, I may have thought so.”

Her eyes are amused as she swirls the drink around in her mug, but as she continues to stare into her cup, the expression fades.

“Aether is…good at socializing and negotiating. He makes a good businessman; he would not have been able to buy our titles if he were not. But now that his ventures are bigger…he lets details slip through the cracks; he’s no good at bookkeeping. And he cannot be everywhere at once, although he tries. And even now, he’s still…”

She trails off, the pause long before she finishes her sentence.

“…Too kind.”

Too soft, Albedo supplants, understanding what she does not say. It is not a failing. But it must be balanced, and that’s what she does—balances him, as he does her.

And yet…

“You’ve been uncomfortable,” Albedo says. “Haven’t you?”

It is too blunt, perhaps, but…with the chill of the clear night and the warmth provided by the alcohol, he thinks he can feel something…giving. A slight shift in the wind, a subtle turn of the currents.

Lumine’s eyes flick to his. There is a silence, and she reaches for the whiskey to pour a little more in her cup. She offers him the bottle—this time, he takes it, and she watches as he pours himself a rather generous amount with some surprise.

She frowns at herself, drinks, then leans back in her seat, tilting her head back to look up at the stars.

“Maybe,” she half-sighs, half-groans. “But he is around me, too.”

She props her head up with her arm just enough to see him, smiling a little when she sees that he looks mildly surprised.

“He doesn’t seem like it, does he? He’s good at smiling. But we’re twins. I can tell, and so can he.” She averts her gaze, staring out into the gardens. “I don’t fault him, though. As he doesn’t fault me. Too much happened in the years after we were separated. We were too dependent on each other…and then we learned to subsist…exist without. And now things are…too different. Too strange. So we just…are.”

Albedo stares, then drinks. She stares at his throat when she swallows, unfurling her other arm as though she were going to reach out for him, but she rests it on the table instead.

“Do you want what you had before?”

She blinks at him.

“You are asking a lot of questions tonight, Albedo.”

A warning? He’s not sure, but he can feel the glass wall’s spiderweb fracturing at his fingertips, and his desire to press forward itches. He’ll blame the alcohol for making him bold, even as he is ready to accept the consequences of what the results might be.

“Yes. You asked something of me. I cannot see if you do not let me.”

She blinks again. Her lip curls, at once sardonic and challenging.

Lumine leans forward, putting both arms on the table and leaning forward, as if she were going to tell him a secret—or spit in his face.

“We traveled together for some time, after he found me and I was stable enough to do so. Like we used to. It was all wrong. And it was everything I feared.”

Albedo stares at her, hard. There is a world unspoken in those words, and as he presses them into his brain to figure out what, past the alcohol and past what he already knows, a new thought filters into his mind. His eyes widen slightly; Lumine notices, and her lips thin as if anticipating a blow of some kind. But before she can pull back, his own hand clamps down on her wrist as he too leans forward.

“You didn’t look for him,” he realizes, and she breathes in sharply. “It never occurred to me until now. He spoke about searching for you, all that time. But it wasn’t the same for you. You didn’t look for him.”

There is a serrated silence; Albedo remembers when Aether recounted his story at the Angel’s Share. His deceptively easy folded hands, the restrained pain in his eyes, the curbed tightness of his voice—excellent bravado had covered it all, but that too was telling. The setback he had experienced when he was still recovering from the explosion, so angry was he at slander against his missing sister. The way he had needed saving from a small orphan in the nursing camps when no one could or would tell him of Lumine’s whereabouts.

How he had leaned forward at the tavern and offered just about anything as payment for Albedo to grant his sister’s wishes and whims.

Albedo understands better now, that the stipulation of nearly everything in his power was because he would give up nothing that provided his sister comfort, no matter how small. What loyalty! But also, the fear of losing her once more—and the latter would be something Aether would truly give everything not to happen again.

All that, and the sister he searched for so desperately…

Did not feel the same.

Lumine’s eyes grow wet and despairing the more she watches understanding flit across his face, and he can feel her hand under his clench into a fist, but she doesn’t pull away from him.

“I did, in the beginning,” she whispers, trembling, “But not for long. You must have heard the songs and tales of Aether by now. Mondstadt’s Hero is just one title among many. His name was everywhere. At first it kept me going. And then—when I couldn’t find him, when I had nowhere to turn, when I was lost and destitute…it was only his name that I heard. It was not that I wanted to share the spotlight—far from it. But the more I heard about him, without me, the further away he seemed to get. Like I was no longer able to reach him. Like I was no longer enough.”

The words spill out of her, quick but heavy, every syllable a blow, her breath coming short as though she is panicking. She doesn’t look at him, staring down at their hands, her nails surely digging crescents into her palm.

“I stopped looking. I couldn’t—it was so much just trying to survive. We were named for the light and sky, do you know? But I wasn’t…bright enough to share the same…the same sky. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see anything at all.”

Her body is whipcord tense, so rigid that her muscles must scream for release. But she doesn’t notice, trapped in the despair of her own faults, biting her lip so hard blood pools to the surface.

“Breathe,” Albedo says sharply, “Lumine, breathe.”

She tries to, for several minutes, shuddering as she inhales. She then puts a hand to her forehead and shades her eyes. Her voice cracks with nearly every other word when she speaks again, every sound a trial, but the tears have not yet fallen.

“He found me. He never stopped looking. But I—I had nothing to offer him when he did. Not memories, not even a shell. All he found was a great yawning abyss that he once called sister. He would have given everything for me, and I could give him nothing. What kind of monster does that make me?”

Albedo stands and gently cups her jaw, tilting her head up. She is haunted hollow, looking at him the way a woman stranded at sea for months might after finally seeing a beacon of rescue in the far distance.

But he is not at a distance.

“Breathe,” he says again, more firmly, and her gaze bores into his as she obeys. “One. Two. Three. Yes, that’s right. Again. And again.”

He sees the wildness begin to ebb as she listens to his voice, counting inhales and exhales at length, and he lets go of her face when she starts to settle. He removes his other hand from her wrist as well and she shivers at the sudden lack of warmth and contact.

Lumine flips her hand over, palm-up, studying the bloody red indents she’s made on her own skin. She frowns, pressing a napkin to the cuts. When she licks her lips she tastes the blood from earlier and dabs that away too, finally seeming to ground herself with its iron tang.

There is a weighted silence.

“I’ve had too much to drink,” she murmurs—though it’s not strictly true—when the pause has drawn out too long, “It’s late. I should retire for the night.”

Albedo simply inclines his head, hesitantly acquiescing to her wishes. There is more to be said—things he could say. But her confession is too raw, the air between them too delicate, and Lumine herself still so fragile at the moment the wind could scatter the particles of her.

Lumine rises from her seat first, languid and perhaps a little dazed; Albedo follows, closing the doors to the balcony behind him. He leans against the bedpost as Lumine sinks down onto the mattress, burying her face in her hands. After a moment, he takes a chance and walks back over to her, kneeling down and putting a hand on her knee.

She looks at him.

He says nothing. She gazes back, seeming as though she wants to say something, her lips parted. But she struggles with the words and decides against it; Albedo encourages her through his own gaze, but she gives a small shake of her head in the end.

Albedo makes to get up, but she puts her hand on top of his briefly before he fully rises, and he lowers himself back down.

“Thank you,” she says instead in a tiny, feeble voice, and he smiles a little.

“I haven’t anything to show for my presence here yet,” he says, a little jokingly, and she smiles back hesitantly.

“You’ve done much, already,” she says softly.

They are still for a moment, staring at each other. Albedo flips his own hand over so that their palms meet, and after a moment, he laces their fingers together. Lumine sighs, squeezing his hand weakly.

“Should I…stay until you fall asleep?” Albedo asks slowly.

It is an innocent offer. He says it simply, uncharged, and yet it comes out very differently than the times he’s asked this to Klee.

Lumine is silent, then reaches out with her other hand to trace the curve of his cheek, feather-light, gaze unreadable. Everything seems so still, and so quiet. The awareness that it is only the two of them in this room is keener, though that has never been so significant before.

“…You should go,” she murmurs, so quietly. “I’ve have too much to drink, indeed.”

There’s—a warning in her words this time, but Albedo is not entirely sure he can discern the specifics of what it is for.

Nevertheless, he will follow her wishes. He stands, and Lumine does not watch as he makes his way to the door.

“Tomorrow,” she says, when his hand is on the knob, “Tomorrow…I will undress for you.”

Albedo turns back, but she is still not looking at him.

“Physically, or metaphorically?” he asks lightheartedly, echoing one of their first conversations.

She half-turns so that he can see the upward curve of her lips, but what he can see of her eyes is old, old and tired.

“Both,” she sighs, a little tremulously, “…Both.”

“…Alright.” He replies gently, as he turns the doorknob. “…Good night. I will see you tomorrow.”

On a whim, he turns back again as he steps of the room, and catches her eye as he does.

For a moment, he stands still, struck by the look in her eyes, almost longing.

You should go.

But he obeys her wishes, and returns to his own room for the night.

Still—he wonders, as he lays down on the cold bed.

And wonders and wonders and wonders.

The morning starts normally.

Albedo takes breakfast alone, and works on refining some sketches in the solarium. Lumine sleeps in, and meets him there by mid-morning. There is a certain amount of anticipation in the air, but things are so far as they always have been, and so Albedo carries on. He begins another sketch of her.

The only difference worth mentioning, perhaps, is that she is dressed a little more formally today. Lumine looks every inch the noblewoman in a blue gown with gold accents; she is wearing gloves, too, and floral hairpins with matching earrings. It is not so unusual, though she is often dressed more casually than this, and he wonders what this is meant to signify. She looks—doll-like, pristine, and like the day he first met her: a little intimidating, for she does not seem entirely present.

He draws. She reads a book.

They do not speak. It is only until the sun is just short of slipping that she closes her novel and straightens out before standing.

“Take a walk with me?” she asks, and he stands and offers his arm.

She dismisses the staff for the rest of the day, and the two of them walk through the gardens in silence. She leads, and on the returning path back to the mansion, she sighs and begins to speak.

“Do you know,” she begins, “I’ve been saved by children four times?”

He glances at her, and she him, but they do not stop walking, and she faces forward again as she continues to talk.

“Klee said that you get her out of all sorts of trouble, and that you never lie. Can I trust you?”

“You can,” he says easily, “But you have to decide that for yourself.”

She smiles, and says nothing else on the subject.

“How much do you know about me, Albedo?” she asks conversationally, and he chuckles a little at the familiar question.

“Not much, even now,” he says, “I know that you and your brother Aether were caught in an explosion during the war, and you were taken prisoner afterwards. When you recovered, you wandered across Snezhnaya, and Natlan, and finally Fontaine. I know that is where your brother found you, and where you first heard of me. But…”

He tilts his head up for a moment, thinking.

“Hmmm…but, I know you prefer cold drinks instead of hot. You like desserts with fruit and prefer them more tart instead of saccharine. You like napping in the sun; you like the open air.”

Lumine’s pace slows, and he slows with her. She turns to him, blinks, but he still faces forward as he continues with his findings uninterrupted.

“I think…you drink because you are used to it and it provides a distraction, and not quite because you like it. The same with the smoking—it is a habit borne from necessity. Fontaine is big on both, is it not? And I think you were telling the truth that day in the kitchens when you said you missed your brother, but that you also miss who you used to be with him, before you fought a war. I think you are afraid that your brother thinks less of you now even though he does not seem to—which, in essence, perhaps makes it worse if he does not at least think differently of you, for you are not the same person you once were, and that would mean that the person you consider your other half does not…see you, either. But I think because you lost sight of yourself, you’ve become most afraid of seeing yourself because you no longer know what to expect, and you are used to knowing what to expect—or at the least, having your brother know if you do not. And yet, if he does manage to see…you also fear that the great yawning abyss you say you became will swallow him entirely, and you will drag him down with you, which may be worse even as it hurts to not share something with him. A vicious cycle.”

He feels her trembling a little before her fingers tighten around his arm to prevent it.

“How did I do?” he asks innocently, glancing at her, and she barks out a bitter half-laugh.

“Formidably,” she says primly.

They are silent for a brief moment again, slowing their pace to almost a standstill. Lumine takes a deep breath before she speaks.

“In Snezhnaya, I met a little boy,” she starts, voice soft and distant, “His name was Teucer, and he was waiting for his brother, too, to come back from the war—but he didn’t know it was the war he was waiting for him to return from. He thought his brother was a traveling toy salesman; the elder ones lied to keep his sleep peaceful and his dreams alive. He was…so young, so innocent, and idolized his brother so dearly. And at the same time, I had never felt so far away from my own brother. But Teucer…did not let me forget that I cared about my brother still. That I still wanted to see him again…and that I wanted him to see me.”

A pause, as they halt to admire the flowers. Lumine reaches out to rub one of the petals between her fingers, catching the scent on her skin.

They continue to walk.

“It was Paimon who first spotted me in Fontaine. She ran up to me and stuck herself close and demanded that I not go anywhere, and then there was Aether following, chasing after her. The force of her words struck me even before I knew what she was doing. I was…tired of wandering, but hadn’t thought much about what it meant if I stopped.”

She looks up at the sky, shading her eyes from the bright sunlight.

“In Liyue, on our way back from Fontaine, I met a girl named Qiqi. She was a terribly forgetful thing—the result of an unfortunate accident. But for the things she found important…she tried hard to remember, even if others thought it futile. And there were still things she wanted strongly to protect. Even if it was because she wasn’t able to look back…she still looked towards the future as much as she could. In the end, I promised that I would remember for her.”

Lumine looks back down.

“And then there was Klee. Who reminded me it was important to share.” She laughs a little at that, and finally turns to Albedo as they stop in front of the mansion’s front door. She puts a hand on the knob. “So I will admit to my fears. And I will subject myself to the ordeal of being vulnerable if it means that I can come to terms with what there is to know.”

Albedo smiles slightly and puts his hand over hers.

“Shall we go, then?” he asks, and pushes the door open with her.

They step inside. It is quiet and empty; the daylight is starting to soften, the curtains stir in the wind. The idyll is like a dream, the two of the suspended between consciousness and its opposite in their stillness, but the air smells of spring—of beginning, of rebirth. Even if they step back out through the door, there is no changing what is to come.

Lumine takes a deep breath, then exhales, bringing lucidity.

She reaches up and removes her hairpins, laying them on the side table with a soft clink. She tugs on the fingers of her gloves as she walks towards the stairs, draping one over the bannister as she ascends, then the other.

“You know,” she says, as she reaches to unzip the back of her dress, “I’ve taken up quite a bit of your time. Even if this is a job…the investment is…considerable.”

Albedo slowly trails after her, not once taking his eyes off of her. There is almost something alchemical about the way she’s chosen to go about this, and anticipation begins to creep into him as though he is being led to the precipice of a cliff.

“I have my own rather vested interest in seeing it through,” he manages to say, and he feels rather than sees Lumine smile.

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“And what,” she says, as the silk of her dress cascades down her body and she steps out of the pool of fabric, continuing up the stairs in only a thin undershift, “Will you do when this is through?”

“That…remains to be seen.”

She pushes down one strap of the shift, then the other.

“Oh? I am glad that you did not say you would depart immediately and forget this ever happened.”

The second layer of fabric drops to the floor at the top of the staircase with a soft rustle, and there are only her undergarments left. But regardless, from here he can see the scars that litter her body—some thin, some large, some like red stars strewn across her back.

He did not forget she fought a war with her brother.

Nevertheless, seeing the proof is an entire experience altogether.

“I would never,” he says, a little belatedly, and she continues to lead the way back to her chambers. “How could I?”

Just before she reaches her door, she undoes her brassiere, drops it to the floor. She pushes the door open as she slides her last remaining garment off of her leg, and drops it as well.

She steps into her bedroom. The setting sun has bathed the room in gold and orange and just the barest hint of mauve; she stands in the light and stares out of the glass balcony doors. The glow clings to her, as though it wants to sink into her skin and return to where it belongs.

Albedo stands in the doorway.

“May I?” he asks, after a pause.

“If I say yes,” Lumine says, without moving, “How close will you come?”

“How close will you let me?”

She tilts her head, turning it just slightly.

“As close as you need, I suppose,” she murmurs.

Albedo takes one step forward.

“May I?” he asks again.

Lumine turns to face him, lacing her fingers behind her back as she arches, just a little.

Silhouetted against the dying light, the shadows harshen her face. There is no dream in the truth of her body, no untouchable hero looking out from inside of her, no abyssal monster assuming her place. She looks at him, and she is simply herself, so terribly, unapologetically present for once, and he aches with the answer of her, so clear, so corporeal.

“Come in,” she says.

Albedo takes another step forward and closes the door behind him.

Their sessions are quiet for the next few days, as he refines his sketches and transfers them onto canvas. Lumine is still bare under his scrutiny, remarkably composed and unaffected.

Some days later, as they are taking a brief break, he comments on her naturalness.

“You’re used to this,” he states, as she reaches for the bowl of valberries resting on the side table.

She glances at him before popping one into her mouth.

“I was penniless for most of my travels,” she answers, her eyes still on the bowl as she considers her next berry, “I found work however I could. And as I mentioned…Fontaine was experiencing their new art movement. It was…easy enough work.”

He looks at her.

“Was it?” he asks.

Her lip curls.

“…After a fashion. They were not…seeing me, anyway. So sometimes it was easy to forget that there was attention on you.”

He leans back.

“Sometimes?”

She looks at him, a berry halfway to her lips.

“Yes. Sometimes.” she repeats, then looks at the fruit in her hand. “…I will confess I did not enjoy it. The…paintings were fine. Many were well done, even if I felt nothing about them at all. But I would not want to return to a parlor of eyes again.”

“And now?” he asks, his tone mild. She returns her gaze to him. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

He does think not he does, at least not anymore, and he is only one set of eyes. But he also recognizes the gravity of her decision to allow him to see her like this.

It is significant, this trust, and within it there is another thing unfurling like the petals of isotoma.

And there is also…something different in her manner—not quite shy, and yet somehow unsure. With the barrier broken between them, there is new ground to be navigated.

“Well,” Lumine says, as she walks nearer, “I do wonder.”

She has not yet put on her robe. He has seen her up close already—numerous times, to study her scars, to consider the colors he wants to use for her skin, to examine the lines of her joints and palms.

And yet it is only now that the air feels—a little warm, despite the slight breeze that comes through the open balcony doors.

“And what do you wonder?” he says after a pause.

“I wonder what your opinion of me is, after all this time,” she murmurs. “You have told me what you know, and what you think. I suppose I am curious about what you feel.”

She steps back, finally eating the berry in her hand and returning to the bowl to select another, and the air seems to cool again.

“I’ve fought a war. I’ve been accused of being a spy. I’ve been a vagabond. I’ve crawled through dirt and mud and I’ve stood in a room naked full of men for a handful of coins. I am a woman of scandal.”

Albedo watches, leaning forward a little to rest his arms on his knees, folding his hands.

“I feel,” he begins, “That you are very brave.”

She turns, and he catches the brief surprise on her face before she smooths out her expression.

“Do you?” she murmurs, walking back to him.

She offers him the berry. He reaches for it, only to realize that his hands are stained with paint, and he looks for something to wipe them with.

Before he can, however, Lumine moves first and gently presses the berry to his lips.

“I am not uncomfortable around you,” she says, answering his earlier question. “But are you uncomfortable around me?”

They stare at each other, gold and blue, the ocean meeting the shore.

In answer, Albedo parts his lips to accept the fruit.

“Tell me,” she says quietly, her fingers now resting against his lips, “How comfortable are you?”

She strokes her thumb across his lips, pressing lightly into the corner of his mouth, leaning closer.

“About the same as you,” he murmurs, their noses touching now.

Lumine smiles. She traces the curve of his jaw and down his neck, over to his shoulder.

She leans her body forward, putting a knee between his legs as he leans back to accommodate her.

“Ah—mind the paint,” Albedo warns absently, tilting his head up to keep his eyes on her.

His hands hover over her waist, hesitating to mar her, but she leans into his touch, streaking color under her ribs.

“No,” she says, amused. “I don’t think I will.”

She presses him into the cushions and he can think of nothing else but her.

Not much changes, afterwards, which is false, but Albedo has not gotten the proper chance to study the specifics of what has with the attention that such a thing needs.

The current painting is coming along wonderfully, but when his attention on this one flags he starts on another. And another. He does not need Lumine to sit for him for hours on end for reference anymore, though sometimes she lounges in his presence anyway to make the job easier (to some extent)—or simply because they both enjoy the other’s company. Some days he works on the details alone while Lumine goes into the study and pens her way through paperwork, or disappears into the garden for the day.

Time seems to move quicker—the…stimulation was…informative, in various ways, and there is a particular ease between them now, a perhaps surprising lack of awkwardness. They eat dinner together, and in bits and pieces Lumine will tell him more about her wandering days. The searing cold of Snezhnaya, the bitter heat of Natlan, the deceiving coolness of Fontaine…and the sometimes unbearable loneliness in between. Towards the end for her solitary journey, she made the acquaintance of a traveling musician. Sometimes she loaned him her not-expert-but-passable voice to accompany his lyre, and sometimes he spun the bits of her history she was willing to part with into tales that made her feel like she had a place in the world after all. It was he who recommended her the more respectable establishments to look for work in, and who recommended her Mondstadt if she could bear to settle down.

And so it was Mondstadt she chose, after Aether had found her, and put all the choices and all the power he had into her hands.

“Is it to your liking?” Albedo asks, as they finish with dessert. “Mondstadt?”

Lumine picks at her mille-feuille, the already flaky dessert falling further into pieces.

“It is,” she says at length, “It is…peaceful, here. Idyllic.”

“And yet you do not set foot into the city.”

She smiles, a little dry, a little genuinely amused.

“Mondstadt is…gentle. It lives and breathes togetherness, regardless of any assumed disparate parts. I find it difficult to…incorporate myself into that. Sometimes, too much freedom is just as suffocating.”

Albedo finishes his own pastry and sets down his fork, folding her hands together.

“And yet a few of the leading personnel of Mondstadt send you gifts. The Acting Grandmaster sends you a personally blended tea. The Uncrowned King sends his favorite beverage. And I know not what the Cavalry Captain send you, but I will guess that it is information, which is what he deals best in.” he tilts his head a little. “So nor are you completely absent.”

Lumine’s smile is certainly more amused now as she puts her elbows on the table, laces her fingers, and rests her chin on top.

“What are you trying to say?” she asks, eyes bright.

Albedo smiles back.

“That you could do anything,” he replies, “And have anything, I presume.”

There is a pause, the both of them staring at each other from across the table. Lumine drops one hand and rests her chin on the other.

“Well,” she says, eyes crinkling, “There are only a few things I want.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.”

“I see.”

“Hmm…you won’t ask what they are?”

“No, I prefer to find things out for myself.”

Lumine laughs, and Albedo smiles at the rare sound.

“It’s a nice night for stargazing,” she says, as they wrap up their dinner. “Will you come with me?”

“I will,” he replies, and they rise from the table together.

They walk out side by side, their shoulders bumping, still smiling at each other as they go out into the night.

The next time they have drinks on her balcony during the night, it is only a tea service of chamomile and lavender. It is an impromptu meeting, suggested on a whim after Lumine has had her bath. Albedo comes soon after his own, his hair flatter and straighter due to the damp.

Lumine stares at Albedo over the rim of her cup, eyes lingering at where the ends of his hair is beginning to curl at his neck, so pointedly that Albedo eventually lets her bait him.

“Have I still got paint on my face?” he queries, holding up a hand to his cheek.

“No, I’m just…” she tilts her head. “Considering how much I know about you.”

He smiles.

“And how much do you know about me?”

“Disappointingly little,” she says, almost with mild annoyance, “I’ve heard ‘calm, collected, and incredibly talented. He’s the type everybody likes, some more than others.’ Most are to that effect. You’re seen as a genius, and spend most of your time in your workshop…though you have your admirers nonetheless.” Her eyes crinkle. “Ah, and of course, you’re a very good big brother.”

Albedo pauses to look up at the sky, his teacup hovering at his lips before he takes a sip.

“I don’t think I’m any genius,” he says, finally, “And I’m not aware of any admirers. Of my work, certainly, however.”

Lumine blinks, then smiles.

“You don’t pay much attention to other people, do you?”

He gives her a rather rueful smile.

“I…confess I cannot say I do. Relationships are…quite troublesome. Once you establish a relation, you must maintain it…if you lose contact, you must reestablish it. It is a rather taxing cycle, and one that requires quite a bit of time that I find best focused on other things.” He pauses. “But I will admit that sometimes…well. It feels a little like being in the eye of a storm, perhaps. I watch various things change around me, while I remain the same.”

A pause.

“You have changed, you know.”

Her gaze is direct.

“Have I?”

“Indeed. For instance, if you say that you did not pay attention to others…well, now, you are looking at me.”

He laughs, though her words are true.

“Should I be looking harder, to change to a greater degree?”

“Well…it would depend on what you’re hoping to find, wouldn’t it?”

Another pause.

“The change in me would be because of none other than you, so…how should I go about finding the cause?”

Lumine pretends to think.

“Between the mind and the heart, which will you deign to probe for your study?”

He sips his tea with deceptive casualness.

“Well, since I’ve already probed your mind…will you give me permission for the heart?”

She lets out a soft laugh.

“Sir Albedo…do you know what it is you’re doing?”

His expression is amused even as he smiles innocently.

“I can’t say I do.”

She gets up and rounds the table, reaching out to lay a hand on his chest, over his heart. They both feel his pulse quicken, just a little.

“Well, if you’re going to make a study of it…are you acquainted with your own?” she murmurs, perhaps a little fascinated with what she feels.

He takes her hand in his own.

“And if I say no…are you going to enlighten me?” he asks, meeting her eyes.

The stars are bright. The air is cool, but there is a warmth and languidness between them as a result of the tea and the herbs within it.

“You partook of the fruit the first time,” she says, tilting her head, “So do you think I can provide you with what you seek?”

“Some enlightenment was obtained,” he replies, “Though I haven’t the time to properly consider it.”

“And how will you consider it?”

He meets her eyes, the corners crinkling.

“Shall I count your heartbeats, to start with? They say the pulse is telling.”

Lumine laughs, turning her palms up and grasping his hand.

“Alright,” she says, conceding, “Pass the night with me, then, and tell me the results in the morning.”

He smiles.

“Ah, so the permission is obtained. Well then…don’t mind if I do.”

(In the morning, he wakes first. He watches her breathe, face unburdened and peaceful in sleep. It is not long before she stirs and her eyelids flutter open; she is still groggy, but once she focuses on him, her lips curve into a dazed smile.

“G’morning,” she mumbles, half a sigh.

There is a truth here within his grasp, in the striking roughness of her voice, the unhurried softness of her waking. He is still able to be surprised, and in that there too is a delight.

You have changed, you know. You are looking at me.

What are you hoping to find?

Do you know what it is you’re doing?

His heart beats steady, steady, a tenderness welling up inside him, so fond it hurts.

Albedo reaches out and takes her hand.)

The showcase of all of his work is done on a rainy day, the solarium illuminated by daylight dimmed by clouds and an array of candles. It is a vaguely haunting atmosphere, but it is, perhaps, a bit fitting for the occasion.

There’s no real ceremony or gravitas. It is not necessary.

Albedo sits on the sofa, relaxed with a pot of tea. Lumine stands, the covered canvases positioned in a semicircle, piles of sketches and smaller works on the table.

She starts where she pleases.

With a backwards glance as her hand hovers over one of the paintings, she unveils it with a simple tug. She stands in front of it for a moment, silent, then moves onto the next one.

Then the next.

And the next.

She goes through the sketches after. When she finally sets down the last one back onto the neat stack, she folds her hands and stares at them.

It is not that she was afraid, necessarily, when Albedo had already scoured her raw with his words alone. But she supposes there was still a bit of inherent fear mixed in with her anticipation anyway, in not knowing what to expect, in knowing Albedo could still squeeze out the dregs from some deep recess she didn’t know she had.

Capturing what she was looking for in a single portrait was impossible. Albedo had known from the beginning, which was why he was so often sketching instead of painting full works as he considered which he wanted to put to canvas. And in the handful that he did, Lumine sees the fractures and fragments and facets of herself, supplemented by all the sketches.

Here, the fey, distant look in her eyes, the lifeless throw of her body, the dismissive lift of her head. There, the sharp, forbidding curl of her lips, the tense defensiveness of her posture, the deceptive delicacy in which she holds her whisky glass that she might drink from—or shatter to pieces.

She is a wreckage, in the early days, but she doesn’t remain so. In later paintings, the colors are warmer; in later sketches, the lines are more fluid. Here, her face serene and fond mid-sigh; there, her eyes bright as she grins, mischievous.

In one she is on full display, caught between light and shadow, both terrible and beautiful at once. She is almost ethereal there, if she did not recognize her own mannerisms reflected in such a grounding manner. In another she is half-curled amidst soft fabrics, the quirk of her lips both teasing and musing.

It’s change, that he’s documented, a narrative with such startling clarity. It is almost difficult to believe that they are all of the same person, and yet they can be nothing but.

She hovers a hand over a sketch of herself laughing, so carefree. It is hard to see herself like this—or what is meant to be her, rather. She remembers being adrift in Snezhnaya, lost and cold in more ways than one, her mind swirling so black and bleak, so terrifyingly alone. Even in Natlan and Fontaine, even after she made certain acquaintances and perhaps-friends along the way, she could not imagine herself like the girl in the sketch. Even now it is difficult to come to terms with. Surely it must be an exaggeration.

Surely it is merely a pleasant lie.

But Albedo has been unsparing thus far, and…and—

And he’ll never, ever lie to you! Lumine remembers Klee saying. And she…she believes in the little girl; she cannot help but believe in Albedo.

Perhaps—perhaps…perhaps, then, she can bear to admit that she is happy now, or happier; that she wants to root herself here in Mondstadt, that she is loved and can love, even after everything.

And…Albedo is not quite a sentimental man, but the latter paintings, the ones that make her feel like—dare she think so—something precious…

“Are you telling the truth?” Lumine asks quietly, without looking up.

“Would you like to see?”

Silence again. And then she finally lifts her eyes to his.

He is smiling gently, his eyes kind.

“Are you going to make a liar out of me?” he asks teasingly, and she lets out a wet laugh as the tears prick at her eyes.

She walks over to him, holding her hands out, and he opens his arms for her; she sinks into his lap, buries her face into the crook of his neck.

“No,” she says, voice muffled, “Of course not.”

He wraps his arms around her, and she cries quietly onto his shoulder for a long time.

They are under no delusions, and the reality is that with the showcase, their time together is coming to an end.

Albedo was commissioned for a job, and now that job is done, all that’s left is to receive his payment and leave.

The timing works out—they’d received a letter that Aether and Paimon were on their way back by ship, and should arrive as early as a few days, at latest another week. It is Aether who is his actual employer and therefore Aether who will render payment for his services, and it is this excuse that has Albedo stay at the mansion with Lumine to await his return.

(Neither of them bring up the point that Albedo could always collect payment later—it was not as though either of them were unreachable by any means.)

The few additional days are harmless, but both know that he cannot extend beyond that without proper reason—already he’s been away too long, and he has a whole city awaiting his return, nor is this where he truly thrives. Lumine can rule from the mansion but Albedo cannot, and it was always evident this day would come in due time.

Still—Albedo finds his heart curiously heavy as he begins to pack up his things, cleaning out the solarium of his belongings, and Lumine watches him with unreadable eyes.

The final portraits have been moved to Lumine’s room for now, as she decides which ones will go up for display and which ones are for her gaze only. The sketches will be bound up in an album, though she might choose to collage some of them.

Lumine curls up on the sofa and leans her head against the arm as Albedo carefully packs away his brushes. Normally at this time he’d be sketching, and while he still could, there’s simply no need for it, now.

Strange, he thinks, to have this routine disrupted, even though coming here had initially been a disruption of routines established for far longer.

“I could keep you here,” Lumine says idly, “I did say in the beginning that you’d be in more danger of us not letting you leave.”

Albedo quirks a smile, closing the case of his brushes.

“But you won’t,” he points out mildly.

“But I won’t,” she sighs in agreement.

It shouldn’t feel like such a final parting, but it has an air of it anyway. There is nothing strictly of forbidding obstacle preventing them from seeing each other again.

But there is still the sacrifice of time.

Though they are not unwilling to invest it, it is a fickle thing. Albedo has his work, as does Lumine. Travel between the city and the Viatoris manor requires planning. Lumine does not enter the city, and Albedo is not hers to call upon her whims. All the while, time can slip and slip until the memories it used to wrap so tightly and prettily unravels and means nothing at all, even if they do not forget.

And so Albedo and Lumine watch each other, weighing and considering.

For Albedo, he is not used to considering such things. Maintaining relationships has always been taxing, and most of those he does maintain at present began due to consistent exposure to proximity, and remain so. Rarely, if ever, has he sought out new relationships of his own accord, and if they wane, rarely if ever has he chased them.

And yet…

Lumine pats the space beside her as he finishes up gathering his things. He sits, and she raises her head and switches to her other side to lean against him. He reaches for her hand, and she flips her palm up so that they can interlock their fingers.

“You did not…and do not need an answer from me regarding this,” he begins, and she blinks up at him curiously. “But it felt remiss to not answer at all, that day. On the balcony.”

Lumine smiles faintly.

“Because you are a man of answers,” she says, a little teasingly. “Nothing is uncovered under your scrutiny, no hypothesis unconfirmed.”

He smiles faintly back.

“Just so.” He leans his cheek atop her head. “You are not a monster simply because you could not offer what you wanted to give.”

Lumine goes tense, though it bleeds out of her slowly, and she sighs. Albedo continues.

“It is not monstrous to give up what you had before to survive, to want to survive. Nor is it monstrous to change. It is…alchemy.”

She lets out a soft laugh at that, squeezing his hand.

“Transformation,” she acknowledges, her eyes distant.

Albedo inclines his head.

There is a brief pause before Lumine sighs again, more deeply.

“So?” she prompts, “The question. Even as Aether scoured the world for me, I stopped looking for him because I couldn’t bear even the imagined weight of his presence. And when he did find me, I was not the same sister he’d known since birth. What does that make me?”

“Human,” Albedo says simply.

Lumine blinks at him.

“Just like him,” Albedo adds.

Another pause.

“And you,” she murmurs, unclasping her hand from his to trace the lines on his palm. “And all the rest.”

“Indeed.”

A long silence.

“When Aether returns,” Lumine sighs, “I’ll talk to him.”

Albedo smiles a little, as does Lumine.

They continue to sit together in companionable silence as the sun slips from the sky.

Albedo senses a presence and peels open his eyes to see Aether’s face smiling down at him.

It is the early, early hours of the morning, the sky barely light. Aether has his arms resting on the back of the sofa, chin propped up by his hand, looking down at Albedo and his sister curled up on the cushions together.

Lumine is still sleeping, her legs tangled with Albedo’s, breathing peacefully against his chest. Albedo has her loosely wrapped in his arms, hand against the dip of her back. Both of them are still in their day clothes, having fallen asleep entirely by accident.

When Albedo registers what it is he’s seeing, he starts.

“No, don’t get up on my account,” Aether says, cheerfully but quietly. “We got in not too long ago. Paimon was dead on her feet so she went to bed immediately, but the light was still on here so I came to check it out.” He grins, holding up his fingers to make a frame as he peers through the center. “I regret that I never took up the visual arts myself. This would have made a pretty picture.”

Albedo blinks, and though he doesn’t know it, his cheeks dust with pink.

“Lord Viatoris,” he begins, and Aether waves his hand.

“Oh let’s not go back to that,” he says, looking vaguely annoyed. “Besides, you can’t call me that now.”

He looks pointedly to Lumine.

Albedo is unsure of what to say or do, and simply looks discomfited. Aether smothers a laugh, but sobers as he looks down at Lumine.

There is a long silence, but Albedo watches Aether watch Lumine. There is something bright in his eyes, and not just from amusement.

“Thank you,” Aether says after a while. “I’ll confess I didn’t entirely expect this in particular, but…I’ve nothing to protest, there. She looks…a lot better.”

Albedo raises a brow, but the two are twins, and so he supposes it shouldn’t surprise him that Aether can tell there is a difference in his sister in such a short amount of time, and with her not even awake. He goes to protest, but Aether shakes his head with a smile before he can say anything, and so Albedo closes his mouth.

“I…do not know what to do with…this, exactly,” Albedo confesses. “I have…not been afraid of the outcome of something, before.”

The corner of Aether’s mouth quirks up.

“Do whatever you want,” he says airily, but his next grin is sharp. “But remember she will do whatever she wants, too.”

Albedo smiles, and looks down at Lumine in his arms, cradled against his chest.

“I would expect no less,” he murmurs.

Aether smiles at him, and for a moment, all is quiet. And then—

“LUMI!” Aether shouts, violently startling Albedo too, “LUMI, WAKE UP! I’M BACK!”

Lumine groans, burying her face deeper into Albedo’s chest, mumbling something angrily.

“I can’t hear you!”

“Are you kidding me?” she says, turning her face just enough to snap clearly at him.

“Lumi, just because we think he has a nice voice doesn’t mean you were supposed to make him sing for you,” Aether purrs.

Albedo blinks, confused.

Lumine slowly realizes what position she’s in, then snaps her head up, looking into Albedo’s startled eyes first, then turning at her brother with rapidly reddening cheeks.

“Aether!” she yells, lunging off of the sofa to swat at him as he laughs loudly.

As he does, she freezes, staring at him in something like surprise. Aether stares back at her as he calms, giving her a wry smile.

“Welcome home,” he says.

Lumine hesitates.

“I should be saying that to you,” she says quietly. “Welcome home.”

Aether smiles, bright as sunlight.

“I’m home!” he says, holding open his arms.

She reaches over to hug him, tightening her grip as he hugs her back. A sob cracks the air.

The sun begins to rise.

Everyone sees Albedo off, including Paimon and the servants of the house. He’s loaded up with gifts—some for Klee and some for their mutual friends and acquaintances. He also has part of his payment—various ingredients and materials from Liyue or beyond, imported to Liyue’s famous ports. The mora will be wired to his bank; he had tried to decline, as he was given much during his stay at the manor and the work was pleasurable, but neither twin would hear of it.

“Do what you will with it,” Aether had shrugged, “Finance the city with it, or give it to Klee. At the very least, you could use it to procure more ingredients. But a service is a service; a contract is a contract.”

Albedo acquiesces.

“Don’t be a stranger, you hear?” Aether grins, slapping him on the back, and Lumine takes Albedo’s hands with a smile.

“As he said,” she says, eyes crinkling.

There are still things to be said. But he cannot find the words, does not know what he wants to say at all. Lumine seems to understand, but she does not assist him by broaching it first.

They’re out of time, for now; he is already set to leave, all his things packed and his departure imminent.

“I will not,” is all he can say, and the twins smile at him.

He gets into the carriage, his head buzzing.

When he looks out the window, just once, he sees Lumine and Aether walking back into the mansion, the former shoving the latter after he says something.

Albedo leans back in his seat and tries not to feel like he’s leaving a dream behind.

Time does its thing.

Days pass, then weeks, and Albedo throws himself into his work both because he needs to and because he wants to. He had certainly lost track of time, both at the Viatoris mansion and also in catching up upon his return to the Knights of Favonius. Already the Windblume Festival is nearly upon them, and preparations must be made to secure the city for safety and festivities.

It is wrong to say that he didn’t spare a thought about Lumine during the frenzy, but it is true that by the time he has enough time to allow him to truly think about her, it is already Windblume. He should have sent a letter, an invitation. It is not technically too late, but…as he knows, Lumine does not step into the city, and he cannot leave the city now while he is so involved in the festival’s processes with all of the other knights.

(He should have sent letters beyond this, too, he realizes. People did that—more casual exchanges, speaking about their daily lives or thoughts. But most letters Albedo penned were of the business sort, any missives otherwise short and to the point; he had no practice in such things, and so it had not occurred to him so naturally to begin a regular correspondence. But then again—nothing had arrived for him either, had it? Though he supposes even if it had…he would have neglected to respond in a timely manner amidst all his work.)

Albedo sighs, rubbing his forehead. He cannot say why this bothers him so; previous Windblume Festivals have never meant so much. At most he and Klee would walk around for a bit and offer flowers as was custom, but while she went off with other friends, Albedo would simply return to his workshop to continue his projects.

As he grips the sides of his crafting table and stares down at its intricate patterns, it takes a while to realize someone is knocking at his door.

“Please, come in,” he calls hastily, and Jean promptly walks in.

She stops short when she sees his hunched posture and the slight frustration creasing his brow. How rare, for their Chief Alchemist to express his feelings so openly.

“Have you hit a particularly tough equation?” she questions politely, and Albedo looks faintly surprised.

“Does it seem that way?” he murmurs, then sighs. “Perhaps. But I digress…what may I do for you, Acting Grandmaster?”

Jean smiles a little.

“Lord Viatoris will be arriving for the opening ceremony soon,” she says, “I came to ask if you’d like to greet him. I was under the impression you two had become friends.”

A pause, just for a heartbeat too long.

“Of course,” Albedo says, straightening out, “I’ll come with you.”

“Let us go, then.”

He follows Jean, the two of them making polite conversation about the festival, inevitably straying towards work and going over details of the festival to make sure everything is in its proper place. Both are too diligent for their own good; any true break they took was always at the intervention of another.

There’s a slight commotion at the gates as they near. Many citizens have already gathered, news of the famous hero coming to Mondstadt having not exactly been kept a secret.

But he does not come alone.

Albedo slows at the top of the stairs when he catches sight of the figures at the entrance.

Lord Aether Viatoris is impeccably dressed for the occasion is a well-tailored dark brown suit.

At his side is his sister, a bouquet of cecilias propped in the crook of her arm, resplendent in a dark blue gown.

Lumine looks up and meets Albedo’s eyes, the corners of her own crinkling.

“Welcome,” Jean greets, descending smoothly without hesitation, Albedo following with slightly jerky movements behind her, “Lord Viatoris, Lady Viatoris. Mondstadt is pleased to receive you.”

“Hello, Acting Grandmaster Jean,” Aether says with a polite bow. “We are pleased to come.”

“Will your sister be participating in the opening ceremony as well?” Jean asks, looking to Lumine and inclining her head in greeting, but Aether shakes his head.

“No, it is her first Windblume Festival and that would certainly overwhelm her; you must unfortunately make do with just me,” he grins, “But I’m sure she is looking forward to enjoying the festival itself.”

“Is that so? Well, then—the ceremony is not for a bit, perhaps Sir Albedo could offer her a tour?”

Oh, a conspiracy.

“I would be honored,” he says, just a touch belatedly, and Lumine smiles.

It turns out the flowers in her arms are two bouquets, and she hands one of them off to Aether—presumably for the ceremony—before taking Albedo’s offered arm. They walk away from the crowd into one of the lesser occupied streets, and finally Albedo gathers his wits and speaks.

“You’re in the city,” he marvels, and Lumine laughs.

“Such observational prowess.”

“I thought you found the city suffocating.”

She smiles.

“There are spaces to breathe,” she says, leaning a little closer before she pulls back again, satisfied with his momentarily widened eyes. “And I thought it was about time I came to you.”

He smiles.

As promised, he wanders the streets with her a little, pointing out this and that. They do stick to the backroads mostly, as despite her bravado, he can tell that she is indeed a little overwhelmed at the noise and bustle.

When she tires, he escorts her to his workshop, apologizing for the mess. She looks around with interest, fascinated at being in his space for once. It has a crisp floral scent, mixed with the more metallic air from synthesis, the culprit a batch of windwheel asters resting in an inelegant pail of water. Klee’s choice of Windblume, leftover from this morning’s gathering.

“I’m sorry,” Albedo says, clattering around to make tea, squinting and looking closer at mixtures in tins to see if they will make something palatable, “I should have sent word or…something, sooner.”

Lumine’s smile is genuinely amused.

“We knew this might happen,” she says amiably, “I was just faster at…not letting it. I’m impatient.”

Albedo turns to her, eyes crinkling.

“You are braver than I,” he says humbly, and Lumine laughs.

“You were the one who said I could do anything and have anything I wanted,” she says, “If I dared.”

“And I recall you saying there were only a few things you wanted.”

“Yes. And you didn’t ask what they were.”

She is still smiling, and his workshop feels too small to contain that expression.

“No,” he agrees, “I didn’t. But I think I’m about to find out one of them, aren’t I?”

Her smiles deepens, bright sunlight into molten gold.

“We’ll miss the opening ceremony,” Albedo says quietly, without any fight.

“I don’t think the God of Freedom would mind,” she whispers, “And anyway, it’s Windblume. Besides for Barbatos, it’s a festival for lovers, isn’t it?”

Albedo hums, his pulse jumping at the word, jumping even more when she finally hands him the bouquet of cecilias. How fresh they are is even more apparent in the smaller space; already their scent is heady. Albedo glances about for something to put them in, which is simply the same pail as the windwheel asters are in. He extracts an aster, trimming off its damp stalk before tucking it into Lumine’s hair.

She leans into his hand before it leaves her face.

“On the off chance he is a little miffed…well, I think I’d fight a god to have this moment,” Lumine whispers, and Albedo half-laughs at the declaration.

“How terrifying,” he says, and she smiles.

“Are you afraid?”

“Should I be?”

She hums.

“Maybe. What do you do when you stare into the abyss?”

“I figure out its secrets.”

She laughs, unfettered and unburdened. He smiles, pleased.

“Is that what we are, by the way?” he asks, and she tilts her head in question. “Lovers?”

She puts a hand to his chest, over his heart.

“What do your deductions tell you?” she asks innocently.

“That I’d like it very much if we were,” he replies, without hesitation.

She laughs again.

Outside, fireworks light up the sky, and flower petals of all kinds whirl in the winds.

Lumine presses Albedo back against the window, lacing their fingers together as they kiss, and for the moment, there is nothing that can touch them—not pain or ceremony or even the gods, so bright are they, so present, so hopelessly, delightfully human.

#genshin impact #albelumi #genshin lumine #genshin albedo #kreideprinz #genshin aether #fanfiction #title translation is 'here is the portrait unretouched'!!#why is this so fucking long my god

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tenspontaneite · 4 years

Text

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 17/?)

In which two princes learn the perils of extreme cold, Rayla neglects to take proper heed of said perils, and a Justiciar receives a very important message.

(Chapter length: 19.5k. ao3 link)

Warnings: Detailed depiction of meat preparation and dead animals, food shortage, standard wound care. Exceptionally mild emetophobia warning.

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When at last Kora’s dark wings broke across the sky, nearly a day overdue, Amaya’s gut reaction was a kind of relief that felt more like sickness. The crow came to her directly, alighting on her armoured shoulder with a flitter of black feathers. She opened her beak and cawed in her usual peremptory way, turning her head this way and that to look at her, and presumably also the metallic gleam of her pauldrons.

Amaya scritched her on the neck, as the bird liked, and showed absolutely nothing of her feelings except a minute tightening around her eyes. In a flash she’d retrieved the letter and cast her eyes about looking for somewhere appropriate to stop to read it. Unfortunately, they were en route, paused upon their horses as Amaya stared at the crow. There was little privacy to be had in the absence of the command tent.

In the end, she lingered upon her horse with the letter in her hands, yet unread, for long enough that her entourage started shifting uneasily upon their mounts. Gren drew up beside her, and signed a quick question.

Finally, Amaya sighed, and gave orders for them all to pause for a break. This was, to say the least, a letter likely to be critical to their course. Corvus’ report would tell her where they needed to go. She focused furiously on that practical thought and almost managed to fool herself into believing that her fingers weren’t on the verge of trembling. She handed off her horse to Kurien, and then, with the crow still perched amiably on her shoulder, adjourned into the treeline for what little privacy it could offer.

She planted herself on the trunk of a half-rotted log, heavily enough that she could feel the clank of her armour falling upon it. The bottom of her shield hit the wood and yanked at its harness. She didn’t care. Amaya closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathing carefully, then finally set about opening the missive.

The first thing she noticed was the handwriting. It was…messy, and lopsided, and slanting across the page in a haphazard scrawl. If she didn’t know Corvus better, she’d have though it had been written drunk. That was the first ill sign, and it rattled at her skull like the vibrations of alarm-bells. The second was the clumsiness of the code. It wasn’t a common one – it was the cipher she used only with her command team, and was the likeliest to be secure. But in places, he seemed to have forgotten it entirely. There were whole sentences coached in the more common substitution code used in most military correspondence. There were even a few parts not written in code at all. And the way it read – there had plainly been something wrong with Corvus when he wrote it.

She read it anyway, albeit a little haltingly, with the mental effort of code-switching every other line. She read Corvus’ account of the commotion in Verdorn, and his investigations there, and a nameless emotion gripped so tightly at her heart that it hurt. She read of his pursuit, and his ambush, and the confirmation-

Amaya had to stop for a moment, then, to breathe. For the second time it felt like the world was falling apart around her. They’re alive, she thought, a little numbly, allowing herself to believe it as she hadn’t when it had been merely a possibility. It was too affecting a knowledge. She had to take a good half minute to close her eyes and gasp a few harsh breaths and try to compose herself past the awful, terrible, gut-wrenching relief of it. And then – then, she had to realise that the missive wasn’t done. And that something might well have gone terribly wrong. With a curl of dread, she read on.

…It had gone terribly wrong, in a way. Not so badly as it might have. But…

She closed her eyes again, gut churning, and tried to think past the roil of emotion to assess the matter with some practicality. The boys were alive – alive! – and seemed healthy and unharmed. But Corvus’ attack had failed, and almost calamitously – he’d sustained injuries that meant he would not be able to keep his pursuit, and the elf still had her captives. She was taking them into the mountains, now. If the trail wasn’t already dead, it would be soon.

Amaya assessed the time it would take her to reach Verdorn, and sighed, and shook her head. No; it was beyond doing. By the time she could reach the place, any trail she might follow into the mountains would be long gone. She wasn’t Corvus, to track the barest imprint a boot might make in the dust on a rock. And even she knew what he’d say. Following a trail through the Belt, when there were a thousand paths a wary elf might travel? When the snow and winds would remake the trails between one hour and the next?

It couldn’t be done. They’d have crossed a mountain by the time she took up the hunt, and then they could be anywhere. There were too many paths, too many options, too many places to hide. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

Gren drew near, then, evidently having decided to check on her. His expression was serious as he watched her, evidently aware of the gravity of the letter, if not its content. Amaya glanced his way, and handed him the paper without preamble. Before he could read it, she said “Get me a map, Gren. I need to work this out.”

He blinked, but managed to say around the paper in his hands “Of course,” And then he was using his voice to call for the map she’d requested. In short order she was unfolding it upon the short grass around the trunk of the tree, drawing her finger along the lines of rivers while Gren read Corvus’ report. She could see tension and relief and tight concern passing over him as he read, but she couldn’t focus on that. Couldn’t focus on emotion, much less her own, or everything would fall apart…

Amaya looked at the map. She looked at the mountains of the Belt, and the valley that cut it, and the river that straddled that valley. She looked to where it opened, and thought long and hard about what a fleeing assassin might be feeling, knowing that she was hunted. She’d want to get back to Xadia as quickly as possible. She’d want to take the path of least resistance, wherever she could. And mountains were decidedly not the path of least resistance.

Fort Viatori was the easiest path through the Belt, and to the rest of the Pentarchy, if you had legitimate business. If you didn’t, it almost certainly wasn’t an option; and besides, it was far enough off-course for the elf that there would be no time gained in going for it. The point of entry to the mountain range accessible through Verdorn…well, it wasn’t the worst, but it wasn’t the easiest, either. Hauling oneself and two captive princes through that gauntlet would take a while. But after that, the elf’s only prudent path was fairly obvious.

Amaya’s finger settled on the wide, boldly marked river. The Rhodane, the map proclaimed it, and on either side of its twisting shape was a thin margin of lowland denoting the wide valley that flanked it.

The Rhodane, in this part of the Pentarchy, ran almost directly East, and emptied out into the Great Bay. The wide sloping plains around it would be easier by far to traverse than mountain trails. No matter how wary of pursuit the elf was, Amaya couldn’t imagine her lengthening her journey twice or thrice over by choosing to travel through mountains rather than an open valley. Once the assassin broke from the Belt into the Rhodane’s path…her course would be obvious. Predictable, even.

‘Predictable’ was good. It was very, very good.

Amaya considered the valley, and then considered the Bay. Going around it would be a very lengthy pursuit. If she were an elf assassin fleeing home, she’d certainly attempt to stow away on some merchant vessel or other, and cut that journey short. Such a thing would be difficult with two prisoners along, but if Corvus was to be believed, they might not be much of a hindrance to her. Her gut tightened at the thought, but – well, it shouldn’t be surprising. Soldiers with decades of training fell prey to Captives’ Accord. Her nephews were only boys.

She deliberately uncurled her fingers from the tight fist they’d made, and thought of her course of action. She traced the line of the Rhodane westwards, to its intersection with Viatori, and the potential that represented. While her quarry would be struggling through the mountains…Amaya had only to take the beaten path.

Her plans solidified into something operative, and her jaw set. In the next moment, she was gesturing for paper.

She had a lot of orders to send, very little time to write them in, and only two crows to send them with. It wasn’t ideal, but…she’d make it work. And then, one way or another, she’d catch up to her boys – catch up to that elf – and find out what shape Justice would take in her hands.

---

Rayla’s absence thrummed in the back of his mind with a tension like a taut bowstring, the anxiety of it compelling him to glance over to the empty ledge every other minute. Every time, the sight held nothing but the howling white of the storm, and his gut tightened a little more.

But, even in the grips of his worry, there was still work to be done.

“I’m assuming,” Callum said, in the strange ringing quiet out of the storm, “that Rayla wanted us to pile all the metal stuff away so we don’t get hit by lightning. Or attract lightning. Or something like that.” She hadn’t explained it before she left, but – given everything, it seemed a fairly reasonable conclusion.

His brother paused and considered it. “She did say we couldn’t put the tent up because the poles were metal.” Ez agreed, after a moment, and peered at their bags. “So that would make sense.”

He lifted his head, and perused their available space. Even in this shelter, it was impossible to escape every breeze. A chill gust fluttered along the skin of his neck, and he shivered. For all that it was distinctly warmer out of the snow and howling wind…he still felt uncomfortably numb from the awful cold. “…I guess we’ll just have to pile it all on the ledge out there, where the snow is.” He said, after a moment. “Help me go through the bags?”

“Sure.” He agreed, and they went over to their bags to inspect them. It was a fairly untidy affair, and involved unpacking nearly everything, but before long they’d amassed their small supply of metallics into a pile on the icy ground. “Maybe we can put it all in the tent pack.” Ez suggested, already opening said pack and upending its contents onto the icy stone floor. He took the little bag of tent pegs, and the larger tent rods, and put them back in. “That way it might not blow away as easy.”

“Good plan.” Callum decided, and in the dubious shelter of their not-cave, they set about doing precisely that.

There weren’t that many metallics to deal with. There was the iron pot, the tent poles, the scissors, a few other things…but, for the most part, they were all good. Still, the whole lot went in the tent pack and was exiled to a spot near the mouth of their refuge, where for good measure Ezran started piling rocks on top of it to weigh it down.

“No way is that going to blow away.” He said, with satisfaction, and rubbed his hands together through the gloves. “…My hands are pretty cold now, though.”

Callum rolled his eyes, and tugged his brother back into shelter. Not for the first time, he misjudged the height of the sloping ceiling and hit the top of his head before he remembered to duck. “Let’s just try to get ourselves warmed up, now. Alright?”

“Sounds good to me.” His brother sighed, and they pulled the outer-tent and inner-tent off to arrange.

After some struggling, they got the inner-tent fabric inside the outer-tent, and aligned their doorways so that they could actually sort of crawl inside – as Rayla had said, kind of like a weird and especially voluminous sleeping bag. The tent doorways were wide enough to accommodate Callum and Ezran easily, and there was plenty of room for Rayla too. They might even have more space to themselves tonight, compared to when they were squashed inside the actual tent.

In the absence of anything else to do, they sat inside their makeshift sleeping bag and went through their bags for additional layers of clothing to wear. Considering the number of layers they were already wearing, this mainly involved putting on a second pair of socks and an extra sweater each. Ezran also withdrew Azymondias’ egg and tucked its alarmingly bright glow under the covers with them, the light spilling out upon them from within. After a while huddling together beneath their layers, they found themselves approaching the concept of…not quite warmth, maybe, but a state of not-too-cold.

“My hands and toes are still freezing.” Ezran said, contemplatively, as he negotiated his several layers of clothing into something more comfortable. “And my ears.”

Callum huffed, and reached out to try to pull his hat down a bit further. Sadly, Ezran’s hair was just too immense, and the hat remained stubbornly distant from his ears. “Pull up your scarf.” He advised, and then followed his own advice.

“I feel like some sort of…bandit, or burglar, or something.” Ez declared, after he’d pulled his scarf up far enough to obscure most of his face. “You know, wearing a mask to hide who I am from the city guards.”

He considered that from behind his own scarf-mask. “Well, I guess we did steal a dragon egg. Or…steal it back, I guess, since it was already stolen.” He said, and thought further. “And I stole Claudia’s primal stone. And we all stole our own stuff from the Banther Lodge?”

“We stole the boat from the Banther Lodge too.” Ezran reminded him, eyes now sparking with a familiar sort of mischievous delight. “…Callum, I think we’re pirates now.”

“…What, for stealing one little boat?” He asked, amused.

“Pirates steal boats.” Ez decreed, with a firm nod. “And pirates are way cooler than bandits. So even though we only stole one boat, we can be pirates instead of bandits.”

Callum considered it. “Your logic is very convincing.” He decided after a second, lips twitching, and then wilfully poked his brother into prognosticating. “What would our pirate ship be like?”

Ezran, needing very little prompting for that sort of thing, spent the next ten minutes lovingly describing their vessel of dire piracy, as well as a few anecdotes from its legendary travels.

It would be called the Storm Dragon, or the Thundersnow, or the Galewing; Ezran couldn’t seem to decide on a name, and kept calling it by a different one at multiple points throughout the telling. Ezran had decided that the figurehead would be carved in the shape of a dragon’s head, obviously, and that the sails would be dark blue, and that probably Azymondias would be with them (hatched and grown huge, of course) so he could just ruin anyone who tried to sink their ship, so they’d obviously be an immortal scourge of the Xadian seas. Except they’d be a friendly scourge. Ezran wasn’t entirely clear on how one was to be both a scourge and friendly, but he sounded exceptionally sure of himself even so.

He was in the middle of detailing how he would locate and befriend a legendary Deep-Sleeper when Rayla returned, hauling herself precariously from the narrow ledge with a large bundle of branches tied to her back with the rope.

“I’m back,” She announced, somewhat redundantly, as she staggered exhaustedly towards them and shrugged off her makeshift rope-backpack with enormous relief. He eyed her, a little alarmed at how stiff and hunched-in her posture was, and at how much she was shivering. She brushed a gratuitous coating of snow from her cloak and hat, her movements almost clumsy. “You would not believe how cold it is out there.”

“Well, we were in it not that long ago.” Callum reminded her, at the same time as he cast a worried glance over her. He paused for a moment, then extricated himself from the sleeping-bag-tent, goosebumps raising on his skin as he abruptly became colder. He hadn’t quite realised how much it had helped to sit inside the tent layers like that, but now…determinedly, he stood and approached her, giving her a more detailed once-over for signs of injury. Or, well. New injury, at least. Her left arm remained very thoroughly injured, after all. “…You alright?” He asked, after a moment, hesitating with the urge to reach out.

She looked at him from beneath her hat, eyes settling on his. She blinked, shivered, then raised her hands to pull her scarf down from where she – like them – had been wearing it as a sort-of lower face mask. She looked a great deal colder with her face properly visible, the skin flushed unhappily from the chill, mottled and almost purplish in places. “…I’m cold.” She answered, succinctly. “Very, very cold.”

“Maybe you should go rest for a bit?” he suggested, finally conceding to the impulse to reach out, and undoing the fastening at the front of her cloak. The fur of the thing was now unpleasantly wet from melted snow, and the outer parts had actually frozen into a stiff, icy coating. “You can go sit in the…er…tent? And I’ll try to get the fire started.”

Her eyes lingered on his for long enough that he squirmed, looking down to focus on helping her out of the heavy cloak. Her expression, though tired, was softly grateful. “…Thanks.” She said, after a moment, and gladly shrugged her shoulders from the cloak when he moved to take it. She shivered again, presumably from losing the extra layer, her arms hugging reflexively around her sides. “It’ll be a pain to start,” She warned him, as she stumbled over to the pseudo-tent. She looked like she’d been planning on saying more, but became distracted with trying to negotiate her way out of her boots instead. Her fingers seemed uncommonly clumsy; even the ones on her right hand.

He made a neutral sort of ‘hmm´ at that, laying out her cloak on top of the tent-fabric where Ezran was still sat. Somewhere in there, Bait was glowing, but it was barely visible beyond the two layers of thick textile. Somewhere in there, the egg was glowing, and that was very decidedly visible. It was ridiculously bright. “Well, it’s better than no fire, I guess.” He reasoned, and went to gather some rocks to make a respectable fire-border. He elected to put the fire towards the right of their sheltered cliff-dent, not too close to the edge, but not far in either. With luck that would keep it out of the wind, but also let the smoke flow out properly.

Callum reflected, for a moment, on how even a week ago he’d have known absolutely nothing about proper campfire placement. It was a little weird to think about. We’ve come a long way, he thought, distractedly, and glanced briefly out into the storm. It was so stark and white with the snow that, despite knowing that there was an entire mountain range out there, he couldn’t see any of it. Not even the vaguest silhouette of another mountain was visible. It was oddly unnerving; as though there was nothing left in the world except them and the storm.

Finally, with the border done, he looked at the firewood. He paused. “I see why you said this is going to be hard to start.” He said, ruefully. Most of it looked decidedly live, and not only that, but damp with snow and ice. It did not provide the greatest of conditions for fire-starting.

Rayla grimaced. “Yeah, I pretty much just hacked apart the closest trees.” She admitted, which explained the discs of what looked like actual tree trunk that were mixed in with the branches. “Didn’t want to stay out longer than necessary.”

“I don’t blame you.” He said, with feeling, stealing a glance out at the howling storm. “Still. This is going to smell interesting.” Live branches, he’d learned, tended to stink and smoke a whole lot when you burned them. He squinted. “…If I can actually manage to start it, anyway.” After a pause, he started going through for the most dead-looking branches, or failing those, the driest.

It took a fair bit of negotiating, but eventually judicial use of the flint coaxed a few reluctant embers into the kindling. They sputtered alarmingly in the cold wind, so Callum positioned himself between the fire and the storm, facing towards the others, and sheltered the tiny flames as they grew. Rayla, he noted, had huddled so far into their tent-thing that only the top of her face and her horns were visible, eyes peering out to watch his progress. She didn’t say anything, but she was plainly watching. It made his skin prickle a little. He wondered what she was thinking.

After a moment, he averted his eyes and set to work peeling pine needles off the rest of the firewood. They were useful, after all, and the branches would burn easier without them. When he’d finished stripping one twig, he dropped it in, pausing with his fingers over the fire. Even this small, the heat of the fire was enough to be felt, and his hands started to sear with the painful ache of too-cold limbs finally exposed to warmth. He winced, but carried on, peeling pine needles from the branches as heat returned painfully to his fingers.

Around five minutes later, the flames had grown enough that he didn’t think them to be in immediate danger of going out if he left them, so he shifted aside and beckoned. “You should come over.” He said, to Rayla and Ez, both of whom were ensconced wordlessly in the dubious warmth of the tent-layers. “The fire’s getting pretty hot.”

Rayla and Ezran exchanged a glance.

“We should probably move.” Rayla said to Ezran, almost conversationally, as they huddled motionless within the covers. “The fire’s there. It’ll be warmer.”

“But I don’t want to move.” Ezran expressed, and from the look on Rayla’s face, she rather agreed with the sentiment. “We just got feeling almost comfy and warm….”

“…It’ll be warmer by the fire.” She reasoned, in the tones of someone trying to convince themself more than the other person. “Even if it will be completely horrible to get out from under the covers.”

Ez made a small, pathetic sound at this, and neither he nor Rayla moved.

Callum, watching this, rolled his eyes. “You could just shuffle the whole…tent-thing….over by the fire, you know.” He pointed out, fingers working a little more nimbly at the needle-stripping now that there was a little heat in them. “You don’t have to get out.”

Both of them stared at him like he’d just unveiled the secrets of the universe. “Oh, that’s a good idea.” Ezran recognised, immediately won over by the notion, but Rayla seemed less convinced. She looked slowly between the fire and the tent-covers, looking phenomenally conflicted.

“This is flammable, though.” She said, very plainly warring with herself, or possibly her training.

“Okay, sure, it’s not exactly the best camping practice to bring something important and flammable too close to a campfire.” He agreed, because Rayla had certainly mentioned that once or twice before, with the sort of practiced conviction that suggested she’d had it drummed into her head over the course of several years. “But, a counterpoint:” He turned, and gestured very emphatically to the storm behind them. The howling, blinding, exceptionally cold storm. Helpfully, the sky chose that moment to let loose a muffled rumble of thunder. “Do you really care about campsite guidelines now?”

Rayla stared at the fire like a starving woman would stare at food. “…No.” She admitted, glumly, after a second. “No, I do not.” She sighed, and grabbed handfuls of tent-cover, sitting up in preparation to start shuffling the whole lot forwards. “I suppose it’ll be hard for us to catch fire without noticing, at least.”

“I think those camping guidelines are probably mostly about leaving things near fires without watching them.” Ez reasoned. “We’ll just keep an eye on it! It’ll be fine.”

She grumbled something mostly incomprehensible except for ‘would kill me’, then without further ado, she and Ezran conducted the whole ungainly affair of shuffling themselves out of the back of their alcove towards the fire. Callum had to hastily move his pile of pine needles out of the way to avoid getting them scattered everywhere.

The expressions of utter, gut-wrenching bliss on their faces as they drew close to the heat of the fire…well, it made Callum realise that he’d warmed up more than he’d realised, sitting there. Either that, or the two of them had been getting colder, even huddled together under those covers. It was something of a worrying thought. He glanced at their pile of firewood, and tried to judge how long it would last. They’d never needed a campfire to stave off terrible cold before, and had always left their fires to burn out overnight. But if the fire was necessary to keep them warm in the middle of this storm…

“I’ll need to get more.” Rayla said, glumly, as if she’d read his mind. He jolted a little, and saw that she’d followed his gaze to the firewood. “Before it starts getting dark. We’ll need enough to last the night, or we’ll freeze.”

Callum stared at her, appalled, and then looked out to the storm. It remained imposing. “You’re going to go out again in that?”

“I have to, Callum.” She returned, with a touch of asperity. “If you think it’s cold now, you just wait ‘till the sun goes down. We need to keep this fire burning all night – we won’t survive otherwise.”

He shut up quickly at that, looking away as his fists clenched. It was strange, the pang of fear her words produced in him. Despite everything, despite the difficulty they’d faced to even get here…the idea that the cold could easily kill them was unfamiliar and daunting. It was never a threat he or Ezran had faced before. They’d always been so lucky…

A sigh, and she shuffled a little closer, the movement producing a leathery rustle of the tent layers against themselves. Her hand – her good hand – settled on his shoulder. “Sorry.” She offered, quietly, though he wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologising for. She was right, after all. “…We’ll be fine as long as we have the fire.”

He looked down at it, the rapid flutter of the flames as mesmerising as ever. “…Will we have to stay up all night, to make sure it doesn’t go out?” He wondered, and Rayla grimaced.

“We’ll need to post a fire-watch.” She admitted, and withdrew her hand to glance between him and Ezran. “One of us needs to be awake to make sure the fire stays lit. If we lose the fire, we might be too cold to move by the time we wake up to start another one.”

The two of them were silent for several seconds at that. Callum could tell Ezran was as daunted by the danger as he was. It was so…new, and bewildering, to have to worry about something like this. “So, are we going to take it in turns?” Ez offered, tentative. “Like guards do? Taking it in shifts?”

Rayla eyed them. “…I’d try to take the whole watch myself, but…”

“Yeah, no.” Callum told her, at once. His arms folded, and he levelled her with his best stern look. Rayla was absolutely not going to stay up all night in a storm like this when she should be resting as much as possible, on account of her horrible injuries.

Her lips twisted with some complicated emotion. “Yeah, thought as much.” She said, wryly, seeming torn between displeasure and affection. “Well…whether we split it two ways or three depends on if you think you can stay awake, Ez.” She said, turning her attention to his brother. “And be honest. If you fall asleep on the job and the fire goes out, it won’t end well for us.”

Ezran opened his mouth with reflexive affront, looking seconds away from saying that he absolutely could stay awake, thank you very much. Then he stopped, apparently a little nonplussed, and sat silent for a few seconds to actually consider it. “…Normally, I think it could be a problem. Staying awake, I mean.” He admitted, sullenly. “But at the moment I think it’ll be okay. Because…well.” He looked down at the covers – or, Callum realised, at the brilliant light spilling out from under the covers. “Because…Zym.”

Callum stared. “What about Zym?”

His brother waved, in a dithering sort of motion. “….The storm?” He attempted, haltingly. “It’s just…it’s making him so awake, compared to normal. It’s really hard to ignore.” He shook his head. “Actually, I think I might find it pretty hard to get to sleep tonight in the first place. And if the storm gets any closer…”

“It will.” Rayla said, with certainty. “It’s not heading right over us, I think, but close enough.” She squinted at the sky. “Might take a while, though.”

Both of them turned their eyes to her. “How can you tell?” Callum asked, fascinated, and she made a complicated face at them.

“…Wind direction?” She tried, looking decidedly uncertain how to explain it. “And the thunder. You can tell how far away lightning is striking by counting how long after the lightning-flash it is ‘till you hear the thunder.” She observed their expressions, and rolled her eyes. “It’s not magic, you know. Just training.”

“Well, it kind of is. Being a storm, and all. Sky magic.” He reasoned, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“You know what I mean.”

“I think you’re right, though.” Ezran said, thoughtfully, and from the shifting of the light under the covers, Callum thought he’d pulled the egg into his lap. “Zym can feel the storm-magic getting…denser? Like it’s getting closer. It’s weird.”

Rayla very clearly wasn’t certain what to say to that. “…Glad to have the unhatched Dragon Prince agree with me, I suppose.” She settled on, in the end, then shook her head. “So. If you think you’ll be able to keep awake…” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “And if you think it’ll be harder to sleep the closer the storm gets…you should take the last watch, Ezran. You’ll take first, Callum, and I’ll have the mid-watch.”

Callum shrugged. “Sounds good?” He offered, then paused. “…How do I know when to wake you?”

“A while after the Moon’s past its high point.” She answered, near automatically, and that didn’t help at all.

He pointed at the storm. “I don’t know about you, Rayla, but I can’t exactly see the moon through that.” He reminded her, and she stopped short, staring at him with a momentary bewilderment that transformed her entire face.

“…right. Humans. Can’t feel the Moon moving.” She muttered, evidently to herself, and that was interesting. He was about to ask her about it when she shook her head and spoke again. “In that case, just….make a rough guess at how long ‘three hours after nightfall’ feels like. Judge it by how long pieces of wood take to burn or something.” At his expression, she scowled at him, and said defensively “It’s not like I know how you’re supposed to tell time without the Moon there to judge by.”

“…You can feel the moon moving, then?” He took the opportunity to ask. “Like, even when you can’t see it?”

Rayla gave him the increasingly-familiar ‘you’re asking about something so obvious I’m not entirely sure whether you’re joking or not’ look. “Of course?” She offered, in the end.

“Cool.” Was Ezran’s response to that. “Where is it now?”

Without any hesitation whatsoever, she turned and pointed towards a section of their rocky shelter, close to its uneven floor. “That way.” She said, entirely certain of the answer, and rolled her eyes at the fascinated looks they both cast her way. “It’s nothing special. Any Moonshadow elf could tell you where the Moon is.”

“…Do other types of elf have things like that?” Callum wondered, after an intrigued moment of thought. “Like, er, do the Sun elves always know where the sun is?”

Rayla shrugged. “Haven’t really talked to any Sunfire elves, but I assume so.” She paused, and added “I know Skywing elves can tell when bad weather’s coming in, though. Got a sense for the winds or something, I suppose.”

“Elves all have such interesting names.” Ezran mused, looking up at her from close range, obviously curious. “What are the other kinds called?”

She sent him that ‘are-you-having-me-on’ look again, but after a second or two of squinting apparently decided he was serious. “…Earthblood, Tidebound, and Startouch.” She informed him, looking gently exasperated with their abject lack of Xadian knowledge. “I don’t really know much about the other kinds of elf, though. I just grew up with other Moonshadows.”

“You knew about Skywing elves being able to sense bad weather, though.” Callum pointed out after a second, having determinedly committed all the race-names to memory.

“Well, yeah.” Rayla frowned momentarily. “I’ve talked to Skywing elves, though. My village trades with the nomads in the desert, sometimes. There aren’t any Sunfire or Earthblood villages anywhere near, and Tidebound…” She snorted. “As if.” She didn’t even mention Startouch elves, he noticed.

Callum held quiet for several moments as he thought. It seemed like Xadia was a lot more segregated than he’d assumed. People in Katolis seemed to have this idea that all of the elf types lived together in huge, prosperous cities ruled over by dragons…but apparently, they all mostly kept to themselves. It was kind of weird. “You live near a desert?” he asked, eventually, because that was probably the easiest question to ask.

“There are nomads in the desert?” Ezran pressed further, and Rayla started to look vaguely daunted by all the questioning.

“Sort of, and yes.” She answered, vaguely, before extricating herself from the tent-covers. “But enough interrogating me. I should be warm enough now to go on another trip out, anyway.” She went to inspect her heavy cloak, and grimaced a little at its condition. It was still absolutely sodden. “…I think I’ll be better off without that.” She decided, and headed for where she’d laid the rope-harness she’d carried the firewood in.

“…You can take my rain cloak instead.” Callum offered, helpfully, even though he wanted to tell her to stay in shelter, to not risk going out into the storm... “It’s not that warm, but it's more waterproof than furs.”

She blinked, and inspected him for a moment. Eventually, she nodded. “I’ll do that.” She accepted, and went for his bag. “Thanks.” She hesitated as she shrugged on the cloak and fastened it one-handed at the front, pulling the hood up over her horns. It took a few seconds, but eventually, she spoke. “…If you can, there’s work that needs doing, while I’m gone?” She said at last, glancing at Ezran with a light frown. “Those birds I caught – they’ll need plucking.”

Ezran very deliberately looked down at the egg, and did not react. Callum couldn’t help but notice that, remembering the way his brother had manifestly felt the demise of the unlucky doves. That was a lot more unsettling, now that his mind was less numb with cold. “…Yeah, I can do that.” Callum said determinedly, because – because if she was going to be going out into a blizzard, he could certainly pull the feathers off of some birds.

For a second, Rayla looked relieved at that. Then she shook her head. “Alright. I’d best get going.” She said, and pulled on the straps of the wood-carrying rope harness she’d rigged. “I’ll be back in…” She waved. “A while.”

Predictably, the words sent anxiety spearing through his gut. He had to close his eyes to catch his breath for a second. “Don’t suppose you could be more specific?” He asked dryly, as if the thought of not being able to tell if she’d been gone too long hadn’t just gripped him by the throat and squeezed.

She gave him a long look. “Well, I’d tell you ‘half an hour’,” She said, equally dry. “But as we’ve already learned…humans can’t judge time by the Moon moving.”

He wondered if it was weird to feel inadequate for not having an inborn magical moon-power. “…Right.” He managed, after a moment. “Wish we had an hourglass, or something.”

“We can add it to the list of things I should have stolen from your lodge, I guess.” Rayla shrugged. “Write it in under ‘cutlery’ and ‘bowls’.” She checked her straps, checked her blades, and then nodded to herself. A second later, she was stepping out towards the ledge, towards the storm-

He had a hand raised involuntarily in her direction before he could blink, an unthinking attempt to stop her, to pull her back – but he swallowed, and forced the hand back down. “Come back soon.” Was what he said in the end, and she shot him an inscrutable look. She’d clearly seen his aborted attempt to reach out.

A second lingered with her eyes on him, and then her expression softened. Just a little, but it was there. “I’ll be fine.” She promised, and then turned away, and…left. She just…left, stepping out of the meagre shelter where the wind pulled at her cloak and the snow obscured the edges of her, and then – out along the edge, where the snowstorm swallowed her in seconds.

Callum turned to Ezran then, not sure if he was looking for reassurance or…just sort of expecting that his brother would have some sort of comment for this situation. He didn’t, though. Ezran’s eyes were fixed on the egg, which he’d withdrawn just enough that Callum could see his fingers smoothing over its shell. He hesitated. “…Ez?” He asked, tentative, and his brother’s eyes snapped up to him as though he’d been awoken from a dream.

“Um, yeah?” He said, a little awkwardly, and his eyes drew back to the egg as if he couldn’t look away.

“…Is something wrong?” He asked, after a panicked moment of his gut absolutely not knowing how to deal with Rayla being out in the storm and something being wrong with his brother-

“No, I’m fine.” Ezran answered unconvincingly, and after a furtive glance at him, seemed to realise that that wouldn’t work. In the end he sighed, and looked down at the egg again. “It’s just…um. We can….sort of, feel her a bit?”

Callum stared uncomprehendingly.

“Rayla.” He clarified, fingers smoothing over the shell. “She’s – there’s so much Sky magic out there. And she’s moving through it, and we can sort of…feel her moving through it. She’s getting a little too far away, though.” He frowned. “It’s kind of tricky to follow her. Like…trying to catch smoke. Or grab water, maybe.”

He stared for several moments longer. “…That’s weird.” Callum concluded, eventually. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s also pretty awesome that you and a baby dragon can…feel through magic like that, but – weird.”

Ezran’s lips twisted with a strange humour. “Yeah, pretty much.” He agreed, eyes going half-lidded and unfocused. “I don’t think I can follow her any further, though. It’s…I’m not used to this.” His brow furrowed. “It almost feels like what me and Zym did when we….reached out, and loosened her binding. It’s so…” He couldn’t seem to find the words.

“Tricky?” Callum suggested.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll practice while she’s gone. It’ll give us something to do while you…work on dinner, I guess.”

“Er. Right.” He agreed, a little thrown, and spent a few seconds inspecting his brother for any sign of upset. He was very plainly noticed.

Ezran’s shoulders hunched. “You can stop doing that, you know.” He said, with a bit of an edge to his voice. “Watching me like you think I’m gonna have a breakdown every time we talk about meat.”

“Er.” Callum said again, because there was no graceful way to say ‘actually that’s exactly what I’m worried about’.

His brother sighed in a familiar, annoyed sort of way, and averted his eyes. “I don’t like thinking about dead animals.” He said, shortly. “And I really don’t like feeling them die. But…we have to eat, and – and those birds are the only food we’ve got, and I’m hungry.” He sounded, for a moment, upset and plaintive – like the hunger was really bothering him – and Callum immediately felt like the biggest failure of an older brother in the world. “I can deal with it. You don’t have to treat me like a baby.”

Callum’s first thought was ‘actually, I’m treating you like my little brother who I care about and want to be happy’. Then he decided that sounded good enough, so he said “Mostly I’m just treating you like my little brother, who I care about, and want to be happy.”

Ezran sighed again, but it sounded more tolerant this time. He rolled his eyes. “I know.” He said, half-fond and half-exasperated. “You big dumb brother.”

He squinted at him, hearing more than a hint of Rayla in those words. “What, you’re picking up insults from Rayla now?” He asked, and finally shuffled over to their bags to go for the towel-wrapped corpses of the birds.

His brother made a rude noise. “’S not an insult, when she says it.” He said, with all due certainty, eyes lingering in Callum’s direction for just long enough to glance at the strange, twisted shape of a dead dove. “She’s just weird and doesn’t know how to use normal nicknames.” He thought for a second, and continued as though quoting someone. “Or terms of endearment, maybe.”

Callum coughed a little, surprised, and then felt heat prickle at the back of his neck. And possibly at his cheeks as well. “Er. I guess.” He admitted, because there really wasn’t any feel of an insult to the way she called him a ‘dumb human’. He uncovered both doves and set them aside, noticing with a bit of a grimace that they both seemed to have frozen uncomfortably solid. He wondered how you were supposed to defrost entire birds. “…So, you’re picking up Rayla’s nicknames now?”

Ezran shrugged cheerfully. “Well, she is my ‘sister’.” He said, removing his fingers from the egg to do the air quotes. “So why not.”

He considered that, and shrugged. “Fair enough.” He acceptded, and moved a while away from the campfire to start plucking. With the distance, he immediately started feeling colder, and it didn’t help that the doves were cold enough to chill his hands even through the two layers of gloves – but he got to work anyway. It went easier than it had with the goose. The feathers were smaller, and less viciously entrenched. Particularly the wing feathers. It was still a little disturbing to look at the motionless, lifeless faces of the dead birds, though. Their eyes were open, gone sort of cloudy, and it was unsettling to look at.

Callum’s hands were numb with cold by the time he finished, and the wind was tossing feather-down across the camp. He watched a cluster of it catch on the rock in one corner of their crevice, struck by the similarity of its colour to the snow further out in the storm, then sighed and returned to the fireside. He placed the plucked birds under the towel they’d been carried in, and settled in to warm himself by the fire again. It was startling, how much of a chill he’d managed to pick up merely by sitting a couple of metres away from the fire.

For a second…he couldn’t help but think about how cold Rayla must be, out in the storm, perilously close from any fire. He tried not to dwell on the thought, but it had a way of sticking.

“Don’t suppose you’ve had any luck with your weird dragon-storm-sensing thing?” He asked his brother, whose eyes were closed, arms settled around eggshell in a now-familiar way.

Those eyes opened a little. “Kinda. I’ve been practicing…reaching out? It’s weird.” He shrugged. “The stronger the storm gets, the easier it is. But Rayla’s still too far away for me to feel her.”

He determinedly didn’t focus on that. His gut clenched anyway. How long had it been? It certainly felt like half an hour…or longer… “I wonder if you’ll be able to do this when there’s not a storm?” He said, instead. “Then you could feel ambushes coming a mile away.”

Ezran rolled his eyes. “It’s more like, I dunno, fifty feet away. Or something. I can’t really tell how far out I can feel this stuff.” He shrugged, looking abruptly a bit uncomfortable. “It’s…um, well, I can find animals, though. Animals are everywhere. So if we need to…I know where to find food.”

That was somehow reassuring and disturbing at the same time. “…Good to know?” He settled on, eventually, and cast his eyes about looking for something to do. In the end, he nursed the fire a little, and then settled in to pluck pine needles from branches, going so far as to remove his gloves to make it easier. He was beginning to form a very tidy pile of needles in one of the jars. Eventually, Ezran returned to his…weird empathy powers, and they worked mostly in silence. The quiet served to emphasise the howling bluster of the storm, in a constant backdrop to every passing second.

And still, Rayla didn’t return. It became long enough that Callum grew genuinely worried, sneaking glances back along the precipice several times a minute to check for any sign of her, each time having to quash the sparks of panic that arose when she still wasn’t there. The blizzard raging beyond their shelter seemed in full-force, now, the snowflakes larger than the palm of his hand, and so thick that the sky might as well have been a solid wall of increasingly-dim white.

It was getting later….and colder. Even next to the fire, it was cold. He worried a great deal about what it must be like for Rayla, out there in the thick of it.

“She’s been gone kind of a long time.” Ezran spoke, after a while, when they’d been quiet for long enough that their worries lingered palpably in the air between them. “Do you think she’s okay?”

“…I’m sure she’s fine, Ezran.” Callum said, determinedly, refusing to consider any alternative. “She knows what she’s doing. She won’t let a bit of snow stop her.”

Ezran nodded, first slowly and then a little more emphatically. “…Yeah. Yeah, she’s fine.” He said, forcefully cheerful, and glanced at the fire. “Do you think we should try to have some stuff ready for her when she comes back? So she can warm up?”

Callum blinked, and turned to look at him more fully. “Like what?”

“Like…warming up a spare sweater by the fire? Or making tea?”

“We don’t exactly have any tea leaves with us, Ez.” Callum said, amused. “But….you know, there’s tons of pine needles.” Ezran made a face, but didn’t object, so Callum went for the jar he’d been keeping the things in. “You want to go get some snow for us to melt?” His brother sighed, and then reluctantly set the egg down to peel himself from the covers.

In short order, they had a small pile of fresh snow (gathered from the less-sheltered edge of their ledge) piled into the iron pot, and were peering at it in concern. “Do you think it’s okay that we’re using a metal thing in the camp?” Ez spoke, peering at it. “What if it gets hit by lightning?”

“We’re under a rock ceiling, with half a mountain on top of us.” He reasoned, after a moment. “I bet lightning can’t get us through there.”

“Then why did Rayla make us put all the metal stuff over there?”

That stumped him for a second. “….Maybe if the lightning comes from that way?” He suggested, lamely, pointing out at the storm. His brother looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, we’ll have to ask her when she gets back.” He said in the end. “For now, let’s just boil some water and assume the lightning probably isn’t close enough to hit us yet, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Ez nodded, a little distractedly, and sat by him beside fire while they watched water boiling. It was not very exciting. After a while, he added in some pine leaves, and the steam arising from the pot became steadily more aromatic. This was also not very exciting. None of it was a sufficient distraction from the fact that Rayla still hadn’t returned.

It had been so long. Way longer than half an hour, surely. It wasn’t like he had any way to judge the time, but it had to have been longer. Maybe even twice as long. Or more. She’d been gone too long. How long was too long to be out in a storm? He had no idea. He really had no idea. He didn’t know anything about – mountain survival, or storms, or how dangerous cold was. He really didn’t know how long was dangerous, how long was too long to be out there – he didn’t know anything. Once again, he was just…completely useless.

What were they supposed to do if she didn’t come back? He’d…have to go looking for her. He didn’t know how he’d safely get across that ledge, but – he’d have to try. It wasn’t like he could just…leave her out there, it just – he couldn’t. When it had been too long…he’d have to go. But…how long until it was too long? How long until he couldn’t sit around any longer? How much longer should he wait?

And then-

Ezran sat suddenly bolt-upright, as though he’d been prodded with a hot poker. He blinked, rapidly, and then his eyes slipped closed. “Oh.” He said, with palpable relief. “I – either that’s Rayla, or it’s some other person-shaped thing coming closer. She’s nearly back.”

Callum dropped his pine branch immediately, head whipping around to stare at the precipitous approach as though she’d appear that very second. She didn’t, of course. However far into the storm Azymondias – and by proxy, Ezran – could feel…it was far enough to give them a fair bit of advance warning.

Either that, or she was moving very, very slowly. The thought made his expression tighten, and he watched the edge anxiously for any sign of her. Ezran did, too, opening his eyes to watch with more concrete senses than whatever he’d been practicing with for the last while.

Finally, finally, she came into view. Her silhouette broke through the featureless white, indistinct and vague at first, then more defined as she approached. She made for a hunched and strangely ungainly shape emerging from that storm; as though she were shuffling more than she was walking. And then finally she was in full view, turning into the shelter of their ledge with palpable relief, looking utterly exhausted and perilously cold. She seemed so focused on walking that she didn’t even notice them staring at her.

It only took a second for Callum to drop everything and rush towards her. Ezran was only a second behind him. “Rayla,” His voice was almost an exclamation, torn half-ways between utter relief and terrible anxiety. She looked up as they approached, but strangely sluggishly, her eyes tired and the visible skin of her face purple with cold.

“Callum.” She mumbled at him, the words muffled through the red scarf she’d pulled up over her mouth and nose. Her hat was pulled down over her forehead, and only the part of her face on level with her eyes was exposed. “…Took a bit longer than half an hour, I suppose. Sorry.”

He reached her and came to a stop, hands raising on instinct to – to check on her? To see if she was okay? He wasn’t exactly thinking about it. He lifted his fingers to her face and winced at how terribly cold it was to the touch. “You’re freezing.” He found himself saying, dismayed, and was tugging her by the hand towards the fire before he even knew what he was doing. “Why did you stay out so long?”

“…Rabbit.” She answered, stumbling after him with an uncharacteristic gracelessness. “Saw it hiding – thought I could catch it…” She blinked, slowly, and sighed. “Got a bit turned around in the storm. Won’t be making that mistake again.”

“Are you okay?” Ezran asked, anxiously, drawing close enough to her that his expression went pinched and – he started shivering, just for a second, as if his body had forgotten what its own temperature was. “You’re so cold, it’s making me feel cold.”

“…I’m a tad chilly.” Rayla said, vaguely, and winced a little as Callum finally pulled her in range of the fire. “I’ll be fine, though, you can stop fussing.”

Ezran stared at her. He did not seem especially convinced.

“Uh-huh.” Callum said, sceptically. He’d have been far more credulous if not for how clumsy she seemed and how weird her voice was. “Yeah. Sure. We’ll just pretend that you’re not – not hypothermic, and weren’t just out in the middle or a horrible mountain storm for most of an hour, yeah, that sounds great-“ His voice, entirely against his will, became more and more shaky the longer he spoke, his breath starting to hitch a little, and he had to stop for a second to close his eyes and breathe.

When he opened them again, Rayla was staring at him with that strange expression again. Bewildered, and a little uncertain. “…I’m probably not hypothermic.” She offered, after a moment. “Or if I am, it’s pretty mild.”

“Oh, it’s only mild hypothermia! Well that’s just fine, then!” He said acerbically, and in the next moment found that the jitter in his breath had abruptly filled the rest of his body, an anxious energy propelling him into motion. His fingers went for the ropes of her firewood harness, untying the knots as she’d apparently not thought of doing, swiftly and carelessly enough that the wood all fell to the stone floor behind them with an awful clatter. She looked down at him in what seemed like surprise, as muffled beneath that distant tiredness as all of her expressions were at the moment. “Damn it, Rayla.” He muttered to her, expression tightening at the sheer chill of her left hand when he pulled the gloves off of it.

“…I’m fine?” She attempted again, still looking at him with that strange, startled expression. He didn’t answer, and instead pressed her hand between his without the slightest ounce of self-consciousness; he was too rattled for that. He pulled her to the other side of the fire, muttering agitatedly beneath his breath the whole time, though he had no idea what he was saying. In the next moment, the merest second after he’d thought of it, he released her to undo the clasp on his cloak and pull it roughly off of his shoulders, immediately setting to fussing over her own clothing.

“You can – I’ll just-“ he muttered, disjointedly, as he divested her of the thin rain-proof travel cloak, pulling the hood from her along with it. It was, despite everything, wet and half-stiff with ice. “You should wear mine. It’s not wet, and I’ve been sitting by the fire, it should be warm-“

“Callum-“ She tried, but he was far too fixated on getting her warm and safe and – and he tugged the fur cloak around her shoulders, pulling it tightly, her hair warping strangely under the pressure in a way hair shouldn’t. He fastened the clasp at her front before he investigated, pulling a section of her hair free from the fluffy collar of the cloak, and stared in disbelief.

“Your hair froze.” He told her, stridently, holding the frigid end of one long strand up so she should see. Tentatively, she lifted her still-gloved hand and took it. It was, indeed, actually iced-over at the ends – with the colour of her hair, it looked more like a thin sheet of ice than anything.

She twisted her fingers, experimentally, and the end piece snapped off. She was left holding around an inch of very icy hair. “…That’s…” She attempted, a little weakly. “Weird.”

“’Weird’.” Callum repeated, off into his own agitation again, fingers shaking with frenetic energy. He snatched at her hand and pulled the gloves from that, too. It wasn’t quite as horribly cold and discoloured as the bound one, but it was – it was still not good, her fingertips were icy, the skin was mottled- “’Weird’, she says, ‘weird’-“

“Callum-“ She attempted again, still without success, because Callum was still on a mission. He clamped that hand briefly between his own, too, to chase at least a little of the chill away, and then took her by the shoulders and walked her over to the layers of tent arrayed by the fire.

“Get in the tent.” He told her, mind whirling through a dozen different things he should be doing. “It’ll be warmer – maybe you should take your boots off? I don’t know how cold your feet are – maybe we should put some rocks in the fire, then put them in there with you so you heat up quicker-“

“Callum,” His name came again, but this time it was Ezran, accompanied by a small hand at his arm. He started, then looked down. His brother was looking up at him, solemn but sympathetic. “It’s okay. She’s fine. Breathe.”

He held still for several moments, mind gone abruptly blank. Then, very slowly, he exhaled, tension slipping in jerky gradations from his shoulders as he forced some of the anxious, agitated energy away. It left him feeling terribly drained. “…Right.” He said, very quietly, and breathed, and exhaled again, and closed his eyes. When he finally looked back at Rayla again, he managed to be a little steadier about the whole thing. “I need you to get into those tent layers and warm up.” he told her, as evenly as he could manage, which wasn’t very. “And – I’ve already got some tea brewing, so you can have some of that, and that’ll help too, and….” He closed his eyes again. Breathed. “It’s fine.” He said, quietly again, more to himself than anyone, and shuffled away to stoop by the fire.

He saw her wavering uncertainly, out of the corner of his eye – but he just stirred the pot, breathing carefully, shoring himself against the taste of acid in his throat and the way that stress kept trying to rise from its hot pit in his chest into a burst of hysteria.

Callum tried to focus on the water, but was entirely unable to remove his attention from Rayla. So he was perfectly aware of her shuffling closer, and lifting one frigid hand to his shoulder.

“Callum…” She said, uncertainly. “I’m…sorry I was gone so long?”

He felt his shoulder tense under her hand, and then he slumped. He looked up at her, then reached up for her hand, tugging her down until she was beside him at the fireside. “Damn it, Rayla.” He said again, quietly. “I – we – I was so worried.” She didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he shook his head. “Just…get warm? Please?” A little anxiously, he reached out and adjusted the cloak around her shoulders, as if that would instantly fix the issue. It didn’t, of course. She was still pale-faced and shivering.

“…I am, trust me.” She said, just a little wryly, and turned her face to stare into the flames. “Being this close to the fire already feels too warm.” She pulled the scarf down from her face, settling it back around her neck, looking so horribly tired that he wouldn’t have been surprised if she fell asleep on the spot.

He remembered the way heat had hurt, earlier, when he was warming his hands up. “…Well, as long as you’re not getting any colder.” He conceded, reluctantly, and didn’t try to chase her into the tent layers. He did fret at her until she removed the boots, though, and set her feet in their thick socks by the fire to warm up.

“You got a lot of wood this time, Rayla.” Ezran remarked, and Callum looked up to see he’d been spending his time productively, arranging the wood into neat piles further from the campfire. And…well, Callum hadn’t at all paid attention to the firewood beyond getting it off of Rayla’s back, but Ez was right. There was a lot of it. Way more than the first trip had yielded. Even if most of it looked like it had come from Rayla systematically dismembering an entire tree. There were a lot of discs of tree-trunk there.

“I did pretty much just cut down a whole tree.” Rayla admitted, voice still a little slow and sluggish-sounding. “Seemed easiest. And fastest.” She shrugged, tiredly. “And I can carry a lot at the moment. Still feeling stronger than I should be.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. “Good?” he settled on. “I mean, it’s not like it’s not useful at times like this, so…” He shrugged, and exhaled another somewhat-shaky breath. “But you still don’t know why you’re stronger than you should be?”

“It’s Last Quarter.” Rayla said, a little absently, shuffling close enough to the fire that it would probably hurt even if she wasn’t fresh from a blizzard. She didn’t show any sign of being in pain, though; he supposed her pain tolerance had probably undergone a lot of training recently. “Almost Waning Crescent. I should definitely be feeling weaker. But I’m not. It’s…” The dark fingers of her left hand curled stiffly over the heat-haze from the flames. “Weird.”

“Well, I’m not exactly an expert on elves, so I can’t really help you there.” Callum said, after a moment. “I’d say you should ask Ezran, but I think he’s mainly a baby dragon expert now.”

Ez rolled his eyes. “Animal expert too.” He reminded him. “But yeah…sorry, Rayla. I don’t know either.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to.” Rayla shook her head a little, drawing up her knees to her chest and perching her chin atop them. She made a low grumbling sound. “Ugh.”

Callum looked over. “What?” He asked, worriedly.

“Horn-ache.” She explained, and lifted both hands to clamp around the bases of her horns, just over the hat. She looked very disgruntled. “They got too cold, and now they’re aching. Horn-ache is the worst.”

Despite everything, that managed to get him interested. She had said before that horns had insides, hadn’t she? “Cold makes the insides of your horns ache?” He wondered, and she grumbled again.

“Yep.” She said, shortly. “Always turns into a head-ache, too. It’s just great.” Ezran eyed her, then shuffled over from the firewood stack to reach his hand to hers, stopping just short of touching her.

“Can I?” he asked, very politely. She eyed him, while Callum watched with raised eyebrows.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I wanna see what it feels like?”

“Why?” She reiterated, staring with a sort of bemused exasperation. “It’s just like a normal headache from…cold water, or eating too much iced cream. Just in your horns.”

“I don’t have horns, though.” Ezran informed her, cheerfully. “I want to see what it feels like.”

Rayla shook her head disbelievingly at him. “Well, Ezran, if you want to share this delightful experience, you can go ahead.” She decided eventually. “But you’re completely crazy. Who wants to feel a new kind of headache?”

Callum sheepishly waved, and she turned her stare on him. “I just think it would be kind of interesting.” He defended. “But I’m not the one with weird empathy powers, so.”

Without further ado, Ezran reached out and grabbed her hand. His expression twisted strangely. “Okay, um, I really have no idea how you’re even noticing the horn-ache over that.” He said, his other hand going reflexively to his upper arm, as though to soothe some unseen hurt. Callum was abruptly reminded that, in fact, there were many ongoing threats to Rayla’s health aside from cold. His gut twisted anew.

She looked momentarily surprised, as if somehow she’d forgotten about the apparently incredibly painful lacerations on her arm. “…I’m sort of getting used to it?” She offered, a little awkwardly. “The horn-ache is…new. And right on my head. Kind of harder to ignore.” She squinted. “…Maybe you should take your hand off.”

“No, it’s not any worse than it was before.” Ezran refuted, stubbornly, with an almost comical look of concentration on his little face. “And I can feel the horns. It’s kind of cool. You can feel them? They’re sort of…heavy? And you can feel that they’re there. It’s really weird.” Callum experienced an odd twinge of jealousy, and immediately felt weird about it. It was probably weird to be jealous of your brother’s ability to empathically experience what it was like to have horns, right?

“If elves couldn’t feel their horns there, we’d probably hit them on things twenty times a day.” Rayla pointed out, an amused twitch at the edge of her lips.

“Yeah, I guess, but it’s still weird to feel.” Ez said. He paused. “I do think you should take some sort of painkiller, though. Even if you’re getting used to it….” He shuddered, and withdrew his hand.

“Probably still not a good idea to have any willow bark, though.” She said, a little glumly. “Might get in the way of all the…” She waved towards her upper arm. “Scab stuff. Early healing. And if I somehow open the wounds they’ll be bleeding everywhere again.”

Callum’s grip tightened around the sword he was stirring with. Carefully, he reached to the side for a cloth, and used it to remove the iron pot from the fire. “There’s still the lilium, though.” He reminded her. She’d seemed a lot more level-headed with the lower dose, so…honestly, he was expecting her to be relatively easy to convince on the matter. To his surprise, though, she immediately shook her head with the sort of ironclad conviction that he knew he wouldn’t sway.

“No.” She said, very certainly. “Can’t risk it.”

Ez blinked, and peered up at her. “Why not? You don’t have to go out again, right? This is enough wood for the night?” He sounded suddenly anxious, which Callum certainly empathised with. The thought of sending Rayla back out into that storm in the chill of encroaching evening, after she had already come back once clumsy and cold-numbed…it was nearly intolerable.

Rayla gave the firewood pile a passing glance. “Yeah, it’s probably fine.” She said, though a little dubiously. “As long as we don’t go mad with it. That’s not the problem, though.”

Callum stared at her. “…I thought you seemed okay with the lower dose.” He set the pot aside and turned fully to face her, more than a little dismayed. He’d sort of taken it for granted that he’d be able to treat her wounds and – everything else – without it hurting too much.

She shrugged, a little uncomfortably. “It was alright, I suppose. But it’s too risky for me to use during the storm like this. It’s…sort of a sleeping drug? Makes you sleepy. I can’t risk falling asleep on my watch and letting the fire go out, or not being able to wake up if something happens. Too dangerous.”

He hesitated. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest she forget her watch altogether, and let him and Ez handle it, but…as if she could tell what he was thinking, she eyed him so narrowly that he wisely decided to keep his mouth shut. “…Not even a tiny bit?” He asked, eventually, and recalled his nightmare of the night before. “You woke up last night for a little bit – when I was awake – you’d be able to wake up if you needed to.”

“Without someone waking me up?” She retorted, shaking her head. “Can’t guarantee it. And that doesn’t solve the issue of me falling asleep on the job, either. I don’t remember how it was the first time I took the stuff, but yesterday at least – I kept almost falling asleep at the fire, which is…pretty much exactly what we’re trying to avoid.”

“You were pretty sleepy the first time, too.” Ezran admitted after a moment.

She waved at him. “Well, there you go.”

Ez frowned at her. “You really don’t remember it yourself?” He asked. “Like…not even the part where you scratched your arm open?”

Her lips twisted into a light grimace. “Just tiny flashes, pretty much. Enough to remember I was acting like a drugged idiot, anyway.”

Callum coughed. “Well, you definitely acted different.” He said, tactfully, and she rolled her eyes. “But yesterday’s dose worked out better?” He resigned himself, albeit unhappily, to the fact that she was probably right about lilium being a bad idea.

“Yep.” She replied, after a second of thought. “I remember pretty much everything, and only acted a little bit stupid and moonstruck. So it wasn’t so bad.”

‘Moonstruck’, again. She’d been either too drugged or too reticent to explain it last time, but maybe…

Ezran ended up asking before Callum could. “What does that even mean?” He asked, leaning forward with interest. “Like, not what the word means – you said it was about the full moon? But then you never really explained.”

“Er.” Looking distinctly caught off-guard, Rayla straightened slowly and stared at Ezran. Then she stared at Callum, who immediately tried to look like he wasn’t as interested in the answer as he was. “Just, sort of, a Moonshadow elf thing.” She attempted, looking very much as though she was hoping they’d leave it at that. “It’s not really important?”

“I wanna know anyway.” Ez said, very earnestly. “It’s so cool learning more about elves. Before we met you I had no idea that elf horns had insides, or what the other types of elf were called, or – anything? It’s just fun to learn.” He peered at her, tilting his head, and Callum saw in the edge of his smile that his little brother knew full well that Rayla was being purposefully reticent. “…Or do you not want to talk about it?”

Rayla shuffled, fidgeting with her binding in what almost looked like a nervous motion. “Well…” She hedged. She didn’t want to talk about it, and that was very obvious. But she probably also didn’t want to admit to that, because that would make it extremely obvious that whatever-it-was wasn’t so unimportant as she’d attempted to pass it off as.

Callum very, very badly wanted to know what she was being so cagey about. Was it some sort of Moonshadow elf secret? Was it something she wasn’t supposed to talk about? But…no; as he looked at her, he thought this was much more along the lines of some sort of uncomfortable or…maybe even embarrassing secret. About elves. He really wanted to know. But… “If you really don’t want to talk about it…” he started, reluctantly, and for a second she looked relieved. But-

Ezran, apparently, was far more merciless about the whole thing. “Is it something embarrassing?” he asked, gleefully, apparently picking up on the same cues Callum had, or possibly some host of empath-exclusive tells. “Do Moonshadow elves go crazy at the full moon? Is that it?”

She sort of…reeled back, as if struck, and Callum was certain that Ezran had hit uncomfortably close to the truth. “I – not exactly? It’s – it doesn’t really…” She tried, haltingly, then shook her head and collected herself. Finally, a little impatiently, she said “Alright. Yes, the Full Moon does weird things to us, and yes, it makes us act a bit weird, and that’s where the word ‘moonstruck’ probably comes from. But we don’t go crazy.” Her voice went sour.

Callum made an interested sort of ‘huh sound. “So, Moonshadow elves at the full moon act like they’re high on drugs?” He clarified, and she twitched.

“Not that bad.” She denied, shaking her head. “Just…a bit energetic, maybe. A little scatterbrained. Kind of impulsive, sometimes. It’s not really a problem.” She paused, for a moment. “Well, not for most people. Moon-mages have to deal with it more, I think?”

“Because they use moon spells?” Ezran asked, fascinated.

“Does that make the moon affect you more?” Callum wondered. “Using moon magic?”

Rayla glanced at them with that are-you-serious look again. “…No, it doesn’t.” She said, rolling her eyes. “It’s just that Moon-mages need to have a stronger connection, so they usually-“ She stopped, abruptly, eyes widening. Her next words fell numbly from her lips. “…they usually take…less…” Her voice slowed. She went utterly still. “…Oh.” She said, in a very small voice. “Oh, no.”

He straightened, exchanging a quick glance with Ezran. “What?” He asked, a little alarmed, because she had very obviously just thought of something unpleasant. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Dismayed, Rayla haltingly finished her earlier sentence: “Moon-mages take less moondust.” She said, numbly. “Moondust. I can’t believe – I didn’t even think – I completely forgot-“ At once, she was on her feet, in a flurry of agitated motion that brought her over to her bag, pulling things out of it in a haphazard manner that almost saw one sock flung into the fire. Callum tried to catch it, fumbled, but managed to hook it away from the edge of the campfire before it caught alight. “Come on, come on,” She was muttering to herself, a little frantic, as she pulled out her assassin’s clothes and started plundering a variety of hidden pockets that Callum hadn’t even known were there. “Please, please say I was an idiot and – kept some in the wrong place, or something-“

“Rayla-“ Callum attempted, moving over with a hand half-extended as if to offer aid. “What’s wrong? Have you lost something?” Ezran’s eyes had gone very wide.

“Moondust, Callum!” She half-snarled at him. “Moondust – and I didn’t even think about it – how long has it even been?” She stopped her frenetic rummaging for a second, stilling so abruptly that the difference was startling. “A week? Eight days? Nine? How long have we been travelling?”

He did some quick thinking. “Eight days since we left the castle, including today?” He offered, watching her closely for any sign that an explanation might be forthcoming.

She scowled, the furious pace of her thoughts almost visible on her face. “So, about twelve days since my last dose.” She concluded, disgustedly. “No wonder I’ve been stronger. That’s long enough to start seeing the effects…” She deflated, all at once, her sudden burst of energy deserting her. Without it, she looked more tired than ever. “I didn’t even realise.” She said again, quieter, with an unhappily familiar sort of self-recrimination.

Tentatively, he shuffled close enough to lay a hand on her shoulder. “Rayla, would you just explain what the problem is? What dose? ‘Moondust’? What are you talking about?”

She raised a hand to her face, briefly obscuring her features. “It could be worse.” She said, almost to herself. “It’ll be a pain, but it could be worse.” She shook her head, sighed, and finally turned to face him, eyes flickering briefly to Ezran, who was watching silently. “Moonshadow elves – almost all of us – take a drug called moondust.” She said, finally. “It weakens our connection to the Moon.”

Callum blinked, perplexed, and let his hand fall away. “Weakens?” He repeated, uncomprehendingly. “Why would you want to weaken your connection?”

“Doesn’t that mean you have less magic?” Ezran chimed in, his brow furrowed. His arms tightened around the egg. “Why would you want to have less magic?”

“It’s – I’m getting to that. Just…” She exhaled, slowly, and rubbed at her temples. “Yes, it means we have less magic – and we’re weaker, too, but…for any of us who aren’t Moon-mages, it’s usually worth it.” She looked at them, lips downturned. “You see…normally, the Moon affects us. A lot.” She said, drawing the words out, as though she really didn’t want to be saying them. “It – especially for assassins, or spies, or soldiers – we can’t afford what the Moon does to us, so we take higher doses than most, and maybe it makes us weaker in battle but at least we get to keep our heads-“ She shook her head in a sudden, violent motion, her next breath coming out in a stressed puff of air.

Callum looked at her for a long moment, and put together the clues. “You mean the Full Moon really does mess with your heads, but only if you’re not taking moondust?” He summarised.

“That’s part of it.” Rayla admitted, looking so horribly lost he had no idea what to do with it. “Unmedicated Moonshadow elves at Full Moon – well, we’re crazy strong, but being strong and fast doesn’t mean much if you go off chasing moon-moths instead of going after your target. Or if you’re a spy, going moon-mad in the streets and getting caught, or – you get the idea. You never let one of us into enemy territory unless we’re on a really high dose, it’s just…too dangerous. And now I’m on nothing.” Her lips twisted into an unhappy grimace. “I’ve not been unmedicated since I was ten. I have no idea what it’s going to be like.”

Callum and Ezran exchanged glances. It was Ez who spoke, in the end. “But…can’t we just make sure we’re somewhere safe and away from people for the full moon?” He asked, tentatively. “Is it really that much of a problem?”

“Aside from the fact that I don’t really want to lose my head and get actually moonstruck?” Rayla said, sardonically. “Yes, it’s a problem, because it’s not only the Full Moon we have to worry about.” She looked out to the side of their shelter, staring at plain stone. Or…wasn’t that the vague direction she’d said the moon had been, earlier? “Six days till New Moon.” She concluded, after a second. “That’s going to be…” She buried her face in her hands for a second, exhaled sharply, then looked up at them. Her voice was tight. “Fair warning – I’m probably going to be pretty useless for the day of the New Moon. I’ll definitely slow us down. And I’ll probably be out of sorts – and really weak – for the day before and at least a couple days after. If we’re attacked, I won’t stand a chance.”

Callum eyed her with alarm. “…Okay, I see how that would be a problem for elves in enemy territory, yeah.” He admitted. One day being insanely strong but kind of crazy would be one thing, but entire days of protracted weakness of the sort she seemed to be describing…he understood a little why they considered moondust so important.

She sighed. “At least we’re probably just going to be in the middle of the mountains for that.” She said, resigned. “Unless you’ve got any towns out there, we probably won’t be attacked.”

“Unless some other tracker catches up with us.” He said, a little darkly, and she looked up.

“…Didn’t I say?” She inspected him, then shook her head. “Suppose I forgot to mention it. Callum, no one will be able to follow us through this storm. That’s one good thing about it, I suppose. We’re going to have enough of a head start after it clears that there’ll be no trail for anyone to follow after us. We’re in the clear, for now.”

He was abruptly glad that he was sitting down. He thought his legs might have buckled under him, otherwise. “…Oh.” He offered, weakly. He hadn’t quite realised how much the risk of attack was weighing at him, but…

“Well, that’s a relief.” Ezran voiced, perking up. “I really wasn’t liking the idea that someone might attack us at pretty much any moment.” He paused. “Well, I guess that’s not really a problem at the moment anyway, since I can feel people coming, but…”

Rayla’s brows furrowed as she turned to him, and Callum realised she’d missed Ezran’s little revelation of skill. “You can what?”

“Oh, you weren’t here for that.” Ez said, surprised, and then leaned in. “Right, so while you were gone…”

She listened, alternately perplexed and attentive, as he explained his experiments in using Azymondias’ sense of the storm to feel. She raised an eyebrow at the knowledge that he’d been able to sense her returning, but – when he mentioned the animals he could feel, her attention sharpened into an almost urgent interest. “You can find animals?” She demanded, with a quick glance at the rag Callum had covered the birds in.

He looked briefly uncomfortable. “Well, yeah.” He admitted. “…I did think you’d find that useful.”

Very bluntly, she said “Ezran, I was honestly kind of worried that we’d starve here, if the storm went on too long. Hunting is hard in weather like this.” She exhaled in a long, exhausted breath while they flinched. Callum abruptly remembered that she’d stated her reason for staying out in the storm so long as the failed pursuit of a rabbit, and felt apprehension stirring in his gut. He’d sort of relaxed about the food situation, what with the doves Rayla had caught earlier, but evidently he needed to start thinking a little further ahead. “So yes, that’s useful. Can you do it now?”

Ezran blinked. “What, right now?” He asked, alarmed. “But they’re all out in that.” He waved expressively at the storm. “You can’t go out again already!”

Rayla hesitated, looking at the ledge-path out of their shelter with a considering, sidelong stare.

“Rayla, no, you just – no.” Callum said flatly, attempting to be less obvious about the fact that his heart had just started racing with anxiety. “You’re still cold-“ He pointed accusatively at her fingertips, which were still unsteady enough to have a light tremble. “-and shivery! There’s no way you can go back out yet.”

“…If I wait, it’ll be too cold to risk it.” She countered, evasively, still plainly considering it.

“You’d freeze anyway, Rayla.” Ezran told her, as unimpressed as Callum. “You’ve barely warmed up. And I’m not gonna tell you where the animals are if it’s not safe for you to go out.”

She stared at him, with a sort of annoyance building that Callum thought heralded an argument. She appeared to have built some amount of tolerance for their cossetting, but apparently, even that was beginning to wear thin. “Ezran-“ She started, an edge to her voice, and Callum hastily moved in front of her to block her vision.

He thought for a wild moment on how to divert her. “Dinner!” He blurted, gracelessly, and waved in the direction of the covered doves. “I mean – the birds! I plucked them, but I don’t really know what to do next, and they’re sort of…frozen solid?”

Rayla narrowed her eyes at him, and didn’t move.

After a moment, he relented from his extremely blatant diversion and said “Look, Rayla…I know we do need more meat, but so long as the storm is going, Ezran will probably be able to point you to animals, right? So for now let’s just worry about the food we do have, and….you can go hunting tomorrow, or something.”

She stared at him balefully for a long few seconds before she conceded. “…Fine.” She accepted, though she didn’t look happy about it, and turned to inspect the rags. “…If they’re really frozen, easiest way to cook them will just be to boil them for a bit.” She said after a moment. “But you’ve got tea in the pot at the moment. And we need to get these gutted, somehow.”

“Well, we can drink the tea.” Callum said, relieved. “Might take us a bit, though. But that’s probably a good thing – I don’t know how steady your hands will be until you’ve warmed up a bit more.”

She sighed, raising her right hand to flex its fingers. The motion looked somewhat stiffer than it ought to have been. She didn’t even try the left hand. “I suppose.” She admitted. “Well, whatever. Let’s have some disgusting pine tea, then.”

And so it transpired that, with the aid of their empty jars, each of them were served tea made from melted snow and pine-needles, while trapped in a pitiful excuse for a cave in the middle of an awful mountain storm, with Ezran apparently sharing the experience with the unborn dragon whose egg was glowing in his lap. It was all faintly ridiculous, and the absurdity hit Callum all at once as he was passing a jar to his brother. He giggled, a little hysterically, and the others turned to lift eyebrows at him. It was almost simultaneous, the way they did it, and that just compounded the ridiculousness of the situation. He giggled again, utterly involuntary.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologised, a minute later, still feeling weird and giddy about the whole thing. “It just – hit me, that we’re…us, and we’re here, in this.” He gestured at the storm.

“You’re not making any sense.” Rayla informed him severely, cradling her jar gingerly between her hands. As before, he’d opted to give her the smaller one for herself, and refill it as necessary. She hadn’t made any move to drink it yet, and he wondered if that was because she liked the warmth or because she disliked the taste. Or maybe both?

“Yeah, I guess not.” He admitted, lips twisting with strange humour. “I guess what I mean is that…it’s just so crazy that we’re here. Two humans, an elf, and a dragon egg – a dragon egg my brother can talk to – and we’re on this stupid big mission to bring peace to humans and elves and dragons and – and we’re just stuck here in a weird cave drinking pine needle tea. It’s just….” He searched for a word. “Ridiculous. And crazy.”

Her lips twitched. “Well, you’ve got a point there.” She murmured, with a smile that looked more wry than anything. “It is pretty ridiculous. And crazy.”

“Not what you thought your life would be like ten days ago, huh?” Ezran asked, and she snorted.

“Nope.” She said, and “Drink your tea.”

He grumbled, but obligingly raised the jar to take his first sip. He made a face, drank a little more, and then offered it to Callum.

“You know,” Callum reflected, after taking the tea jar from his brother and inhaling the scent, “You two apparently hate it and all, but I think this stuff is actually sort of growing on me.” The jar was pleasantly warm in his hands, the heat of it seeping through his gloves. He felt his eyelids flutter a little lower in the pleasant lull it brought.

Ezran eyed him dubiously. “…Really?” He asked, plainly sceptical, as Callum breathed another waft of pine-scented air. “But it’s…” He searched for a word “Bitter. And piney.”

“No, really?” Rayla offered, dryly, still nursing her smaller jar of the stuff. She held it braced between her hands so that it almost looked like a proper mug, and from the looks of it, was enjoying the borrowed heat as much as he was. “Piney, you say. I wonder why.”

“A great mystery.” He agreed, lips twitching, and raised the oversized jar to drink. The warmth of it suffused him, so pleasant amid the cold of the storm that he sighed quietly as he drank, with a mild and contented sort of pleasure. It helped that he really was starting to enjoy the taste of it, too. “It tastes weird, but in a good way.” He decided, when he lowered it again. “I think it’s better without the cyanroot, too. Less sour.”

Rayla made a pensive hmm sound, inspecting her beverage. She took another sip of it, looking decidedly ambivalent, and shrugged. “Well, I don’t hate it.” She exhaled, and her breath puffed white into the air. “At least it’s warm.”

“I think I’d prefer just warm water to drink.” Ezran said, but accepted the jar from Callum when he offered it anyway. He grimaced, and drank, making a face.

She shrugged again. “Warm water doesn’t protect you from scurvy.”

Ez made a glum sound, and kept drinking.

If nothing else, the hot drink definitely did help them warm up, and Rayla was less worryingly purple by the time she got through three small jars of tea. Her right hand had better colour, too, though the state of the left one still made him grimace on sight. He thought, a little flustered, that he’d better pay it more attention today. And, that was a thought… “Ez, do you think you’d be able to do that thing with, er,” He paused to contemplate the ridiculousness of having a nickname for an unborn royal dragon. “Zym? For Rayla’s binding? It’s been a couple of days now, right?” The elf in question blinked, and straightened a little at the topic, turning to watch for Ezran’s reply.

He seemed a little startled, but looked down at the egg anyway, as if waiting for its response. It never quite stopped being uncanny when he did that. Eggs weren’t supposed to talk. “…Actually, I think that would be a good idea for all of us. It might help us let off some of this…” he waved. “Storm energy. It’s kind of intense right now.” He hesitated. “Did you mean now? Or…”

Callum looked to Rayla inquiringly, and she pursed her lips for a moment in thought. “After dinner.” She decreed, in the end. “If it’s anything like the first time, I’ll get the worst pins-and-needles known to elf, and that’s pretty hard to work through.”

“Sounds good.” Ezran said. “Is there anything you want me to do while you’re working on dinner? I don’t really think there’s a lot of point in collecting snow this time, because, uh…” he nodded to their modest cliffside, which in the absence of an overhang, was quite comprehensively piled with snowfall. It was growing deeper by the hour.

Rayla considered it. “You might want to move some of that snow further in, actually. That way we won’t lose as much to the wind blowing it over the edge. I suppose snow isn’t exactly hard to come by during a blizzard, but…” She shrugged. “If we’re going to be burning a campfire for the next however-long, we might as well get hot water out of it.”

Ezran accepted that readily enough, and it was obvious by how easily he left the tent-covers (carefully swaddling the egg up beforehand) that he no longer felt particularly cold. Hot drinks and sitting directly beside a fire would do that to you, Callum supposed. His brother put his gloves back on and went off to his task, and Rayla pulled Callum aside with the rag-wrapped doves in one hand.

“They’re frozen, so this won’t be as messy as usual, but still best do this further out from where we’re sitting.” She explained, and visibly suppressed a shiver as the wind picked up her hair and ruffled at the edges of her scarf. Even just a little further out from the shelter of their not-cave, it was a lot windier. “Suppose that’s two good things about these birds being frozen through.”

He blinked. If the first was the lack of mess… “Two?”

“We won’t get blood everywhere, and it’ll be less gory than usual, so your squeamishness gets some training.” She explained, and…er.

He looked at the plucked doves as she unwrapped them, and swallowed. “…Right. Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I guess you’re, er, going to show me how to…”

“How to prepare a bird, yeah.” She agreed, taking one dove aside while she reached idly for a blade. “I’m alright with something this small, but…bigger animals? With my arm and hand like this…” She looked, momentarily, immensely frustrated. But she quashed the expression in the space of a second. “I’ll need your help with the meat from now on.” She admitted, voice tight. “Though I’ve got no idea how I’m going to walk you through your first skinning without both hands working right, so I suppose it’s a good thing we’ve got birds this time.”

Callum swallowed back his reflexive nausea at the thought of skinning. “What’s worse?” He wondered, with morbid interest. “Skinning, or disembowelling?”

She considered it, and shrugged. “Depends on the person, I suppose. Both are pretty gory. Gutting definitely smells worse, so there’s that.”

“Great.” He said, dryly. “Sounds exciting.”

Her lips quirked. “Something to look forward to.” She said, with a little grim humour, and turned her attention down to the bird. Her left hand’s mobility seemed limited to just holding the thing down. She shifted it in her grip, then without further word, beheaded it. There was a soft crunch. Callum swallowed back the flood of nausea at the sound of it, but – it was at least not as bad as the goose had been. Next she cut the tiny bird feet off, and then leaned back with a frown.

“…Something wrong?” He managed to ask.

“I’m not used to doing birds this small. And definitely not frozen.” She admitted, staring at it. “Normally what you do with birds is pull all the innards out through their cloacae. But this is kind of small. And I’m pretty sure the guts won’t come out like they should when they’re frozen.”

Callum wasn’t certain he wanted to ask what cloacae were. She apparently spotted his confusion, though, and told him anyway.

A cloaca was apparently a bird-butt. Alright then.

He thought he could have happily gone his whole life without learning that the correct way to gut a bird was to pull its organs out through its butt. Unfortunately, his life clearly had other things in store for him.

“…Well, I suppose since it’s small, I might as well just cut it open.” Rayla decided eventually. She grimaced, and then – with a sound like splintering ice – cleaved the dove open. Its insides were dark red and frozen solid, and despite the solidity – he could see the viscera, the blood, the broken bone-

He turned aside for a moment to gag, hand over his mouth, and dry-heaved a couple of times before he managed to swallow back the taste of acid, the sensation burning in the middle of his chest.

“Can’t exactly show you properly how this is supposed to be done, when the birds are frozen like this.” She said, apologetically, and shifted her grip as she stuck the point of the blade into the dove’s innards. “But, well, this is the stuff you usually take out. I suppose I’ll have to show you again next time we have something that’s not…” She waved at it.

“An icicle.” He supplied, a moment later. “Birdsicle?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, Callum.” She said, dryly. “Next time we have something that’s not a ‘birdsicle’, I’ll show you properly.”

“By pulling it out through its butt.”

“Only if whatever we catch is another bird.” She said, and set that dove aside to go for the next one.

When she was done, and the frozen offal had been unceremoniously tossed off the cliffside, they returned gladly to the fireside where Ezran had already started putting another pot of water to the boil. Rayla received this very appreciatively, and promptly planted both doves into the water.

“It’ll be bland and favourless.” She explained, apologetically. “But it’s the fastest way to cook something that’s frozen through.”

Callum, who was by this point exceptionally hungry, found he did not care about flavour at all. After five minutes or so the pot started to emit some tantalising savoury smells, and he actually started to feel a little dizzy with how ravenous it made him. He stared at the water bubbling around the meat and noticed for the first time how small those birds were. Surely they wouldn’t be enough for all three of them?

A while later, he had his answer: they weren’t.

Splitting the meat between them resulted in portions that were dismayingly small. Callum wolfed his down so quickly he almost choked, and picked the bones clean, and when he was done felt like he could have easily eaten three or four more portions of the same size before he was full, but there just…wasn’t anything else, this was all the food they had. They’d cooked and eaten dinner but were all still hungry. Bait was so dissatisfied with his ration that the rest of them had had to defend their own from him, and that was just…kind of awful, making your pet go hungry. Not as awful as Ezran going hungry, but it was bleakly unpleasant even so. It was something of a sobering experience.

“…We should drink the water.” Rayla offered, a little quietly, breaking an uneasy silence. No wonder she’d wanted to go out and hunt again earlier… “Some of the nutrients from the meat will have gone into it. Better than nothing.”

So they distributed the thin broth among them, and sat by the fire drinking it, all probably thinking the same dark thoughts about hunger. “Tomorrow, I’ll help you find the animals.” Ezran said to Rayla, a little tiredly, as if this new and true introduction to the concept of not enough food had exhausted him. “There’s a lot of them staying in mostly one place, because of the storm.” His lips twisted a little. “Like us, I guess.”

“Anything big?” Rayla asked, after a moment.

He paused, and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “A deer.” He said, eventually. “She’s young. She was separated from her mother and now she’s hiding inside a hollowed-out tree. It’s been a while since she ate and she’s starting to get too cold to move.” He shivered, and pulled his cloak more tightly around himself. A little miserably, he added “I guess she might die in the night.”

She looked at him quietly for a few long seconds. “I’m not planning on going out again tonight.” She said. “But I think you should tell me what direction that deer’s in, just in case you…can’t find her tomorrow.”

He plainly got her meaning. “Yeah, I guess I can’t find dead things.” Ezran agreed, despondently, and exhaled. He pointed in a direction behind them. “That way. It’s hard to tell the distance, but it’s pretty much a straight line that way.”

Rayla laid a hand briefly on his arm, evidently intended as comfort. “Thanks, Ez.”

He just nodded to her, and stared glumly into his broth. Callum watched with his brow furrowed, considering his brother’s new strange range, and then considering the incandescent power of the dragon egg in the storm.

“…I get how Zym being in the storm would let you, you know, feel things moving through the storm.” Callum spoke after a while, and drew everyone’s eyes back to him. “But…being able to feel the animals like that…isn’t that your regular empathy thing? How come you can do it from so far away?”

Ezran shifted uneasily, and pulled the egg back into his lap, as if guarding it. “…It’s kind of hard to explain.” He said, eventually. His shoulders hunched just enough for him to look uncomfortable.

For a while, it seemed like he wouldn’t elaborate, and Callum shifted in preparation to nudge him, but…

“I guess…Zym’s magic sort of…I don’t know. Leaks into me? Especially right now, with the storm…” His eyes went distant for a moment. “It’s like…my abilities are really weak on their own. Normally I need to be touching someone for them to work. But since we found Zym, and started talking to him, it’s been getting stronger. I can feel people. I can sense things without even touching anyone, sometimes. It’s not really something I’m doing on purpose. It’s just…” He shrugged. “Happening.”

“Is that how you figured out what to do with the binding?” Rayla asked, eyes a little sharp as they watched him.

He frowned. “Dunno.” He admitted, after a moment. “I think with that it’s more of an even split? Zym’s really strong, and he can sense your binding, and his magic can beat other magic things, but he can’t reach out like I can. And I can’t sense the binding or do anything to it, but I can reach out. So we really need to work together for that. It’s tricky.”

She made a thoughtful noise. “Seems weird, that you can power your empathy abilities with Sky magic from the Dragon Prince.” She mused. “Empathy’s not exactly a Sky-magic thing.”

Ezran shrugged helplessly. “I don’t get it either. I was just sort of going about talking to animals before I met Zym. This…” he waved around, with that odd distant look in his eyes again. “It’s all new.”

Only eight-ish days since encountering the dragon egg, and Ezran was reaching out into storms and feeling the minds of animals all around them. Callum wondered, with a hint of trepidation, exactly how far this ability would progress. He wondered, worriedly, whether it was even safe for Ezran. He’d already said he didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep, after all. “…Maybe you should do the binding.” He said, a little uneasily. “Let off some of that storm-magic. And, you know, help stop Rayla’s hand from falling off.”

“I do prefer it when my hand doesn’t fall off.” Rayla mused, and Ezran’s lips twitched. He set his empty jar of broth aside.

“I guess now’s as good as ever.” He said, and shuffled over to her with the egg. “I think it’ll be easier this time. We know what we’re doing, there’s more magic, and I’m getting better at the reaching-out stuff.” He settled beside Rayla, and extended his hands. “Give me your hand?” Obligingly, she extended it, all dark and mottled-looking, and Ezran peeled back her variety of sleeves to expose the bandage over the binding. This, he untied, with Callum watching sharply to check on the state of the sores there. They looked much the same; dark, and dry, with no visible swelling. Good.

“Need the binding touching the egg again?” She guessed and Ezran produced a distracted sound of agreement.

“We could probably try it without, but I don’t really want to take chances with this.” He said, tugging gingerly at the edges of the binding as if to determine how tight it was. He hummed, then moved her hand until her wrist was pressed up against the egg. “There. Now just hold still, and we’ll…” He trailed off, as if he’d abruptly forgotten that he was speaking, eyes slipping closed as his fingers slid over dragonshell. In his abrupt distraction, the rest of them fell still, lingering in a silence interrupted only by the crackle of the fire and the howl of the winds.

The glow of the egg pulsed, stunningly bright. It pulsed again, and again, and again, steady as a heartbeat. Ezran inhaled slowly, and exhaled with a plain deliberation; the glow began to ebb and flow with his breaths. Then, as a scowl of concentration spread on his face, he exhaled again in a sudden short burst as the light flared-

Rayla twitched, a full-body movement, but she was careful not to remove her hand. At the same time, Ezran’s eyes opened, and he sighed. His eyes looked unnaturally bright. “That’s done, I think.” He said, satisfied. “It was easier.” His brow furrowed a little. “A lot easier, actually.”

“…Can I take my hand back?” Rayla asked, after a moment, and he blinked.

“Oh! Um, yeah, we’re done.” He agreed quickly, and her hand receded. She immediately checked on the state of the binding, fingers tugging at it.

Callum resisted the urge to immediately appropriate her hand and check for himself. “How is it?” He asked, and she pursed her lips.

“Looser than the first time, I think. But probably not by a lot.” She flexed her fingers, carefully. “Thanks, Ez.” Her brow furrowed, and she added “Thanks…Azymondias.” By the look on her face, she still found it as weird to have interactions with an unborn dragon as Callum did.

“You’re welcome!” He chirped, presumably from both parties, and she shook her head bemusedly.

Then, a little glumly, she said “Well, I suppose I’d best prepare myself for the pins-and-needles.”

“I’d like to maybe check on your wounds while you do that, please.” Callum informed her, and she frowned, as if suddenly reminded of the horrible injuries all over her arm.

“Ugh.” She said, en lieu of an answer. “This is going to be cold.” With that, she unlatched the clasp a the front of Callum’s cloak, which she was still wearing, and shrugged it off of her shoulders. She didn’t move further for a few moments, instead shooting Callum a look that was half-grumpy and half-embarrassed. Eventually he realised that, well, she needed to take her layers off, and she couldn’t exactly do that alone, but she also didn’t want to ask outright for help with something so basic-

Politely not saying anything about this, Callum shuffled closer, and helped her out of the wide variety of sweaters and shirts that she’d installed herself within. When there was only the short-sleeved undershirt left, he wrapped the cloak around all of her except the arm, and inspected the bandages.

“Not even a bit bloody.” He said, with satisfaction, and started untying the knots in it.

Rayla was giving him a strange look beneath the cloak he’d draped over her, but it was very tolerant. “It did stop bleeding yesterday.” She pointed out. “Or, mostly, anyway.”

“Yeah, but I was pretty worried you’d have opened it up while hacking at trees or something.” He said, finally able to put the thought out in the open now that he knew it wasn’t true. “It’s not like these scabs are that solid yet.”

“True.” Rayla said, a little dubiously, craning her neck to inspect the injuries as he exposed them. “It looks like it’s scabbed properly in the middle now, at least.”

“Won’t be that thick, though.” His voice was a little cynical. “You really could open these pretty easily.” He looked around for disinfectant and found, with a flicker of consternation, that Ezran had already procured the field-healing stuff. “Er. Thanks, Ez.”

He half-listened to the cheerful response of his brother, already considering the wounds. They were strange to look at, now. Without them actively bleeding, it was a little easier to see the scope of them. The one lower down on the arm was nasty enough, but the upper one…it really did gape, and all that space in-between was filled up with dark, thickening scabs. He thought the wound might well be an inch wide, at the widest part. Maybe even more.

“That’s going to be one monster of a scar.” Rayla noted, as if she were reading his mind.

“No kidding.” He muttered, a little uneasily. There was something daunting about the knowledge that, in their brief acquaintance, in their defence, Rayla had acquired scars that would follow her the breadth of her life. “All of this is going to scar. These gashes, your wrist, the stab on your shoulder…”

“More battle-scars than most Moonshadow assassins my age have, that’s for sure.” When he looked up at her, her lips were twitching, as if she found this particularly amusing.

“Are there even any other Moonshadow assassins your age?” He asked, a little exasperated, and her smile grew.

“Honestly? Probably not. Not any who’ve gone on missions, anyway.”

He looked down at the injuries again, partially because he kind of needed to in order to treat them, and partially just because something about her smile left him oddly flustered. “So you’re a precocious assassin with precocious scarring.” He concluded, and she huffed a laugh. “Or, scarring-in-progress, I guess. For now it’s just injuries.”

“Give it a month.” She shrugged. “Once New Moon passes I’ll heal faster.” She paused, a strange expression on her face. “…Probably a lot faster, actually. There’s one advantage of being off the moondust.” Her tone was dubious, as though she wasn’t at all certain whether this was a good thing or not.

What had she said earlier? Six days to new moon? He exhaled. “…Well, that’s something.” He agreed, and returned to cleaning the wounds. The one at her shoulder actually looked quite aggravated, and he frowned when he came to it. “…Your firewood rope harness,” he realised. “You must have been putting pressure on it. Rayla.” His voice was aggrieved.

She blinked. “Didn’t even realise.” She admitted, trying unsuccessfully to crane her neck sufficiently to see the wound. “I was a little cold. Made everything numb, you know. I guess I’ll have to rig it for only the one shoulder, tomorrow.”

“Ugh.” Was all he said, and he paid extra attention to that wound. When all the bandages were replaced, he asked about the bruising, and grimaced as she peeled her undershirt up to reveal the spectacular coloration of her midriff. If anything, it looked worse than yesterday, the colours darker and more distinct against the rest of her skin. There might be a little less swelling, though.

“How do you even move with your waist like that?” Ezran piped up, morbidly fascinated, from beside the fire. “I mean, I know I felt it earlier, but you weren’t moving then. Doesn’t it hurt whenever you move around?”

She shrugged carelessly. “Duh.” She said. “Not exactly a lot I can do about it, though. It’ll heal eventually.”

Callum grumbled, all the while he considered what extra padding he could provide for her when she slept. It couldn’t be easy to get comfortable on hard ground with bruises like that, after all. “Well, at least you’re not actually bleeding anymore.”

She raised her afflicted hand to waggle its fingers at him. He didn’t miss the slight grimace she made as she did so. “And my wrist-binding’s loose again.”

He inspected it, narrow-eyed, and then promptly appropriated her hand to inspect the wrist-scab. She tolerated this with only an eye-roll and a sigh, watching him as he poked gingerly around the healing sores. “…This is definitely healing faster now.” He said, after a moment, and released her hand back into her custody. “I think you should probably still keep it covered, but maybe in a few days we can stop bandaging this.” She hummed with agreement, and he helped her back into her various layers, fastening his cloak around her shoulders last. “…How’s the hand doing?” He asked, eventually, and she made a mock-cheerful face at him.

“Just great.” She expressed, lightly. “I do so love having my whole hand go numb and prickly.”

“Pins-and-needles?”

“Pins-and-needles.” She confirmed. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Tentatively, Ezran extended a hand. When Rayla only rolled her eyes at him and didn’t move to dissuade him, he touched her wrist and immediately snatched his fingers back, grimacing. “Oh, ugh.” He grumbled, shaking his own left hand to disperse the phantom sensations. “It only hurts a little but somehow it’s so…” he searched for a word.

“Annoying?” Rayla suggested. “Infuriating? Impossible to ignore?”

“All of that.” He agreed, with another disgruntled flick of his fingers. “Please let that stop soon.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Her voice was very dry.

“…On the bright side, it means your hand’s getting better blood flow?” Callum offered. He had a thought about that blood flow, and improving circulation in general, and fidgeted a little. “And. Uh, about that…” He trailed off, and fidgeted some more as she looked at him, then at her hand, and then seemed to realise.

“Oh, right.” She recognised, sounding disgruntled. She eyed him side-long for a few moments, as if she didn’t quite want to look at him directly, then huffed and thrust out her hand. “Go on, then.”

Feeling vaguely flustered again, Callum took her hand between his own, and started with the more embarrassing part of the ever-more-established Rayla Wound Care Routine.

It…did not exactly go like the other times had.

Twice, he’d done her hand-massage when she was drugged and placid, feeling neither pain nor embarrassment from the whole affair. Once, it had plainly hurt her, and she’d felt awkward enough about the whole thing to retreat from the camp for a good while. Now…well, it didn’t actually seem to hurt, per se, but-

“Hhh,” She expressed, yet again, an agitated hissing noise that puffed out as he pressed at the hand. Her fingers twitched agitatedly in his hands, as though trying to shake off an unpleasant sensation. “Urgh.” Was the next noise, again as he pressed on the hand, her face twitching in its comical grimace, and in the next moment she made a sound half-way between frustration and disgust. She’d been doing much the same thing since the start, and…honestly, given how much it didn’t cause her pain, it was actually sort of funny.

“You alright there?” He asked, lips twitching, as she snarled incoherently at him.

“Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh,” She replied, eloquently, twitching all-over every time he pressed on the evidently tortuously numb and prickly hand. Ezran was giggling quietly in the background, and had been for several minutes. “I hate pins-and-needles. This is the worst.” Another twitch. “Hhhh,” she added, expressively, as he moved his thumb again.

“I thought horn-ache was the worst?” He offered, amused, and she made a very twitchy face at him.

“They’re both the worst.” She complained, and kept on along that vein for the following minute, until the pins-and-needles apparently started to dissipate a bit. It seemed sensible to keep up the hand-massage until her circulation improved enough that the numbness and prickling left, so he did, and eventually she subsided from her bristling, aggravated posture into something more normal.

Then, unfortunately, it did start to hurt. He noted this worriedly as the way she flinched became something more familiar. “Is it okay?” He asked, anxiously, and she made a sour face at him this time.

“Sore.” She answered, vaguely. “It’s alright.”

Reluctantly, he took her at her word, and kept at it until she pronounced all the lingering pins-and-needles gone, and her hand only a little bit numb. “The colour’s better.” He observed, when he was done, noting that the shade of the purple had indeed lightened a bit. “I guess we’ll just have to keep an eye out for your arm swelling again, if that happens like it did last time.”

“Maybe.” Rayla agreed, though she sounded dubious. “At least I don’t have to travel after it this time. My arm’s got the whole night to do…whatever.”

At the word ‘night’, Callum looked out into the storm again, brows furrowed. It was definitely getting darker, but the degree of dark was hard to judge when the storm was so starkly white. “I don’t even know how late it is.” He admitted, after a moment.

She stilled for a moment in that way he was coming to recognise as her checking the moon. “…Bout half six, I think.” She pronounced, after she was done judging. “Still a while to go before it’s dark.”

“When’s best to go to bed, do you think?” Callum asked, and she shrugged.

“Depends on you, really.” She said. “You’ve got first watch, so either way, you probably need to be up till maybe one in the morning, since it’s the dark hours we need to be most careful about. Me and Ez could really go to sleep whenever we want.”

“You should do that.” He said, immediately. “You both need all the rest you can get. Especially you, Rayla, since you’re injured and have to wake up in the middle of the night.”

She rolled her eyes at him. So did Ezran. It made them look uncannily like the siblings they’d claimed each other as. “Give it another hour, at least.” Rayla told him. “We can brew up some more stupid pine tea. It’ll help the hunger a bit.”

His stomach, discontentedly, chose that moment to rumble. “Yeah, okay.” He accepted, and went for the ever-growing store of needles.

They sat by the fire talking idly as the tea brewed, and then as they drank it, and it did make the hunger feel a little less immediate. Then, finally, Rayla pronounced it about the right time, and she and Ezran adjourned to the tent-layers. It was a little weird, to watch them bedding down for the night, while he was to stay awake.

“Night, Callum.” Ezran said, ensconcing himself with the egg and Bait hugged to his middle. Rayla was folding herself carefully onto the ground, wincing as she did so, undoubtedly pressing very uncomfortably against her livid bruising. She was still wearing his cloak, as though she’d forgotten about it. He was hardly about to remind her. “Night, Rayla.”

“…Night.” She returned, after a moment, looking vaguely embarrassed about it. Her eyes slid to Callum for a moment.

He offered a smile. “Sleep well?”

Her ears moved, and she ducked her head a little. With a murmur of assent, she tucked herself into the tent-layers until she was almost entirely obscured. Ezran, similarly, disappeared almost completely from sight, with only the puff of his hair and the glow of the dragon-egg emerging from the tent.

Feeling more than slightly strange about it, Callum lingered quietly by the fireside as everyone else fell asleep.

---

End chapter.

Notes:

The timing of events during the thundersnow is pretty delicate, so there’s likely to be some weird chapter lengths for a while. Next chapter and the one after might well be a lot shorter than usual. Depends on how I break the events down.

I was extremely out-of-fandom when I wrote most of this chapter, so I have very little idea how good it is. It didn’t block me, but I was so uninspired for the majority of it that I don’t have a good sense of the emotions in it.

Go here to read the first PIAJ Q&A, a compilation of answered questions received after last chapter. From now on, I’ll be answering all piaj-related asks on tumblr in this fashion, and probably several from ao3 too, though I’ll still reply to comments. There will likely be another Q&A in the aftermath of this chapter, if/when I get enough questions.

Timeline: Chapter takes place on day 11 since start of canon. Earlier on the same day, the kids found their shelter from the storm, and the Healer Sarli encountered a new patient.

So! The worldbuilding notes:

Camping etc

Drinking hot water is a good way to help stay warm during extreme weather conditions, especially given boiling it isn’t going to make the fire any colder. Just another way to capture the exothermic waste heat of a burning campfire.

You do indeed gut birds by pulling their innards out through their butts. (though technically speaking a cloaca is more than a butt, but the butt does open out into it, so close enough for meat preparation work.)

In this chapter, Rayla doesn’t quite get properly hypothermic, but she wasn’t far off either, and was experiencing early symptoms. It was very risky of her.

Mid-watch is absolutely the worst watch as far as getting decent sleep goes, because you don’t sleep for long before your sleep is interrupted, and when you’re done you have to contend with getting back to sleep again. Also it’s super hard to wake up in the middle of the night. Everyone hates mid-watch, it’s the absolute worst, and naturally Rayla didn’t tell the boys this because she (probably correctly) assumed that one of them would try to do it instead.

Lightning mechanics

/“We’re under a rock ceiling, with half a mountain on top of us.” He reasoned, after a moment. “I bet lightning can’t get us through there.”/ hahahaha wrong. Lightning can absolutely strike through rock and into caves. In fact, if lightning can go through a cave it will, because air is the path of least resistance in comparison to rock, so the empty spaces of air represented by caves are not necessarily safe during a thunderstorm.

Skywing nomads

One of the three recognised types of Skywing society is that of the nomads. The clans vary in culture, size, and range, but roam most of Xadia. The vast majority utilise Amblers as clanmounts, with generally no more than one or two per clan. The nomads in the Midnight Desert, of the clan Selari, are unusual in that they are settled for the majority of the year, and only fairly recently re-acquired an Ambler. The Skywing nomadic population as a whole is estimated at around 29,400 for the entirety of Xadia, distributed among 129 known clans and six domi.

Rayla has only ever been exposed to Clan Selari (e domus Favoni) and has had no other contact with Skywing elves. As such, her knowledge of them and the nomads as a whole is very limited.

Explanations on the domi and how the migratory tendencies of Amblers shape nomad culture will be saved for another time.

Moondust

A drug taken by most Moonshadow elves to dull their connection to the Moon. As many functions of their bodies are at the whims of fluctuations in lunar magic, this makes many aspects of a Moonshadow elf’s life more stable and predictable, eliminating the worst of the mood swings associated with lunar highs and lows, as well as the most dramatic effects of New and Full Moon. As elven fertility is tied to primal magic, moondust is also a very reliable contraceptive, and halts menstruation for any elves who experience it. (Shout-out to x, who guessed that contraception was an element of whatever was going on with Rayla)

Higher doses are administered to elves who are expected to need to operate under dangerous conditions during lunar extremes. The most highly-drugged Moonshadow elves tend to be the deep cover operatives, but all soldiers and assassins will operate under higher-than-average dosage. Some spies operating in isolated conditions may take reduced doses or forgo it entirely, but this is rare. The likeliest elves to completely forsake moondust are the Moon-mages, as the drug dulls the sensitivity of their connection as well as the power. Many Moon-mages become more adept at handling the lunar highs over time by venting enormous amounts of magic via spells.

Moondust is taken weekly, and is measured in drams. For someone of Rayla’s weight and size, one dram would be a low to moderate dose, four a high dose, seven a very high dose, and ten the maximum safe dosage. Moondust is not addictive, but does in a sense have withdrawal effects. Rayla’s extra strength of late is in part due to this, and in part just because she isn’t used to how strong an unmedicated Moonshadow elf is.

The more powerful an elf’s inherent arcanum, the stronger a dose they require each week. This dosage is usually calibrated during puberty, when an elf first begins taking the drug.

Full Moon

I’ll not be going into much detail about this here, because the story is going to do that marvellously when the time comes, but basically: unmedicated Moonshadow elves at Full Moon are absolutely where the word ‘moonstruck’ came from, and for very good reason.

Even medicated with moondust, Moonshadow elves are not legally able to make binding agreements during the Full Moon, as they are not considered of sound mind. It is considered highly inappropriate to start anything important or make important decisions about anything while under the influence. The colloquial term ‘Full-Moon promise’ likely stems from this, referring to an impulse promise or decision that one will likely regret or renege on when sober.

The Deep-Sleeper

An exceptionally large, terrifying sea-beast thought by most of the citizenry in the Pentarchy to be either extinct or mythical. Many sailors tend to disagree with this assessment, but being a superstitious lot, they aren’t typically taken seriously. Historically, the Deep-Sleeper is considered remarkable as it is the only large, terrifying sea-beast that lives in relatively shallow waters; it never ventures far beyond the continental shelf. Stories tend to emphasise that it only appears on the darkest, most terrifying nights. Given most people don’t actually think it exists, accounts of its appearance vary, but everything agrees that it has glowy tendrils and many, many teeth.

#tdp fic #rayllum #tdp callum #tdp rayla #tdp ezran #piaj chapters

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