fractured-shield

[fractured-shield]

so it's been exactly a month since I was gifted this wonderful art and I've spent that time writing a "5+1"-style set of scenes inspired by it while the actual Fractured Shield draft is on hold for revisions

here's an actual organized masterpost of all of them, neatly edited and with chronological order noted (pov in italics)

scene 1 (Leithe and Idhren, fifth chronologically)

scene 2 (Leithe and Idhren, first chronologically)

scene 3 (Leithe and Idhren, second chronologically)

scene 4 (Leithe and Hal and Idhren, sixth chronologically)

scene 5 (Hal and Idhren, third chronologically)

+ scene 6 (Leithe and Idhren, fourth chronologically)

tag list: @just-emis-blog @orions-quill @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie @acertainmoshke @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle

[fractured-shield]

+ scene 6 (Leithe and Idhren, fourth chronologically)

The final year before Nar-thelyr’s abandonment passed just the same as the aftermath of any great loss: slowly, as if time itself seemed reluctant to move on from the death-tainted victory, and at the same time unsettlingly quick, when looked back upon, as all the days seemed to blur together, indistinguishable under the weight of the mountains’ piercing chill and the ache in his heart and his bones.

And Leithe—beloved, sun-bright, stubborn Leithe—had been there for as much of it as she could, departing from Tarnuvin alone as soon as she’d grown suspicious of the reassurances in his letters. She was something real to take hold of, like laying with the warm unmovable earth at one’s back, like a melody worked so deep that it melds inextricably with the mind and the hands. Like a sailor’s guiding star, too bright to be hidden by even the cruelest storm.

It would’ve been sometime in the fourth month, Idhren thought (because Tathran had just dismissed the last of Maithyr’s officers, because when he had thrown their severance pay requests on Idhren’s desk and demanded he sign them, Idhren had been staring at his books and thinking of a Silornic spring festival they’d just passed uncelebrated for the first year in centuries). Yes, four months, since Leithe had begun her correspondence with Hal and his wife, had set in motion their move to Tarnuvin’s officers’ quarters—together—and begun talking of shared bookshelves and teacups and quiet nights by the fire, to force a bit of her unyielding sunniness into him and give him something to look forward to when all the world seemed an inescapable deluge, constant reminders of loss, when his mind and body both seemed nothing more than a festering wound.

But the year had passed just the same, as all years do, even when the passage of time seems only to desecrate the memory of those left behind by it. Like a wound, the mind can heal. Going through the motions of pretending to be capable and sound is no different than dressing a wound, really. Even if all that remains feels like ugly and aching scar tissue, to scar is to heal. Or so Leithe kept saying.

The trip back to Tarnuvin passed much the same as the year before it, only with the disorienting sense of time slipping away like tendrils of smoke even more apparent, as the distance between them and Nar-thelyr grew. Idhren didn’t remember much of the road back (it wasn’t home yet to either of them. Leithe’s home was reduced to crumbling ruin. Idhren couldn’t remember the last place that had felt like home). He remembered dozing on her shoulder by the roadside more than once, and the crick he’d get in his neck afterwards from the difference in height between them. He remembered her horse balking at a bridge, and waking to a dusting of snow one morning, light and early in the season, and further south the fat droning bees she’d let climb along her sleeve, and the fresh-caught fish, skin crisp from the fire, the day their road reached the Lutebrim’s banks.

But beyond those moments, isolated and few, their long journey to something not-quite-home passed far too quickly, and all at once Idhren found himself standing before an unfamiliar door, Leithe’s tight grip on his hand the only thing he was sure was real.

Leithe entered first. She’d gotten the key from her old rooms on their way from the stables, and as Idhren had stood awkwardly in the doorway his eyes had lingered on the emptiness of the space he’d visited so often. Hal and Lynorn had gotten everything moved and prepared already. He had no reason to go to his own previous quarters, but he imagined they looked much the same.

He followed behind her, letting the door click softly shut behind both of them. It was strange, to pass through Tarnuvin’s familiar gates, its familiar stables and long halls, at the end of such a long journey, only to come to a place so unfamiliar and new. Though—no, that wasn’t right, either. On the bookshelf opposite the fireplace, he recognized books from his rooms and hers, and the chair with its sagging upholstery was hers, and the square table and mismatched chairs were his. Opening off of the main room were three doors, instead of the one he was used to. There was a second bedroom at Leithe’s insistence, so they could each have space for desks and shelves outside of the room they would share. She’d argued that the odd hours the both of them kept would cause problems otherwise, with one of them working by lamplight as the other tried to sleep.

The quarters were comfortable, he thought—windowless, like every room in the interior of Tarnuvin’s main complex, but after so long in Nar-thelyr he would feel ill at ease without the heavy weight of the mountain overhead. Idhren set his bags on the table—one of clothes, and a larger one full of books and papers that he couldn’t leave to rot in the abandoned stronghold. He thought to take Leithe’s bags as well, but—

She was already across the room, rearranging something on the bookshelf. She set it down as quickly as she’d begun and snatched one of her own bags, hands quick on its buckle as she began pulling things from it.

“Easy, you’ve got plenty of time to settle in, there’s no need to do it all at once,” he laughed, until he saw her raise a hand to rub at her eyes roughly, and in an instant the familiar clutch of worry ached cold and tight in his chest.

“…Leithe?”

She kept her back turned to him, as she set aside a stack of books and began unfolding and re-folding whatever clothes she could reach.

Idhren couldn’t imagine what she was thinking—and that was the problem, wasn’t it? She’d put up with him with no complaint for so long, and here he was, too caught up in the fog of his own melancholy to have even noticed her own hurt. He really was awful to her, wasn’t he?

Before he could speak, or even sort out if he should speak at all, Leithe crossed the room again to rearrange something on the mantle.

“Sorry—“ she started, in a voice more unsure and small than he had ever heard from her, and the sound of it lanced through him like a wound. If only he could figure out some way to…something, anything that wouldn’t hurt her further. He stood still, unmoving by the table and watched her.

“I don’t—I’m being ridiculous, ignore me, I don’t even know why I’m upset,” she tried to laugh, her back still turned to him. “I never even cried when Ngelorim fell, you know? It doesn’t seem fair to them, does it—to cry now, over nothing—“

She set some salvaged trinket or other onto the bookshelf, set a stack of books on its side next to it. “—less than nothing, because this is supposed to be happy, everything’s fine, and… I know I’m going about this all wrong,” she continued her stubborn, near-frantic sorting of books, thumping a large cloth-backed text onto the stack as well. “—I must seem absolutely awful to you.”

It wasn’t like he could say anything on the matter of grieving properly either, could he? Even a year later, he still felt that his grief for Maithyr was too great, improper for his status and for the nature of their acquaintance. It seemed unimaginable for Leithe’s grief to be wrong, though. He suspected that this was grief for Ngelorim, for all that had been lost with it, just coming a bit late. It also seemed so incredibly—well, like herself, to stop up all thought of it, consciously or not, and then finally become aware of it so much later once it had grown beyond being ignored. Her stubbornness was quite famous, and she never did anything by halves.

There he went again, spending too long with his thoughts while there was something that needed doing, a coward even in moments like these.

Idhren still couldn’t think of the right thing to say—it was ironic, in exactly the way he’d expect of himself, ever faltering and useless when it counted. He could calm the tempers of kings, could placate arguing generals and attend the whims of courtiers without offense, but he couldn’t find the words to still the tears of the person he held most dear, even after all she’d done for him.

Leithe was sort of terrible at keeping up the act of being alright. He suspected it was more out of obstinance, an argument with her own emotions at this point, and one she was losing. Her back was still turned to him as she kept up the flurry of pointless tidying, but she was shaking with swallowed-down sobs and still trying pointlessly to scrub away the tears that fell more quickly than she could get to them.

Idhren crossed the room in a few long strides and wrapped his arms around her to still her restless, unthinking motion. She fought against him for a moment, and even after she’d stopped, her back trembled against his chest with the quick breaths of held-back tears. He held her closer, the brooch at her collar poking at his arm and her curls tickling at his nose as he fit his body around her own, hoping there was any comfort he could give her.

“Oh, Leithe.”

She forced back another sob behind clenched teeth through will alone and brought her hands up to clutch at his forearms where they crossed over her chest.

“Sorry,” she laughed. Only Leithe could laugh through tears at a time like this and still sound genuine.

They stood there, before the empty hearth and surrounded by half-unpacked bags, until Leithe’s breath began to come more evenly and to shake a little less. She leaned back against him, some of the nervous tension going out of her body little by little.

“You should rest, if you can,” he tried hesitantly. They were both dirty from the road but at the moment it didn’t seem to matter. “You’ve not done anything that needs an apology. You’ll feel better when you wake, don’t you think?” It was a conversation they’d had often, the other way around, and he’d always had to admit that she was right, as pointless as sleep seemed to him before he’d found it.

He felt her nod, just a little, and loosed his arms from around her to take her hand. “Everything will still be here. I’ll help you put it away however you like, and you can tell me whatever you’re thinking, or you can say nothing, I don’t mind. But—let me hold you awhile first, let it wait.”

She nodded again, and as she dried still-falling tears with her sleeve, Leithe squeezed his hand and gave another little laugh. “Welcome home, and all that, right?”

[fractured-shield]

scene 5 (Hal and Idhren, third chronologically)

Hal had no complaint with his current status. Quite the opposite, really: as things had begun to fall into place, after the chaos of Tarnuvin’s founding, his own place among all of it had come together as well. Honestly, it was a better one than he could’ve hoped for.

His rank was lower than it had been in Ngelorim—not that it mattered, for as differently as Tarnuvin’s Watch was structured from a traditional army, and because he quite preferred a lower rank.

Hal had exactly no interest in climbing ranks in search of some pretentious, medalled career. Second-officer of a Watch division came with just enough work to keep it interesting, without all the ridiculous pretense and pageantry of higher officers’ duties to their court and lord. No thank you, Hal was content to let other officers progress past him if it meant he could avoid attending weekly reports in stuffy ceremonial armor or scripted meetings with foreign dignitaries. He’d much rather have the drudgery of working the newly built watch-posts, ironing out the shift assignments, clearing undergrowth to afford a better view of the river.

Though, that being said, Hal was realizing that his Captain was much the same sort, only a bit worse at declining promotions he didn’t want.

The man seemed equally uninterested in fame or titles. He’d been a low-ranking officer in Linador, but had been inactive for some time, selected for council-work instead: as a mediator, first in Linador and then for the war-court in Nar-thelyr, which he apparently still attended during its seasons. To Hal, such work seemed insufferably dull, but court formalities were a more subtle, unpretentious matter than military procedure.

The watch-post they currently shared was newly built and still smelled of freshly-cut wood. Its furniture was sparse: a few cots along one wall, some shelves built into another, and a small table with just one chair.

Ah, well. The place had barely been built for a month, and Hal supposed there were more important matters to sort out first. Such as assigning the rest of the Watch soldiers to their divisions, so he and his Captain wouldn’t have to take so many of the shifts assigned to the Third Watch themselves.

And speaking of—

“Captain, not to offend, but what exactly are you doing?”

He’d unfolded a cloth gambeson from his bag, and taken out a leather awl and thread as well, spread them out on the table to work, apparently. He looked up. “Oh—I’m sorry, did you need the table? It’s a shame there’s just one chair, let me—”

“Not what I meant, sir,” Hal said. The gambeson was one of the sort they’d found to issue to the Watch, re-dyed into some semblance of a uniform but still well-worn.

“Beythir said the buckles on his armor were coming loose. We’ve nothing if not time, so I thought I’d fix them.”

“That’s. I mean. Is that really a task for, you know, someone of your rank?” Hal would’ve done the same himself, of course, but that was the point: he hardly expected it of officers other than himself.

Idhren laughed, easy but in a way that seemed to fall a bit flat. “I don’t mind. Whoever they’ve found to sort out the Watch uniforms is likely overrun with work, there’s no sense bothering them with this. Besides, the alternative is making you put up with me talking your ear off.”

Hal had only been assigned to his Captain for a few weeks, but he strongly doubted that was something the older man was even capable of.

“I am sorry,” Idhren continued after a while. Hal waited for him to clarify, taking his saddlebag from one of the cots and onto the floor before taking its place. “No doubt I’ve come across as terribly rude. I’d hate to give you the impression I don’t want to work with you.”

Ah, that. Right.

“Honestly, I was more confused than anything. No harm in preferring council work to soldiering, but you’re better with a sword than most politicians I’ve met, and—forgive the assumption, don’t seem much for their ceaseless gossip, either.” Hal took care to speak casually, but he really was curious. He’d been wondering about it for days, ever since word (gossip, because that was to be expected) had reached him that his Captain had petitioned their lord to let the Third Watch be assigned to someone else.

“I was going to speak with you,” Idhren sighed, “if my request was approved. Since it wasn’t—well, I thought that was that. I didn’t mean for you to find out about it like you did.”

“Well, now it does seem a little rude,” Hal joked.

“It’s not like that.” Idhren turned his attention to his work. He’d removed one of the leather buckles from the quilted fabric, and was using the awl to pierce new holes where the previous ones had been torn out.

“My request had nothing to do with your assignment—you’d make a better first officer than me, I told him as much—it’s just…I’m not really suited to this sort of thing, I think.”

“Alright, you’ve lost me,” Hal cut in, leaning back against the wall, hands behind his head. “I’d heard of you, you know, before we met—nothing much, just that the war-court mediator was a soldier-turned-councillor from Linador. Hard to think you'd be a hindrance if you could manage that much.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, then, I’m not as reliable as all that,” his Captain didn’t look up from his work, just gave an odd sort of smile.

Well, that wouldn’t do. Hal hardly knew the man, but clearly such talk was hardly helpful. He got to his feet, already decided.

“Alright, enough of that. I’m going to see what sort of fish the Tessil’s waters will give me.” While his Captain had brought armor to mend, Hal had brought rod and bait to pass the time. “That’ll wait for later, come join me before it starts to rain.”

[fractured-shield]

scene 4 (Leithe and Hal and Idhren, sixth chronologically)

“Did you think I’d just let you run off again, the instant you got back? It’s been months, and you haven’t even let me greet you properly.” Leithe set a cup of tea on one of the few bare spots of his desk, the steam rising from it visible in the dim light of the mirrored lantern set nearby. “At least drink something warm, for the headache I’m certain you’re being too stubborn to mention.”

Idhren wished she’d keep her voice down, but despite the ache in his temples—yes, she was right, as usual—his tense posture loosened a bit as she set a hand on his back.

“What the hell sort of work is this important anyway?”

Ah, but she knew it wasn’t about the work, just as he did. She was far kinder than he deserved, and so she let him pretend for a little longer.

“Let it wait until morning, let yourself rest for once, will you? The weather’s been awful.”

He turned aside to cough into a handkerchief. “Yes, I’d noticed.” He left the first part of her comment go unanswered, because it was a conversation they wouldn’t me having if she didn’t already guess what his answer would be.

“Don’t tell me you’re sick again. Get some rest, you stubborn bastard.” She rubbed his back and the touch had him shivering—just that, mind, no other cause.

“I’m alright, Leithe.”

He’d been riding through the icy rain of late winter since yesterday morning, as the council convoy made their way back from Ilgost. Once he’d gotten home, he’d peeled himself from his armor and thrown on some dry clothes, and then left again for the Third Watch storeroom to see what work had piled up while he and his Second-officer had been gone.

Leithe draped herself across his back to get a look at what he was reading and embrace him at the same time. The closeness let her speak more quietly, and in a soft voice, right against his ear, she cut to the quick of it.

“Nothing’s going to happen, love. We’re alright. Everyone’s here, everyone’s fine, there’s no news to wait for. You can rest if you like—even if you don’t sleep, it’s better than this.”

He knew as much, logically, but the part of his mind that had spent near two hundred years at this game didn’t care much for logic. He coughed again, and tried once or twice to clear his throat before remembering the tea in front of him. It was still a bit too warm, he found.

“This week’s logs for the river guard-posts haven’t been finished yet. I’ll be back as soon as I recheck the entries from the first few.”

“They aren’t due for two more days, I know your work better than that,” Leithe said under her breath. She pulled away but stayed next to him, rifling through the first stack of papers she could reach—keeping them in order, of course, but helping herself to them just the same. “And these—even longer, I hope you weren’t planning on finishing them tonight as well.”

Without waiting for an answer, Leithe turned towards the open doorway, towards the storeroom that lay across the hall.

“Hal! Hal, is there any particular reason that my husband is filing reports in the fucking dark, instead of being at home in bed as he should?”

Hal shouted back just as cheerfully, coming to stand in the doorway as he did. “He’s my commanding officer, obviously, and I can’t stop him if that’s what he wants. Is that reason satisfactory enough for you?”

“Fuck off, that’s never stopped you before and we all know it.” She crossed her arms in pretended anger as Hal calmly kept at undoing the buckles of one of the pieces of armor he had been putting away.

“Ah, you’ve got me there. He said he’d just hold the papers out of my reach if I tried to take them from him, if you can believe it. I’d hoped you’d be along to help me convince him.”

For a long moment, Leithe said nothing. Hal gave a pleasant wave from the doorway, then returned to his own work across the hall. Idhren looked at the records before him, the numbers seeming to blur together in his fatigue, and reached again for the tea to ease his throat.

Leithe seemed ready to try a new tactic, and spoke again. She reached for a strand of his damp hair and twirled it between two fingers. He'd left it in the braid that he’d worn to keep it out of the way of his armor, but between the weather and his own tired carelessness when putting on dry clothes, there was almost more loose of the braid than still in it.

“Therien’s awake now, she’s wondering where you hurried off to, so soon after getting back. I said I’d fetch you from your work. She’ll fuss if you keep her waiting.”

Ah, that was it, then. If she’d led with that, he’d be halfway back to their quarters already, but he supposed there was no harm in letting her and Hal have their fun. And yet—it pained him so much to even think it, knowing how excited Therien probably was at the moment, but…part of him wished to wait a while longer, to get through the routine of jitters and melancholic reminiscence that always accompanied such arrivals, before seeing her.

“…Let me compose myself a bit first, then,” he tried quietly, hoping it didn’t sound as pathetic as it felt.

“If that’s what you want, this won’t get it for you.” Leithe moved some of his papers aside, careful to keep them in their proper order, and sat on the edge of the desk. “Give her a quick ‘hello’ and then tell her her papa’s going to get some rest. Even if you don’t, just lay down for a bit and try not to make your headache worse, and then see her once it’s passed.”

He didn’t know if she meant the headache, or the rest of it. Probably both, she’d seen enough of this ridiculous routine by now.

“I’ll rest once this is done, it’s really no trouble. Just a few minutes longer,” he tried. With perfect timing, because his body was as set on betraying him as ever, he had to turn aside to cough again.

“No you won’t. That’s a flimsy defense at best and you know it.”

He expected her to argue more. Instead, Leithe leaned down to kiss him despite his attempted protests that he didn’t want her to get sick as well.

“Oh, you admit it now?” She teased.

Even if he knew he couldn’t sleep, the thought of a warm bed after weeks on the road seemed awfully tempting. He really shouldn’t—it wasn’t difficult work, it wasn’t like he was a stranger to discomfort, it wasn’t like that discomfort wasn’t something he deserved, time and time again, for—

Oh, that was not a thought he should be entertaining at the moment. Not because he didn’t deserve the aching guilt that accompanied it too, worming its way in whenever he gave it an opportunity, burying itself as deep and painfully as he allowed, yet never deep enough, never painful enough, to redress that gravest mistake.

…No, it was a thought that would have to wait, at least for a little longer, no matter how much he needed to be wounded by it. Therien was waiting for him, and it wouldn’t do to sour her mood with his own miserable state. He would hold her, and kiss her hair, and pretend for a little while to be deserving of her affection.

And then, after she was put to bed, safe and content and with not a clue that her papa was worth none of her admiration, he would hide beneath a mound of blankets and think once again of that messenger, lantern shaking in their hand, the dread he had felt at their words, the terrible thread of something disgustingly unsurprised beneath it, the trembling, laid-bare finality of it all as he’d prepared to leave again—

And Leithe would be next to him, Leithe, whose patience he had never deserved either—

No. No, it could wait. For Therien, it could wait.

“Fifteen minutes,” Leithe was saying, as she pulled his wet hair back and began to work it free of its braid. “And then I drag you back home, if I have to.”

He didn’t doubt that she would, gods bless her stubbornness.

[fractured-shield]

scene 3 (Leithe and Idhren, second chronologically)

“I’m told an escort is required. Again. You’d think they’d trust me by now, or at least care less for my safety, without my title.” Leithe’s tone made clear what she thought of that. “—What? Don’t tell me you agree with them?”

It was apparent that she had seen something in Idhren’s expression that he hadn’t meant to be there. He tapped his pen against the side of the inkwell, marking down a few more counts in the correct column and checking them against the records he had brought from the Thiamal’s archives. The capital’s archives were quite extensive, though they were less carefully maintained than those he typically used in Linador.

“The roads haven’t been this safe in half a century,” Leithe continued. “It’s Vailra, not a trip to fucking Ilgost.”

“It’s less about the roads, and more about the snakes alongside them—or the brush-birds, if one of those takes flight under your horse’s nose I worry that in her fright she’d try to follow.”

Leithe’s horse was rather young and high-spirited. Such a mount would hardly be suitable for a typical (former) noblewoman, but he’d learned that Leithe was hardly typical.

“Can’t argue with that.” She took a book from the stack in front of him and began leafing through it. “I wish the guards were less dull though, you know? I’m aware it’s not exactly the most interesting assignment, but you’d think being amicable would make it easier to tolerate. It’s not like I don’t try to talk to them.”

He wondered—would it be a good idea to offer? Would she appreciate it, or would he be overstepping, offending her by making it seem that he didn’t trust her to take care of herself?

“…Coincidentally, I’m to to present the Warmaster’s request for the high-mage’s attendance. I had planned to arrive in Vailra around the end of the month, then head to Nar-thelyr when the weather warms.” He allowed a small smile as he met her eyes. “I imagine your guild would find an officer, even inactive and low-ranking, to be a more than suitable escort—if my company is agreeable, of course..?”

Leithe closed the book, a puff of dust rising from its pages as she did. “Gods, would you really?”

He nodded. “I’m not sure I can quiet a startled horse from my own saddle, if it comes to it, but I’ll try.”

“Oh, fuck off, it’s not like any other guard could do more. And if someone’s got to watch me pick leaves out of my hair because another blade of grass scared her, it’d be less embarrassing if it’s you.”

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

“You are aware it was a joke, aren’t you?”

Leithe seemed terribly amused, behind her concern, and he could hardly blame her. It hadn’t been his most intelligent moment.

“It wasn’t from my saddle, so it hardly counts.”

Her horse, a little spotted thing with no withers to speak of, had startled at some flicker of shadow or other, right as they’d been getting back in their saddles after a while of walking. Leithe had barely gotten her boots into the stirrups, and was in the process of losing her seat as she made a grab for the reins. Still on foot, Idhren had taken hold of the reins as well—getting the mare’s head around and stopping her for long enough for Leithe to recover…and wrenching his elbow in the process.

Idhren had insisted it was fine, and then Leithe had insisted that they stop anyway, and obviously she’d won that argument. Her famous stubbornness aside, it always seemed so easy to agree with her.

Not that she’d given him time to disagree if he had wanted to. She’d been out of her saddle in an instant, undoing the laces of his cloak and pushing back his sleeve before he could protest. Her horse, thankfully, had gotten over her fright and stood quietly. His had been completely unbothered by the whole affair: she was currently busying herself with the few tufts of roadside grass that were still green this late in the season.

“Does it hurt?” Leithe prodded at his arm, and he remembered—not that his own was very extensive—that she’d never mentioned any medical training at all.

“No—” an immediate lie, as she poked him again in a slightly different place.

It was barely three days into their trip, which felt a bit insulting.

“It’s fine, I promise. I can still ride well enough.” He didn’t move away.

“You can, I’m sure, but I’ve seen you stay up all night over work that doesn’t even need to be done, so forgive me if I don’t think you should.”

“It’s just strained, it’ll be fine in an hour.”

Ignoring him, Leithe turned back to her horse, running the stirrups up their leathers and loosening the girth. “Then that’s an hour we can afford to rest.”

He didn’t have an answer to that. It did still twinge a bit, as he started to loosen his horse’s gear as well, but if he moved just so, and didn’t put too much weight on that side, it was perfectly fine.

“I’m not sure if there are any wolves this far south. Or buire-deer? Maybe thieves along the road?” Leithe wondered, throwing herself onto the grass with an ease at odds with her words.

“What happened to the safety of the roads you were so sure of?” Idhren joined her more carefully.

“Maybe you should let me hold onto your sword. Just for now: we're sitting targets, and you can't use it.” She reached out to tug his sleeve back into place without waiting for permission. She’d said nothing about the scars of a soldier—more reckless and stupid than most, he’d never claim otherwise—that the sleeve had covered. It was rather refreshing.

“Its guard is shaped for the left hand, you wouldn’t find it very comfortable. And it’s a bit too big for you, don’t you think?”

He couldn’t resist a little teasing. Maybe it would convince her he wasn’t in too much pain, if nothing else.

Leithe swatted at his wrist in mock anger, then leaned back in the grass, hands behind her head. “You can’t blame me for trying, it’s such a nice sword, is all.”

It took him a moment to manage a hum of agreement. Her curls, messy from her hands and the coarse blades of grass and gentle wind, brushing so gently against the freckles on her cheek, were a bit distracting. He allowed a brief, fond smile for as long as she looked away.

[fractured-shield]

scene 2 (Leithe and Idhren, first chronologically)

“You know what? I’m sure I can get home, I don’t want to impose.” Leithe took a step backwards. The rain was only worsening, and she certainly couldn’t ask a friend to stay out in it: she didn’t particularly want to be out in it herself. “The guesthouses aren’t that far, and since I’m technically here on official business, no one would complain—”

But that was the catch, wasn’t it? Emissaries and guests of Lairnil’s viscountcy were known to complain of quarters that were…less than expected, to put it nicely. The city’s rapid growth was nipping at the heels of the finer districts these days. While Leithe paid no mind to complaints that were no more than polite variations of “I’d rather the ordinary folk exist where I can’t see them,” she also didn’t want to walk the crowded, muddied streets during such a downpour.

For a moment, Idhren seemed to consider offering his coat—thankfully he didn’t, damn the man and his relentless politeness. “I’d feel awful if I let you walk all the way there. It isn’t any trouble, I promise—I’ll take the sofa, even.”

He’d been on assignment here from Linador’s court for the past few months, which apparently qualified him for lodging slightly closer to the city’s too-perfect, too-new judiciary building. Hopefully it was a bit nicer than her own.

Leithe picked at the trim of her dress. She was one minor annoyance away from ripping off the woven cords and lace, honestly. They’d done their part in giving her the image of someone worth listening to, but they weighed down her dress just as much as the rain that was already soaking through it. “I’m not letting you take the damn sofa in your own rooms. Really, it’s fine, it’s just rain.”

As if on cue, a bolt of lightning arced across the sky, somewhere behind the chapel’s bony spires, its branching offshoots smarting in their vision even after it passed.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she tried, with less effort. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“…You know my superiors don’t actually care who we’re seen with? Council mediators can’t have ties to any faction—which I’m sure you know, I don’t mean to imply otherwise—but it’s no different from keeping company at some festivity or other—” the anticipated crack of thunder interrupted his stumbling insistence, “—and if you’re worried about your family catching word, I’m sure anyone who would be interested in such gossip has gone to bed. You keep rather late hours, for a member of the nobility, you know.”

And yours are just the same, which I doubt is any more normal for a council mediator.

Leithe shoved a strand of damp hair out of her face as another bolt of lightning crackled across the sky. “They wouldn’t give a damn, now that I’ve no title to inherit. They’d start trying to set us up together, if anything. I didn’t even know you fancied women until yesterday.”

“On—on occasion,” he flushed almost immediately. “But—Leithe, it’s not like that, I’m not asking you to stay because—”

“Relax,” she grinned, seizing the opportunity to poke at him further. “I’ve had years to realize that you’re too shy and uptight to make someone uncomfortable like that.”

“You don’t have to put it like that,” he sniffed. “Though I suppose I’ll take it as a compliment? Leithe, I promise you aren’t unwelcome. I really don’t mind.”

She flinched as the delayed thunder shook the stones beneath their feet. “…I might take you up on that, come to think of it. But I’m taking the sofa, I know damn well you can’t fit on it.”

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

“You’re not such a bad host.” Leithe looked up from her cup of tea: something spiced and warm, and vaguely floral. “Such a gentleman. Do men fall for that sort of thing as much as most noblewomen I know?”

“It’s not like that—”

“I know, I’m just teasing.” She added more honey to her tea, just to see his disapproval. “Thank you.”

While Leithe sat warm and mostly dry, Idhren shivered despite the warmth of tea and hearth, a blanket around his shoulders and his damp hair tied back. On the walk to his quarters even the covered paths hadn’t been enough to keep them dry as the wind picked up, and he’d dropped his coat over her shoulders before she had time to protest.

“Better me than you,” he offered a thin smile. She hadn’t even said anything, but damn it if he hadn’t seen some lingering discontent in her face just the same. The bells of Lairnil’s chapel tolled a few streets away, announcing the hour.

“Why do you keep saying that?” He looked down, rubbing his nose with one finger. “It’s…I mean, it’s the least I can do. After everything you’ve done, today and otherwise.”

“After I—what? I kept you company in the archives, and I brought you food. We’re friends, is it really so hard to believe I’d do that much? You’re the one letting me stay on your sofa.”

The bells were still tolling. She hadn’t realized it was as late as that. Idhren was shuffling through some papers he’d left on the table in a neat stack.

Leithe snatched them from his hand before she could stop herself. “Absolutely not. The bureaucratic drudgery can wait until morning. You said yourself, none of the court is working at this hour, you’re no exception. Finish your damn tea.”

He laughed softly and at least had the sense to look embarrassed as he set the papers aside. He had a rather pretty laugh, didn’t he? Leithe had realized at some point that she’d like to hear it more often.

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scene 1 (Leithe and Idhren, fifth chronologically)

“Because—and that’s another thing, I know she agreed, but you can’t convince me that anyone with that strong of ties to Lauthein’s merchant class would agree with that genuinely, it’s not like she’d—“ Leithe cut herself short and let her hands fall back to her lap. She’d been gesturing rather dramatically with them as she spoke—again.

“Are you alright? Did that hurt?”

“No,” she said, with something just short of a laugh, and pulled her shawl closer around her. “Sorry, I don’t mean to—you offered to help, and I can’t seem to let you. I’m not doing it on purpose.”

He did laugh, then, because he couldn’t imagine it being something to apologize for. “I don’t mind.”

Leithe offered her hand to him again—the hand that, just moments ago she’d pulled away, as the point she was trying to make required rather dramatic gestures to impress upon her audience of one her ever-present passion. He took it in his own, as carefully as if it was the finest ornament of glass. Her hands were so small in his own, but they were strong and calloused and warm just the same.

“Anyways, and Mornym agreed, and I don’t know if I should take it at face value and let her deal with whatever stupid gossip she causes from backing out—because she will back out, I’m sure—or if I should just pretend she never said anything. That’s probably an awful idea, but it’d be so satisfying, I fucking wish I could ignore her.”

Leithe paused again for a moment. “You can tell me if you want me to shut up, you know.”

Idhren would let her keep talking forever if she wanted.

“What? What’s that look for?”

He hadn’t realized he was looking at her any particular sort of way. The low light from the fireplace cast dancing shadows across her features, flickering over the fine chains of gold that hung from her ears and swung as she spoke.

“Would you rather I look away, when you’re speaking?” He teased, running his thumb over her knuckles, over the little scar that traced across them.

She’d complained that her hands ached from writing and from woodworking, and as he’d already been settled in with his book and with a hot water bottle on his knee, it was no trouble. He would’ve done it no matter how much trouble it had been. His book had laid untouched for the better part of an hour.

“That wouldn’t be any better,” she laughed. Her legs were folded beneath her in such a way that she leaned against him, and her arm was hooked around his, not that it’d stilled its movement very well. “I rather like it, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Well, otherwise I can’t look at you, either, and that’s hardly fair.”

A comfortable silence fell between them for a few moments. Idhren turned Leithe’s hand over in his own, hoping that his efforts could provide some small measure of relief for her.

“So, you were saying about Mornym…?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Leithe jumped at the reminder to continue. “I mean, do you really think—”

Idhren brought Leithe’s hand up to kiss the back of it, slowly, pressing her knuckles to his lips.

“—gods, honestly,” she let her head fall against his shoulder, her complaint almost lost in her sigh. “Oh, you smug bastard. What the fuck was I talking about—I don’t even care.”

He laughed softly and continued his work like he’d done nothing at all. He didn’t even have to look to know how furiously she was blushing. It was a tactic he employed only rarely, but it was no less effective than the time he’d done it first.

“If you wanted me to stop talking you could’ve just said so.”

“I didn’t say that. Feel free to continue, once you’ve recovered.”

“Fuck off,” she gave a rather undignified snort. “…Just a minute.”

When she’d adequately recovered a few moments later, she poked him in the arm. “Tezphel’s fucking horizons, you thought I’d forget, didn’t you!”

Again she tugged her hand free of his own. She was as striking as ever, her features sharpened by playful annoyance.

“…What?” He thought to ask, after a moment.

“You said you’d sleep hours ago, and you’ve just let me talk this whole damn time, hoping I’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

In his defense, it wasn’t so much that he’d meant to stay awake, after agreeing otherwise. He’d gotten just as distracted as she had.

“How are your hands?” he asked instead. “Do they hurt any less?”

“Yes, love, thank you for your help. Now,” she got to her feet, with far less effort and more energy than he would expect of himself, despite of the late hour, and took both his hands in her own, “I’m going to get you to bed, and then hold you down if I have to. Leave your book here, I’ll just bore you to sleep with more complaints about Arthain’s ridiculous court.”

Idhren couldn’t imagine falling asleep, if it meant missing a single word she said, but he let Leithe pull him to his feet just the same.

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6 of 5 (+1)

okay here's the +1 with the roles switched...it's the longest by far, and also OW this one hits. I had a piece of dialogue for it saved for months and I'm glad to finally be able to do something with it, but also, again- ow :( anyways i'm going to compile these properly tomorrow, since it'll be a full month since I was gifted the art that inspired this fun little project

The final year before Nar-thelyr’s abandonment passed just the same as the aftermath of any great loss: slowly, as if time itself seemed reluctant to move on from the death-tainted victory, and at the same time unsettlingly quick, when looked back upon, as all the days seemed to blur together, indistinguishable under the weight of the mountains’ piercing chill and the ache in his heart and his bones.

And Leithe—beloved, sun-bright, stubborn Leithe—had been there for as much of it as she could, departing from Tarnuvin alone as soon as she’d grown suspicious of the reassurances in his letters. She was something real to take hold of, like laying with the warm unmovable earth at one’s back, like a melody worked so deep that it melds inextricably with the mind and the hands. Like a sailor’s guiding star, too bright to be hidden by even the cruelest storm.

It would’ve been sometime in the fourth month, Idhren thought (because Tathran had just dismissed the last of Maithyr’s officers, because when he had thrown their severance pay requests on Idhren’s desk and demanded he sign them, Idhren had been staring at his books and thinking of a Silornic spring festival they’d just passed uncelebrated for the first year in centuries). Yes, four months, since Leithe had begun her correspondence with Hal and his wife, had set in motion their move to Tarnuvin’s officers’ quarters—together—and begun talking of shared bookshelves and teacups and quiet nights by the fire, to force a bit of her unyielding sunniness into him and give him something to look forward to when all the world seemed an inescapable deluge, constant reminders of loss, when his mind and body both seemed nothing more than a festering wound.

But the year had passed just the same, as all years do, even when the passage of time seems only to desecrate the memory of those left behind by it. Like a wound, the mind can heal. Going through the motions of pretending to be capable and sound is no different than dressing a wound, really. Even if all that remains feels like ugly and aching scar tissue, to scar is to heal. Or so Leithe kept saying.

The trip back to Tarnuvin passed much the same as the year before it, only with the disorienting sense of time slipping away like tendrils of smoke even more apparent, as the distance between them and Nar-thelyr grew. Idhren didn’t remember much of the road back (it wasn’t home yet to either of them. Leithe’s home was reduced to crumbling ruin. Idhren couldn’t remember the last place that had felt like home). He remembered dozing on her shoulder by the roadside more than once, and the crick he’d get in his neck afterwards from the difference in height between them. He remembered her horse balking at a bridge, and waking to a dusting of snow one morning, light and early in the season, and further south the fat droning bees she’d let climb along her sleeve, and the fresh-caught fish, skin crisp from the fire, the day their road reached the Lutebrim’s banks.

But beyond those moments, isolated and few, their long journey to something not-quite-home passed far too quickly, and all at once Idhren found himself standing before an unfamiliar door, Leithe’s tight grip on his hand the only thing he was sure was real.

Leithe entered first. She’d gotten the key from her old rooms on their way from the stables, and as Idhren had stood awkwardly in the doorway his eyes had lingered on the emptiness of the space he’d visited so often. Hal and Lynorn had gotten everything moved and prepared already. He had no reason to go to his own previous quarters, but he imagined they looked much the same.

He followed behind her, letting the door click softly shut behind both of them. It was strange, to pass through Tarnuvin’s familiar gates, its familiar stables and long halls, at the end of such a long journey, only to come to a place so unfamiliar and new. Though—no, that wasn’t right, either. On the bookshelf opposite the fireplace, he recognized books from his rooms and hers, and the chair with its sagging upholstery was hers, and the square table and mismatched chairs were his. Opening off of the main room were three doors, instead of the one he was used to. There was a second bedroom at Leithe’s insistence, so they could each have space for desks and shelves outside of the room they would share. She’d argued that the odd hours the both of them kept would cause problems otherwise, with one of them working by lamplight as the other tried to sleep.

The quarters were comfortable, he thought—windowless, like every room in the interior of Tarnuvin’s main complex, but after so long in Nar-thelyr he would feel ill at ease without the heavy weight of the mountain overhead. Idhren set his bags on the table—one of clothes, and a larger one full of books and papers that he couldn’t leave to rot in the abandoned stronghold. He thought to take Leithe’s bags as well, but—

She was already across the room, rearranging something on the bookshelf. She set it down as quickly as she’d begun and snatched one of her own bags, hands quick on its buckle as she began pulling things from it.

“Easy, you’ve got plenty of time to settle in, there’s no need to do it all at once,” he laughed, until he saw her raise a hand to rub at her eyes roughly, and in an instant the familiar clutch of worry ached cold and tight in his chest.

“…Leithe?”

She kept her back turned to him, as she set aside a stack of books and began unfolding and re-folding whatever clothes she could reach.

Idhren couldn’t imagine what she was thinking—and that was the problem, wasn’t it? She’d put up with him with no complaint for so long, and here he was, too caught up in the fog of his own melancholy to have even noticed her own hurt. He really was awful to her, wasn’t he?

Before he could speak, or even sort out if he should speak at all, Leithe crossed the room again to rearrange something on the mantle.

“Sorry—“ she started, in a voice more unsure and small than he had ever heard from her, and the sound of it lanced through him like a wound. If only he could figure out some way to…something, anything that wouldn’t hurt her further. He stood still, unmoving by the table and watched her.

“I don’t—I’m being ridiculous, ignore me, I don’t even know why I’m upset,” she tried to laugh, her back still turned to him. “I never even cried when Ngelorim fell, you know? It doesn’t seem fair to them, does it—to cry now, over nothing—“

She set some salvaged trinket or other onto the bookshelf, set a stack of books on its side next to it. “—less than nothing, because this is supposed to be happy, everything’s fine, and… I know I’m going about this all wrong,” she continued her stubborn, near-frantic sorting of books, thumping a large cloth-backed text onto the stack as well. “—I must seem absolutely awful to you.”

It wasn’t like he could say anything on the matter of grieving properly either, could he? Even a year later, he still felt that his grief for Maithyr was too great, improper for his status and for the nature of their acquaintance. It seemed unimaginable for Leithe’s grief to be wrong, though. He suspected that this was grief for Ngelorim, for all that had been lost with it, just coming a bit late. It also seemed so incredibly—well, like herself, to stop up all thought of it, consciously or not, and then finally become aware of it so much later once it had grown beyond being ignored. Her stubbornness was quite famous, and she never did anything by halves.

There he went again, spending too long with his thoughts while there was something that needed doing, a coward even in moments like these.

Idhren still couldn’t think of the right thing to say—it was ironic, in exactly the way he’d expect of himself, ever faltering and useless when it counted. He could calm the tempers of kings, could placate arguing generals and attend the whims of courtiers without offense, but he couldn’t find the words to still the tears of the person he held most dear, even after all she’d done for him.

Leithe was sort of terrible at keeping up the act of being alright. He suspected it was more out of obstinance, an argument with her own emotions at this point, and one she was losing. Her back was still turned to him as she kept up the flurry of pointless tidying, but she was shaking with swallowed-down sobs and still trying pointlessly to scrub away the tears that fell more quickly than she could get to them.

Idhren crossed the room in a few long strides and wrapped his arms around her to still her restless, unthinking motion. She fought against him for a moment, and even after she’d stopped, her back trembled against his chest with the quick breaths of held-back tears. He held her closer, the brooch at her collar poking at his arm and her curls tickling at his nose as he fit his body around her own, hoping there was any comfort he could give her.

“Oh, Leithe.”

She forced back another sob behind clenched teeth through will alone and brought her hands up to clutch at his forearms where they crossed over her chest.

“Sorry,” she laughed. Only Leithe could laugh through tears at a time like this and still sound genuine.

They stood there, before the empty hearth and surrounded by half-unpacked bags, until Leithe’s breath began to come more evenly and to shake a little less. She leaned back against him, some of the nervous tension going out of her body little by little.

“You should rest, if you can,” he tried hesitantly. They were both dirty from the road but at the moment it didn’t seem to matter. “You’ve not done anything that needs an apology. You’ll feel better when you wake, don’t you think?” It was a conversation they’d had often, the other way around, and he’d always had to admit that she was right, as pointless as sleep seemed to him before he’d found it.

He felt her nod, just a little, and loosed his arms from around her to take her hand. “Everything will still be here. I’ll help you put it away however you like, and you can tell me whatever you’re thinking, or you can say nothing, I don’t mind. But—let me hold you awhile first, let it wait.”

She nodded again, and as she dried still-falling tears with her sleeve, Leithe squeezed his hand and gave another little laugh. “Welcome home, and all that, right?”

if anybody’s curious I got <4 hours of sleep myself and will be working on this today :)

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hm. realized recently that i'm gonna have to make some more changes to the fractured shield outline again

(this is not a bad thing i actually really like feeling like i have like...idk a clear enough vision of what i want it to be to know changes need to be made)

but anyways like

need to specifically fix how. that one theme is handled. bc i'm realizing that due to The Situations of last year i haven't been writing it with as much purpose/clarity as i'd like

already knew i needed to rework how/when certain information is shared and how that affects my mc's resolve

need to fix everything about the timeskip. it needs to happen, but like, the couple chapters before it feel pretty rushed and there's lots of things that need to be resolved there, a whole supporting character i need to figure out what to do with, etc

since my mc is super fucking avoidant and hasn't at all processed her mom dying (5 years before the first chapter) i think i've been avoiding getting into talking about her mom too (at least from her pov, because while her dad still hasn't processed it either he's like, actively stuck grieving) and like. that's not fair to her. i want to talk about her more bc i love her

the. magic system. should...perhaps...actually get figured out one of these days

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5 of 5 (+1)

I don’t have as much to say about this one, I think, other than that I fucking love Hal and should write him more tbh. Also that I needed to get something brief and light written for this one, because the last one is going to be A Lot :)

Hal had no complaint with his current status. Quite the opposite, really: as things had begun to fall into place, after the chaos of Tarnuvin’s founding, his own place among all of it had come together as well. Honestly, it was a better one than he could’ve hoped for.

His rank was lower than it had been in Ngelorim—not that it mattered, for as differently as Tarnuvin’s Watch was structured from a traditional army, and because he quite preferred a lower rank.

Hal had exactly no interest in climbing ranks in search of some pretentious, medalled career. Second-officer of a Watch division came with just enough work to keep it interesting, without all the ridiculous pretense and pageantry of higher officers’ duties to their court and lord. No thank you, Hal was content to let other officers progress past him if it meant he could avoid attending weekly reports in stuffy ceremonial armor or scripted meetings with foreign dignitaries. He’d much rather have the drudgery of working the newly built watch-posts, ironing out the shift assignments, clearing undergrowth to afford a better view of the river.

Though, that being said, Hal was realizing that his Captain was much the same sort, only a bit worse at declining promotions he didn’t want.

The man seemed equally uninterested in fame or titles. He’d been a low-ranking officer in Linador, but had been inactive for some time, selected for council-work instead: as a mediator, first in Linador and then for the war-court in Nar-thelyr, which he apparently still attended during its seasons. To Hal, such work seemed insufferably dull, but concerning court formalities of a more subtle, unpretentious sort than military procedure.

The watch-post they currently shared was newly built and still smelled of freshly-cut wood. Its furniture was sparse: a few cots along one wall, some shelves built into another, and a small table with just one chair.

Ah, well. The place had barely been built for a month, and Hal supposed there were more important matters to sort out first. Such as assigning the rest of the Watch soldiers to their divisions, so he and his Captain wouldn’t have to take so many of the shifts assigned to the Third Watch themselves.

And speaking of—

“Captain, not to offend, but what exactly are you doing?”

He’d unfolded a cloth gambeson from his bag, and taken out a leather awl and thread as well, spread them out on the table to work, apparently. He looked up. “Oh—I’m sorry, did you need the table? It’s a shame there’s just one chair, let me—”

“Not what I meant, sir,” Hal said. The gambeson was one of the sort they’d found to issue to the Watch, re-dyed into some semblance of a uniform but still well-worn.

“Beythir said the buckles on his armor were coming loose. We’ve nothing if not time, so I thought I’d fix them.”

“That’s. I mean. Is that really a task for, you know, someone of your rank?” Hal would’ve done the same himself, of course, but that was the point: he hardly expected it of officers other than himself.

Idhren laughed, easy but in a way that seemed to fall a bit flat. “I don’t mind. Whoever they’ve found to sort out the Watch uniforms is likely overrun with work, there’s no sense bothering them with this. Besides, the alternative is making you put up with me talking your ear off.”

Hal had only been assigned to his Captain for a few weeks, but he strongly doubted that was something the older man was even capable of.

“I am sorry,” Idhren continued after a while. Hal waited for him to clarify, taking his saddlebag from one of the cots and onto the floor before taking its place. “No doubt I’ve come across as terribly rude. I’d hate to give you the impression I don’t want to work with you.”

Ah, that. Right.

“Honestly, I was more confused than anything. No harm in preferring council work to soldiering, but you’re better with a sword than most politicians I’ve met, and—forgive the assumption, don’t seem much for their ceaseless gossip, either.” Hal took care to speak casually, but he really was curious. He’d been wondering about it for days, ever since word (gossip, because that was to be expected) had reached him that his Captain had petitioned their lord to let the Third Watch be assigned to someone else.

“I was going to speak with you,” Idhren sighed, “if my request was approved. Since it wasn’t—well, I thought that was that. I didn’t mean for you to find out about it like you did.”

“Well, now it does seem a little rude,” Hal joked.

“It’s not like that.” Idhren turned his attention to his work. He’d removed one of the leather buckles from the quilted fabric, and was using the awl to pierce new holes where the previous ones had been torn out.

"My request had nothing to do with your assignment—you’d make a better first officer than me, I told him as much—it’s just…I’m not really suited to this sort of thing, I think.”

“Alright, you’ve lost me,” Hal cut in, leaning back against the wall, hands behind his head. “I’d heard of you, you know, before we met—nothing much, just that Linador had a soldier-turned-councillor who represented them on Maithyr's court. Hard to think you'd be a hindrance if you could manage that much.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, then, I’m not as reliable as all that,” his Captain didn’t look up from his work, just gave an odd sort of smile.

Well, that wouldn’t do. Hal hardly knew the man, but clearly such talk was hardly helpful. He got to his feet, already decided.

“Alright, enough of that. I’m going to see what sort of fish the Tessil’s waters will give me.” While his Captain had brought armor to mend, Hal had brought rod and bait to pass the time. “That’ll wait for later, come join me before it starts to rain.”

if anybody’s curious I got <4 hours of sleep myself and will be working on this today :)

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4 of 5 (+1)

This one wasn't actually supposed to be as angsty as this I promise... But someone just really wanted to have a whole depressing internal monologue near the end there. Which certainly isn't me projecting in any way dw about it

“Did you think I’d just let you run off again, the instant you got back? It’s been months, and you haven’t even let me greet you properly.” Leithe set a cup of tea on one of the few bare spots of his desk, the steam rising from it visible in the dim light of the mirrored lantern set nearby. “At least drink something warm, for the headache I’m certain you’re being too stubborn to mention.”

Idhren wished she’d keep her voice down, but despite the ache in his temples—yes, she was right, as usual—his tense posture loosened a bit as she set a hand on his back.

“What the hell sort of work is this important anyway?”

Ah, but she knew it wasn’t about the work, just as he did. She was far kinder than he deserved, and so she let him pretend for a little longer.

“Let it wait until morning, let yourself rest for once, will you? The weather’s been awful.”

He turned aside to cough into a handkerchief. “Yes, I’d noticed.” He left the first part of her comment go unanswered, because it was a conversation they wouldn’t me having if she didn’t already guess what his answer would be.

“Don’t tell me you’re sick again. Get some rest, you stubborn bastard.” She rubbed his back and the touch had him shivering—just that, mind, no other cause.

“I’m alright, Leithe.”

He’d been riding through the icy rain of late winter since yesterday morning, as the council convoy made their way back from Ilgost. Once he’d gotten home, he’d peeled himself from his armor and thrown on some dry clothes, and then left again for the Third Watch storeroom to see what work had piled up while he and his Second-officer had been gone.

Leithe draped herself across his back to get a look at what he was reading and embrace him at the same time. The closeness let her speak more quietly, and in a soft voice, right against his ear, she cut to the quick of it.

“Nothing’s going to happen, love. We’re alright. Everyone’s here, everyone’s fine, there’s no news to wait for. You can rest if you like—even if you don’t sleep, it’s better than this.”

He knew as much, logically, but the part of his mind that had spent near two hundred years at this game didn’t care much for logic. He coughed again, and tried once or twice to clear his throat before remembering the tea in front of him. It was still a bit too warm, he found.

“This week’s logs for the river guard-posts haven’t been finished yet. I’ll be back as soon as I recheck the entries from the first few.”

“They aren’t due for two more days, I know your work better than that,” Leithe said under her breath. She pulled away but stayed next to him, rifling through the first stack of papers she could reach—keeping them in order, of course, but helping herself to them just the same. “And these—even longer, I hope you weren’t planning on finishing them tonight as well.”

Without waiting for an answer, Leithe turned towards the open doorway, towards the storeroom that lay across the hall.

“Hal! Hal, is there any particular reason that my husband is filing reports in the fucking dark, instead of being at home in bed as he should?”

Hal shouted back just as cheerfully, coming to stand in the doorway as he did. “He’s my commanding officer, obviously, and I can’t stop him if that’s what he wants. Is that reason satisfactory enough for you?”

“Fuck off, that’s never stopped you before and we all know it.” She crossed her arms in pretended anger as Hal calmly kept at undoing the buckles of one of the pieces of armor he had been putting away.

“Ah, you’ve got me there. He said he’d just hold the papers out of my reach if I tried to take them from him, if you can believe it. I’d hoped you’d be along to help me convince him.”

For a long moment, Leithe said nothing. Hal gave a pleasant wave from the doorway, then returned to his own work across the hall. Idhren looked at the records before him, the numbers seeming to blur together in his fatigue, and reached again for the tea to ease his throat.

Leithe seemed ready to try a new tactic, and spoke again. She reached for a strand of his damp hair and twirled it between two fingers. He'd left it in the braid that he’d worn to keep it out of the way of his armor, but between the weather and his own tired carelessness when putting on dry clothes, there was almost more loose of the braid than still in it.

“Therien’s awake now, she’s wondering where you hurried off to, so soon after getting back. I said I’d fetch you from your work. She’ll fuss if you keep her waiting.”

Ah, that was it, then. If she’d led with that, he’d be halfway back to their quarters already, but he supposed there was no harm in letting her and Hal have their fun. And yet—it pained him so much to even think it, knowing how excited Therien probably was at the moment, but…part of him wished to wait a while longer, to get through the routine of jitters and melancholic reminiscence that always accompanied such arrivals, before seeing her.

“…Let me compose myself a bit first, then,” he tried quietly, hoping it didn’t sound as pathetic as it felt.

“If that’s what you want, this won’t get it for you.” Leithe moved some of his papers aside, careful to keep them in their proper order, and sat on the edge of the desk. “Give her a quick ‘hello’ and then tell her her papa’s going to get some rest. Even if you don’t, just lay down for a bit and try not to make your headache worse, and then see her once it’s passed.”

He didn’t know if she meant the headache, or the rest of it. Probably both, she’d seen enough of this ridiculous routine by now.

“I’ll rest once this is done, it’s really no trouble. Just a few minutes longer,” he tried. With perfect timing, because his body was as set on betraying him as ever, he had to turn aside to cough again.

“No you won’t. That’s a flimsy defense at best and you know it.”

He expected her to argue more. Instead, Leithe leaned down to kiss him despite his attempted protests that he didn’t want her to get sick as well.

“Oh, you admit it now?” She teased.

Even if he knew he couldn’t sleep, the thought of a warm bed after weeks on the road seemed awfully tempting. He really shouldn’t—it wasn’t difficult work, it wasn’t like he was a stranger to discomfort, it wasn’t like that discomfort wasn’t something he deserved, time and time again, for—

Oh, that was not a thought he should be entertaining at the moment. Not because he didn’t deserve the aching guilt that accompanied it, worming its way in whenever he gave it an opportunity, burying itself as deep and painfully as he allowed, yet never deep enough, never painful enough, to redress that gravest mistake.

…No, it was a thought that would have to wait, at least for a little longer, no matter how much he needed to be wounded by it. Therien was waiting for him, and it wouldn’t do to sour her mood with his own miserable state. He would hold her, and kiss her hair, and pretend for a little while to be deserving of her affection.

And then, after she was put to bed, safe and content and with not a clue that her papa was worth none of her admiration, he would hide beneath a mound of blankets and think once again of that messenger, lantern shaking in their hand, the dread he had felt at their words, the terrible thread of something disgustingly unsurprised beneath it, the trembling, laid-bare finality of it all as he’d prepared to leave again—

And Leithe would be next to him, Leithe, whose patience he had never deserved either—

No. No, it could wait. For Therien, it could wait.

“Fifteen minutes,” Leithe was saying, as she pulled his wet hair back and began to work it free of its braid. “And then I drag you back home, if I have to.”

He didn’t doubt that she would, gods bless her stubbornness.

if anybody’s curious I got <4 hours of sleep myself and will be working on this today :)

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just realized i can actually use my tag list for this so like. hey go check out this art if you haven't already bc i'm still sobbing it's perfect

tag list: @just-emis-blog @orions-quill @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie @acertainmoshke @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle

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revisiting these questions and posting the highlights bc I’m sad and it’s 5am and my mc’s parents bring me comfort

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revisiting these questions and posting the highlights bc I’m sad and it’s 5am and my mc’s parents bring me comfort

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3 of 5 (+1)

Leithe's horse is loosely based on a mare I remember (mostly) fondly from my years of lesson barns. this one's also just an extended version (of that scene i wrote a few days ago, so at least i'm doing something new) but in my defense. look at them they're so weird and perfect

“I’m told an escort is required. Again. You’d think they’d trust me by now, or at least care less for my safety, without my title.” Leithe’s tone made clear what she thought of that. “—What? Don’t tell me you agree with them?”

It was apparent that she had seen something in Idhren’s expression that he hadn’t meant to be there. He tapped his pen against the side of the inkwell, marking down a few more counts in the correct column and checking them against the records he had brought from the Thiamal’s archives. The capital’s archives were quite extensive, though they were less carefully maintained than those he typically used in Linador.

“The roads haven’t been this safe in half a century,” Leithe continued. “It’s Vailra, not a trip to fucking Ilgost.”

“It’s less about the roads, and more about the snakes alongside them—or the brush-birds, if one of those takes flight under your horse’s nose I worry that in her fright she’d try to follow.”

Leithe’s horse was rather young and high-spirited. Such a mount would hardly be suitable for a typical (former) noblewoman, but he’d learned that Leithe was hardly typical.

“Can’t argue with that.” She took a book from the stack in front of him and began leafing through it. “I wish the guards were less dull though, you know? I’m aware it’s not exactly the most interesting assignment, but you’d think being amicable would make it easier to tolerate. It’s not like I don’t try to talk to them.”

He wondered—would it be a good idea to offer? Would she appreciate it, or would he be overstepping, offending her by making it seem that he didn’t trust her to take care of herself?

“...Coincidentally, I’m to to present the Warmaster’s request for the high-mage’s attendance. I had planned to arrive in Vailra around the end of the month, then head to Nar-thelyr when the weather warms.” He allowed a small smile as he met her eyes. “I imagine your guild would find an officer, even inactive and low-ranking, to be a more than suitable escort—if my company is agreeable, of course..?”

Leithe closed the book, a puff of dust rising from its pages as she did. “Gods, would you really?”

He nodded. “I’m not sure I can quiet a startled horse from my own saddle, if it comes to it, but I’ll try.”

“Oh, fuck off, it’s not like any other guard could do more. And if someone’s got to watch me pick leaves out of my hair because another blade of grass scared her, it’d be less embarrassing if it’s you.

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

“You are aware it was a joke, aren’t you?”

Leithe seemed terribly amused, behind her concern, and he could hardly blame her. It hadn’t been his most intelligent moment.

“It wasn’t from my saddle, so it hardly counts.”

Her horse, a little spotted thing with no withers to speak of, had startled at some flicker of shadow or other, right as they’d been getting back in their saddles after a while of walking. Leithe had barely gotten her boots into the stirrups, and was in the process of losing her seat as she made a grab for the reins. Still on foot, Idhren had taken hold of the reins as well—getting the mare’s head around and stopping her for long enough for Leithe to recover...and wrenching his elbow in the process.

Idhren had insisted it was fine, and then Leithe had insisted that they stop anyway, and obviously she’d won that argument. Her famous stubbornness aside, it always seemed so easy to agree with her.

Not that she’d given him time to disagree if he had wanted to. She’d been out of her saddle in an instant, undoing the laces of his cloak and pushing back his sleeve before he could protest. Her horse, thankfully, had gotten over her fright and stood quietly. His had been completely unbothered by the whole affair: she was currently busying herself with the few tufts of roadside grass that were still green this late in the season.

“Does it hurt?” Leithe prodded at his arm, and he remembered—not that his own was very extensive—that she’d never mentioned any medical training at all.

“No—” an immediate lie, as she poked him again in a slightly different place.

It was barely three days into their trip, which felt a bit insulting.

“It’s fine, I promise. I can still ride well enough.” He didn’t move away.

“You can, I’m sure, but I’ve seen you stay up all night over work that doesn’t even need to be done, so forgive me if I don’t think you should.”

“It’s just strained, it’ll be fine in an hour.”

Ignoring him, Leithe turned back to her horse, running the stirrups up their leathers and loosening the girth. “Then that’s an hour we can afford to rest.”

He didn’t have an answer to that. It did still twinge a bit, as he started to loosen his horse’s gear as well, but if he moved just so, and didn’t put too much weight on that side, it was perfectly fine.

“I’m not sure if there are any wolves this far south. Or buire-deer? Maybe thieves along the road?” Leithe wondered, throwing herself onto the grass with an ease at odds with her words.

“What happened to the safety of the roads you were so sure of?” Idhren joined her more carefully.

“Maybe you should let me hold onto your sword. Just for now: we're sitting targets, and you can't use it.” She reached out to tug his sleeve back into place without waiting for permission. She’d said nothing about the scars of a soldier—more reckless and stupid than most, he’d never claim otherwise—that the sleeve had covered. It was rather refreshing.

“Its guard is shaped for the left hand, you wouldn’t find it very comfortable. And it’s a bit too big for you, don’t you think?”

He couldn’t resist a little teasing. Maybe it would convince her he wasn’t in too much pain, if nothing else.

Leithe swatted at his wrist in mock anger, then leaned back in the grass, hands behind her head. “You can’t blame me for trying, it’s such a nice sword, is all.”

It took him a moment to manage a hum of agreement. Her curls, messy from her hands and the coarse blades of grass and gentle wind, brushing so gently against the freckles on her cheek, were a bit distracting. He allowed a brief, fond smile for as long as she looked away.

if anybody’s curious I got <4 hours of sleep myself and will be working on this today :)

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“yeah I know the major life changing events of the FS prequel but it spans a few hundred years how am I going to keep it from feeling disjointed—“

random convoluted shit that Leithe drags Idhren into. like before they’re even a couple she’s just putting this man in situations

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2 of 5 (+1)

second one in a day, this one's before they're a couple, and taken from an older draft that I'd kind of forgotten about. I have one more in progress, but it'll be a bit slower from here since I'm working and also dealing with car troubles :/

“You know what? I’m sure I can get home, I don’t want to impose.” Leithe took a step backwards. The rain was only worsening, and she certainly couldn’t ask a friend to stay out in it: she didn’t particularly want to be out in it herself. “The guesthouses aren’t that far, and since I’m technically here on official business, no one would complain—”

But that was the catch, wasn’t it? Emissaries and guests of Lairnil’s viscountcy were known to complain of quarters that were…less than expected, to put it nicely. The city’s rapid growth was nipping at the heels of the finer districts these days. While Leithe paid no mind to complaints that were no more than polite variations of “I’d rather the ordinary folk exist where I can’t see them,” she also didn’t want to walk the crowded, muddied streets during such a downpour.

For a moment, Idhren seemed to consider offering his coat—thankfully he didn’t, damn the man and his relentless politeness. “I’d feel awful if I let you walk all the way there. It isn’t any trouble, I promise—I’ll take the sofa, even.”

He’d been on assignment here from Linador’s court for the past few months, which apparently qualified him for lodging slightly closer to the city’s too-perfect, too-new judiciary building. Hopefully it was a bit nicer than her own.

Leithe picked at the trim of her dress. She was one minor annoyance away from ripping off the woven cords and lace, honestly. They’d done their part in giving her the image of someone worth listening to, but they weighed down her dress just as much as the rain that was already soaking through it. “I’m not letting you take the damn sofa in your own rooms. Really, it’s fine, it’s just rain.”

As if on cue, a bolt of lightning arced across the sky, somewhere behind the chapel’s bony spires, its branching offshoots smarting in their vision even after it passed.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she tried, with less effort. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“…You know my superiors don’t actually care who we’re seen with? Council mediators can’t have ties to any faction—which I’m sure you know, I don’t mean to assume otherwise—but it’s no different from keeping company at some festivity or other—” the anticipated crack of thunder interrupted his stumbling insistence, “—and if you’re worried about your parents catching word, I’m sure anyone who would be interested in such gossip has gone to bed. You keep rather late hours, for a member of the nobility, you know.”

And yours are just the same, which I doubt is any more normal for a council mediator.

Leithe shoved a strand of damp hair out of her face as another bolt of lightning crackled across the sky. “They wouldn’t give a damn, now that I’ve no title to inherit. They’d start trying to set us up together, if anything. I didn’t even know you fancied women until yesterday.”

“On—on occasion,” he flushed almost immediately. “But—Leithe, it’s not like that, I’m not asking you to stay because—”

“Relax,” she grinned, seizing the opportunity to poke at him further. “I’ve had years to realize that you’re too shy and uptight to make someone uncomfortable like that.”

“You don’t have to put it like that,” he sniffed. “Though I suppose I’ll take it as a compliment? Leithe, I promise you aren’t unwelcome. I really don’t mind.”

She flinched as the delayed thunder shook the stones beneath their feet. “…I might take you up on that, come to think of it. But I’m taking the sofa, I know damn well you can’t fit on it.”

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

“You’re not such a bad host.” Leithe looked up from her cup of tea: something spiced and warm, and vaguely floral. “Such a gentleman. Do men fall for that sort of thing as much as most noblewomen I know?” “It’s not like that—” “I know, I’m just teasing.” She added more honey to her tea, just to see his disapproval. “Thank you.” While Leithe sat warm and mostly dry, Idhren shivered despite the warmth of tea and hearth, a blanket around his shoulders and his damp hair tied back. On the walk to his quarters even the covered paths hadn’t been enough to keep them dry as the wind picked up, and he’d dropped his coat over her shoulders before she had time to protest. “Better me than you,” he offered a thin smile. She hadn’t even said anything, but damn it if he hadn’t seen some lingering discontent in her face just the same. The bells of Lairnil’s chapel tolled a few streets away, announcing the hour. “Why do you keep saying that?” He looked down, rubbing his nose with one finger. “It’s…I mean, It’s the least I can do. After everything you’ve done, today and otherwise.” “After I—what? I kept you company in the archives, and I brought you food. We’re friends, is it really so hard to believe I’d do that much? You’re the one letting me stay on your sofa.” The bells were still tolling. She hadn’t realized it was as late as that. Idhren was shuffling through some papers he’d left on the table in a neat stack. Leithe snatched them from his hand before she could stop herself. “Absolutely not. The bureaucratic drudgery can wait until morning. You said yourself, none of the court is working at this hour, you’re no exception. Finish your damn tea.” He laughed softly and at least had the sense to look embarrassed as he set the papers aside. He had a rather pretty laugh, didn’t he? Leithe had realized at some point that she’d like to hear it more often.

if anybody’s curious I got <4 hours of sleep myself and will be working on this today :)