#and I can do insult swordfighting perfectly of COURSE

[cassmouse]

Inside me somewhere there will always be that very small child who sat down with her dad to play HIS favourite childhood game and her life was changed forever because that game was The Secret of Monkey Island and it shaped my humour and personality in ways I didn't think possible at the time

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 5 - ao3 -

The Nightless City was like nothing Lan Qiren had ever seen before in his life.

It was grand and glorious, everything writ large on a massive scale – the number of people, the number of buildings, the size of the buildings…it was said that Lanling City was more crowded and full of people, but that was because it had a smaller scope, shoving all those people into a small area, while the Nightless City never ran out of space because any time it did it would just expand its borders further.

For someone like Lan Qiren, who longed to travel to the strange parts of the world and see all sorts of things for the first time, it was a dream come true –

Or rather, it would be, if only he had the ability to give it the attention it deserved. Which he didn’t.

The issue had initially arisen in the week leading up to their departure from the Cloud Recesses. Like all the other disciples, especially those nominated for their musical talents, Lan Qiren had spent a great deal of time in the library pavilion, perusing score after score in search of the one that they would present as their own individual selection.

He’d found one he rather liked: an exceedingly complicated piece, composed for the guqin, meant to signify the orderly chaos of nature and winning mastery over the internal chaos within. It had been a challenge to master the complex finger work, not to mention the necessary qi fluctuations required to properly showcase the song even if he had no plans to wield it as a spell – no one actually needed roots to leap up from the earth to try to trap his enemies in the middle of a musical demonstration – but he’d accomplished it, meeting even his own stringent standards for excellence. He’d been very proud, and eager to display it at the discussion conference.

His brother, in conjunction with the teacher that would be accompanying them, had rejected it.

They hadn’t even let him demonstrate that he’d adequately mastered it – their teacher, the swordfighting master that his brother liked so much, had taken a cursory look at the score and deemed it too eccentric; his brother had judged it too flashy, and thus too risky. They had recommended he perform one of the more traditional Lan sect songs that they knew he had mastered perfectly: Inquiry, perhaps, or Evocation.

Lan Qiren had decided to ignore them.

He hadn’t told them that, of course. He’d kept his decision hugged close to his chest, buried beneath a façade of calm that was easy enough to keep in place since most people couldn’t tell his stressed expression from his regular one, and his tone never really got that far from a monotone anyway.

He’d kept that secret, turning it over and over in his head, unable to think of anything else, unable to enjoy the distant travel (well, unable to enjoy it as much as he should), unable to really appreciate the grandiose opening ceremonies, the sect leaders of the Great Sects seated together on their platform, the smaller sects beneath them…

Luckily, the music competition was scheduled for the very first day of the conference, right after the opening ceremony. First there was the technical challenge, in which they all played together – that made it especially difficult, because a single wrong note by your neighbor could knock off your own playing if you weren’t focused, while the judges were all cultivators powerful enough to sharpen their hearing and pick out any discordant sounds even out of the large crowd of them all going at it together – and then the individual performances.

Lan Qiren had the honor of going fourth.

He went out there, saluted the judges, saluted the audience of sect leaders, sat down on the platform and played the song he wanted to play. If perhaps he had his heart in his throat because of a mixture of nervousness and anticipation, if perhaps his gut churned, feeling unusually full of spite and rebelliousness – he put it all aside in favor of the music.

Nothing mattered when he played but the music. Nothing.

When it was done, he stood and saluted again – the judges, then the audience – and retreated back to the area where the Lan sect was standing. As he’d expected, his teacher was waiting for him, hands behind his back and apparently calm on the surface; a small jerk of his head, and Lan Qiren knew to obediently follow him.

They couldn’t leave, of course, since that would be rude, but they went a little ways off to the side to a more secluded corner of the field where they could be safely ignored - everyone’s attention was on the performances.

“Do not tell lies,” the teacher said, a censure, and Lan Qiren dropped into a deep salute.

“I did not lie, honored teacher,” he said, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. “According to the guidelines set out when the event was announced, each disciple has the right to select his own music for the independent portion of the competition, provided that they can perform their selected composition to an adequate degree of mastery. Although you and my brother recommended that I select Inquiry as my performance piece instead, I did not accept your recommendation, and have never said that I would.”

His teacher’s frown deepened. “I would have expected better of you,” he said, and Lan Qiren’s shoulders curled inwards a little, the words cutting as deeply as any knife. “Quibbling over such a technicality with your elders – do not forget, arrogance is forbidden.”

Lan Qiren held the salute in place. “I understand, honored teacher.”

“Have you anything more to say to yourself?”

Lan Qiren thought about simply accepting the punishment that his teacher’s tone warned was inevitable, but – he really, truly did not believe he deserved it. And so, even though it might only make it worse, he opened his mouth and stumbled clumsily through the argument he had written out in advance, citing the rules and prior interpretations of the rules that he believed supported his actions. He was very confident of his grasp on the rules, but less sure of his persuasive powers and altogether despairing of any oratory skill, and yet...he had to try.

His teacher listened in stony silence. When Lan Qiren was done, he said, “I had never supposed you to be born with a lawyer’s tongue,” which was an insult – the Lan sect, like most cultivation sects, were gentry and thus had no need to seek employment in the magistrates’ courts. “Do you intend to continue on this rebellious path?”

“No, honored teacher,” Lan Qiren said emphatically. “In all other respects, I will listen to your orders, and my brother’s, as if they were carved on the Wall of Discipline.”

His teacher huffed disbelievingly, but he flicked his sleeves and went back to the crowd of Lan sect disciples currently spectating the next player in sequence without imposing any immediate punishment. That was an implicit concession to Lan Qiren’s argument: if he had failed to be convincing, a punishment would have been imposed at once.

Lan Qiren straightened himself out of his salute – his teacher had not granted him permission to rise throughout his recitation, and he hadn’t wanted to make his rebelliousness worse by presuming – and allowed himself a brilliant smile.

His teacher’s departure did not mean that he would escape all censure; his brother, sitting up at the sect leader’s pavilion, would undoubtedly have his own views on the subject, and of course simply disrespecting age and authority in public was reason enough for discipline. But Lan Qiren had done it. He had maintained his own position despite adversity and remained true to himself; he had not yielded, even if only in such a small matter, and he had persevered. Truly, it was as the rules said: have a strong will and anything can be achieved.

He looked around to check to make sure that no one had noticed their little interchange, mindful of his promise and his brother’s instruction that he not lose face, but it didn’t seem to be that way. Even on the sect leader’s pavilion, the sect leaders were all watching the performance – Wen Ruohan even had his head tilted to the side as if sharpening his hearing so as to listen more intently, which Lan Qiren supposed was further evidence that he wasn’t as disinterested in musical matters as others had speculated, and also that whoever was playing (he wasn’t paying attention) must be quite good.

It didn’t matter. Lan Qiren hadn’t played his selection because he’d been obsessively determined to win; he had only wanted to display some part of himself sincerely, and he had done so. Whatever else happened, that was sufficient.

He took a moment to find his calm once again, allowing his face to return to an expression of neutrality – gloating was unseemly, and forbidden by the rules, if other lose to you, don’t look down on them, even if the victory here was minor – and then at last returned to his place among the other Lan sect disciples.

He watched the remaining performances calmly, and without incident.

After the competition was done, the judges began to debate their rankings. Musical competitions were generally not favored at discussion conferences because of the need for careful consideration before victory or defeat could be determined – unlike in a contest of martial strength, when the contestants were near to each other in strength there was no immediate understanding of who had won – but Wen Ruohan had apparently planned ahead for that.

He announced that the contestants and audience would be dismissed while the judges’ deliberations were ongoing – in order to allow them to begin enjoying the wonders of the Nightless City, he explained with a supercilious smirk – and that the results of the competition would be announced shortly before the banquet planned for dinner.

Lan Qiren was not surprised when the sect leaders largely stayed behind, at least initially, to continue conversations; he was only relieved that he had a small reprieve before his brother came to scold him. Similarly, he was unsurprised when his fellow disciples immediately split into groups to go out to explore the Nightless City, and when those groups did not include him – even the ones that he would have otherwise expected to invite him, the ones he was more friendly with, cast fearful glances at their stone-faced teacher and apologetic ones at him; no one wanted to be associated with a troublemaker lest they be dragged into the mire alongside them.

It was fine.

Lan Qiren nodded at them, indicating that he understood, to their evident relief, and turned to look at his teacher in silent question. It was not unthinkable that he could go out alone…

“Perhaps you should stay behind,” his teacher said icily. “You can use the time for contemplation.”

Lan Qiren had promised himself: one rebellion, and nothing more. He raised his hands into a salute.

“As you say, honored teacher.”

Instead of following the others out, as he might have otherwise wanted to do, he turned his feet instead to one of the internal gardens in the Nightless City, brightly lit and shining, with a bench for him to sit and observe the designs, seeking calmness and clarity.

Maybe he could meditate a little. At least that would help pass the time -

“Congratulations on your victory.”

Lan Qiren raised his head, surprised out of the trance he’d settled info.

He had not expected anyone to find him in the garden where he was lurking, least of all Lao Nie.

“What victory?” he asked, and the older man grinned at him.

“Your imminent one, of course,” he said, gesturing for Lan Qiren to move over on the bench and settling down next to him once he complied. “That was a fantastic performance you gave earlier, and it wasn’t like we weren’t all expecting the Lan sect to win the music competition anyway.”

“Expecting the Lan sect to win doesn’t mean that I would be the one to win,” Lan Qiren mumbled, feeling his cheeks and ears go hot. “Arrogance –”

“Forbidden? Big surprise,” Lao Nie teased, and Lan Qiren ducked his head.

Technically, as a junior, he shouldn’t be acting overly familiar with sect leaders from other sects, but Lao Nie – no one ever called him Sect Leader Nie, and it wasn’t disrespect but fondness that drove them – was an exception to most rules. His Nie sect was longstanding allies of the Lan sect, and he himself was effortlessly charismatic, charming and gregarious. Even Lan Qiren’s brother admired him.

Lan Qiren also admired him.

It had been Lao Nie’s occasional intervention that had convinced his brother to take Lan Qiren along on some night-hunts when he’d been younger, and while they weren’t especially close by any means – Lan Qiren suspected he was currently simply too young to interest Lao Nie as an equal, as opposed to a junior in need of mentoring, and he longed to get old enough that that to no longer be an issue – Lao Nie was one of the few people Lan Qiren knew that had never minded indulging his eccentricities.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Lao Nie remarked. “With all your talk of travel, I would’ve thought you’d be out exploring the city.”

Lan Qiren’s mood, which had been starting to improve, plummeted.

“Hmm. Sore spot?”

Lan Qiren’s shoulders were up by his shoulders. “I shouldn’t complain.”

“That just means you want to,” Lao Nie said wisely, and nudged him a little with his shoulder. “Did you get ordered to stay behind? You? You never break the rules.”

“I didn’t break the rules! My teacher made a strong recommendation that I reconsider my selection for the independent performance portion of the competition…”

“And you didn’t take the suggestion?” Lao Nie was smiling. “What a show of rebellion.”

Lan Qiren flushed red again. He was being teased, he knew.

“Since you’ve already had one rebellion, why not another?”

Lan Qiren frowned, not understanding.

“Go out,” Lao Nie clarified, still smiling. “There’s still at least half a shichen before dinner; you could see some of the city, apologize later – no? Why not?”

Lan Qiren was shaking his head. “I promised I would listen to my brother,” he said simply. “He instructed me to listen to the teacher, and the teacher said to stay, so I’ll stay. Perhaps tomorrow he will yield and allow me to explore by myself.”

“By yourself?”

“It would trouble the other disciples to be associated with me until there’s been an appropriate opportunity to review my behavior and determine if punishment is required –”

Lao Nie shook his head. Presumably things were different in his Nie sect, as they often were.

“Well, if you really need some company to go out, let me know,” he said.

“I couldn’t presume –”

“I’m offering,” Lao Nie said firmly, and this was why he was Lan Qiren’s favorite sect leader other than his father. Sometimes, secretly, even more than his father. “Really, I don’t understand your sect sometimes. What’s the point of keeping you so restricted? You’re already an adolescent, you’re old enough to join your own night-hunts…you can go night-hunting, right?”

“I can,” Lan Qiren confirmed, because he really was old enough to have gone on his own - old enough to night-hunt and swear oaths, that first formal stage of adulthood - but then conceded, “With company, and permission from the sect. Otherwise, disciples are only permitted to leave the Cloud Recesses to visit family.”

“…your family is the Cloud Recesses, Qiren.”

Lan Qiren shrugged.

“Don’t you feel stifled by it?”

Most of the time, he didn’t. Lan Qiren truly loved his home: he loved the routine of it, the rules; the peacefulness, the predictability, and all the familiar people; he loved the comfort of knowing where everything was and why. There was no place in the world he would rather call home, not even if he had the rest of it placed at his feet.

Still, sometimes…

He shifted a little in his seat, and decided to be a little daring. It was only Lao Nie, after all. “Well, knowing I’ll be able to leave one day helps.”

Lao Nie laughed and reached out to pat Lan Qiren’s head. His hand was large and warm.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t consider a little adventure, earlier on…?” he asked, trailing off.

“No, Sect Leader,” Lan Qiren said, and he wasn’t even that regretful. “I promised my brother. It’s important to him, you know, that I not lose face for him and the sect, and that means it’s important to me. So I won’t. I wouldn’t do that to him.”

Someone cleared their throat.

Lan Qiren looked at the doorway even as Lao Nie pulled back his hand: it was Wen Ruohan, standing there with his hands behind his back, a false smile on his lips and his eyes glittering with some strange and inexplicable emotion. “Several of the other sect leaders are demanding that you come and settle a dispute,” he said to Lao Nie. “Assuming you’re not too busy.”

Lao Nie chuckled. “For my fellow sect leaders? Never. I’ll be along momentarily.”

Wen Ruohan nodded, surveying them both briefly – Lan Qiren felt strangely vulnerable beneath his gaze, and he didn’t know why – before turning away in a swirl of robes.

“He seemed angry,” Lan Qiren observed, wondering why, but Lao Nie was already shaking his head.

“Oh, Hanhan’s more bark than bite,” he said confidently, and Lan Qiren nearly choked. Hanhan? Who would call Wen Ruohan by a diminutive? And anyway, since when did Lao Nie do that – had their relationship changed since the Lan sect conference or something? “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him. Enjoy your upcoming triumph, Qiren!”

Lan Qiren didn’t bother to remind him once again that he was not sure to win, watching him go after Wen Ruohan with long, loping strides that Lan Qiren could only envy, his own frame gawky and still uncoordinated.

He sighed.

“ – such a fuss!” He could still hear Lao Nie in the distance, the older man’s voice carrying a little too far as always. “Really, Hanhan, haven’t you done enough already, with all those rumors that are always going around since last time…?”

A brief pause, murmurs in lower voices.

“ – more honored in the breach. Even in the Lan sect!”

And then there was laughter.

Lan Qiren wondered what Lao Nie meant by that. Was he talking about Lan Qiren? To Wen Ruohan?

Surely not.

[wilwywaylan]

Rest

For day 1 of @ferarepair-week2k17​ !

FE7, Karel x Heath, 1809 words

- Uncle Karel ! Uncle Karel !

The voice rang through the grassy plain, reaching the lone man standing in a bare circle of earth. He didn't let it break his concentration, instead properly finishing his moves, the sword gracefully cutting the air with a swish. He stepped on the side, attacked, then retreated, brought his blade around him, then back in a guard stance. Satisfied with himself, he finally brought the weapon back into the scabbard tied to his belt, and allowed himself to look in the direction where the calls were coming.

A small silhouette bursted through the curtain of grass and lunged at him. Some years before (hell, maybe only a few, even), the swordmaster would have skewered it before his mind even registered the attack, without a hint of regret. But not now, not anymore. The days of killing for his own amusement or blood lust were long gone, and he simply welcomed the small girl with a nod and a smile free of any bitterness or cruelty.

Instead of stopping, though, she ran to him and threw her arms around her waist, hugging him with a surprising strength for someone that small. But when you had her parents, well... Let's just say the apple didn't fall far from the (very large and muscular) tree. Not very used to those displays of affection, Karel gingerly pats the little head, and asked :

- What is it, Fir ? Do your parents know you're out so early ?

- Of course, they do !

Which meant that no, they didn't. But that wasn't his business, Fir would have to deal with the consequences later.

- So ? What do you want ?

- I learnt a new trick with the sword, and I wanted to show you !

She let go of his waist, stepped into the clearing, and unsheated her wooden sword. Karel crossed his arms and looked at her. Like this, with the toy sword proudly brandished and her dark hair hazily tied with a piece of ribbon, she looked so much like her mother. The swordmaster felt a familiar tug at his heart, nostalgia of a time long gone that maybe was just his imagination. He ignored it, and watched his niece achieving a turning circle, blade raised in front of her face, then quickly swept the air left and right, before going back to guard. She then put the sword back and turned to her uncle, beaming.

Karel smiled and clapped. A few years ago, he would have spit a biting comment, maybe an insult, and forced his student to do it again and again, until they would manage to do something they could be proud of. But this was his niece, he loved her, and she was so happy with herself, he didn't want to crush her enthusiasm. Besides, she wasn't her student. And Karla would have had his head if he upset her.

- Impressive, he said with a nod. You'll be a fine swordmaster, like your mother.

Fir's smile got impossibly bigger, and she hugged him again, even tighter this time if that was possible. She let go quickly enough for Karel not to pass out for the lack of air. She then took his hand and asked :

- I want to show it to uncle Heath, can I ?

Of course, she wanted to show him. Fir had taken an immediate liking to the wyvern rider, who reciprocated the feeling. The fact that he had a wyvern played a large part, of course, but Heath could show way more patience with children that Karel would ever be able to, and never failed to praise her when she made progress in swordfight, riding or any other skill she showed him.

A voice called Fir's name, and Karel pushed her in the direction it came, gently.

- You should go back to your father. Besides, your uncle Heath is resting right now, and I don't want him to be woken up. Come back this afternoon, and he'll be awake. And then, you can show him that new move.

With a hastily yelled goodbye, Fir darted away from him, disappearing in the tall grass. Karel watched her for a minute, then retreated towards the house a few hundred meters away. It was small, hidden in the shadow of an old tree, the branchs fanning over it. A discreet place to live and to hide.

It had been decisive in Heath's choice to finally go with him. What had started as a weird relationship between a paranoid ex-soldier, wondering if someone would come to kill him during his sleep, and a bloodthirsty swordmaster looking for a worthy opponent, quickly evolved into something more meaningful... and way more complicated. Karel got a kick out of scaring Heath everytime he could, delighting in seeing him jump to his feet and brandish his spear towards the threat. The rider of course found the joke absolutly idiotic, and more that once, Karel owned his survival only to his quick reflexes that allowed him to escape Hyperion's vengeful jaws.

It could have stayed like that, a cat playing with a scared mouse. But one day, Heath's worse fear became reality, when a detachment of Bern cornered him near a cliff, without his trusted wyvern to come to the rescue. He would have been dead, were it not for Karel who was looking for his toy. Before they knew what happened, they were lying on the floor, a sword through their hearts, at the feet of a bewildered rider and a smirking swordmaster.

Things changed after that. Not much, at first. Karel may have killed people for Heath, but for him, he still was a bloodthirsty killer. Which of course was true. But the swordmaster quickly realized that, if he wanted to play with his toy, he had to make sure that said toy stayed alive. He vowed that, starting now, he would be the only thing that Heath would fear. The wyvern rider quickly noticed that he had a new protector. Which was good and bad news. Good news because he was safe from the ones he fought alongside not too long ago. Bad news because it meant he was now followed by a crazy fighter.

He confronted him one evening. Knowing that Lady Lyndis and Lord Hector weren't too far away, and that Karel would never try anything against him with them around, Heath planted himself in front of the swordmaster, who was cleaning his blade, and asked him what exactly was his point, and why protect him if it was to better murder him by scaring him later.

And Karel didn't know how to answer. Of course, at first, he was for his own, selfish amusement. But now... something in him was tightening, almost... hurting, at the idea of the rider being hurt or killed. Something he was trying to silence, something that was screaming louder and louder that he had to protect him, to keep him close, that life would be way more boring and dull without him around. But he couldn't say that. He, Karel, the Bloodthirsty, the Sword Demon, couldn't confess to a mere human that he didn't want him to go anywhere because he had taken an interest in him. And maybe even... a liking ? He couldn't tell him. He absolutly couldn't, under any circumstances, tell him. That's what he was thinking, when he was already telling him everything. Because as crazy as he was, as bad at human interactions as he was, even he knew that, without a good reason, Heath could very well leave and go and get himself killed.

Heath stayed with him that evening. After that awkward declaration, they talked it out, trying to sort exactly what they were feeling, what was genuine and what was just them being idiots. Heath admitted that being protected felt good, and gave him the impression that someone cared about him, even if it was just to scare him better. Karel recognized that he liked playing tricks on him, but never more, and would feel angry and even... sad if something were to happen to him ?

They talked for a long time, and if they didn't map it out perfectly, they at least decided that there was something there, something they wanted to keep. It was late, and Heath ended falling asleep on Karel's shoulder. Who, of course, didn't quite know what to do. He didn't move, even when the guard on duty threw him a bemused look while feeding the fire. It was weird. Having someone so close to him without trying to kill him was very, very weird. But, he thought while watching the stars, it wasn't that bad. It was warm, and heavy, and his shoulder was starting to ache. But it was a good ache. It was good to have someone close like that, someone to protect. Why, he wondered for the first time, was his strength good for if it wasn't to protect someone ?

At the end of the war, Heath came with him, and his weird lizard too. They decided to find a place to settle, far from Bern. Being hunted had taken a toll on him, and he needed some rest. They finally followed Bartre and Karla, figuring that being close to warriors they could trust could help in the long run. It hadn't been easy, of course. They were vastly different people, with different expectations and wants and needs. But they worked on it. They yelled at each other, they fought, but never physically, and they tried to resolve things instead of letting them poison them. Slowly, they changed. Heath became less high-strung, Karel calmed down, fear and craziness ended up a mere memory of what they were long ago.

Karel pushed the small door, and had to lower his head to come in. Inside, it was dark, all the curtains pulled to block the light. It took him a second to see the silhouette in the bed, the dark hair fanned on the pillow and the strike of white in it. Heath was still soundly asleep. He looked so young like that, so... defenseless. Hard to think this was the same rider he'd seen kill countless times. Hard to think that almost ten years had already gone by. And still, they were there, still together.

The swordmaster sat on the bed, careful of not waking its occupant up, pulled out his blade and started cleaning it. From time to time, he glanced at the sleeping form, still buried under the blankets, and smiled. It had taken years, and countless errors, but he had finally reached the point where he was perfectly content in life. And as long as Heath would be at his side, he would be happy.