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moon-towers · 6 years ago

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Growing Pains

Oneshot - Rayla has been off all day, dismissive even. When her restlessness keeps Callum up all night he goes to investigate what's been eating at the Moonshadow Elf lately. Very gentle, implied Rayllum pining/interest

Read under the fold, or here on Ao3

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Callum shifted in his sleeping sack, unable to fall asleep. Ezran was sprawled half out of his own sleep sack, one arm firmly wrapped around Bait’s sleeping form. It was Rayla who continued to toss and turn, occasionally getting up and pacing restlessly before returning to her spot on the ground.

Callum considered her actions, she is a Moonshadow Elf, she thrives under the light of the moon after all. But they’d already spent a few nights together and Rayla had never been this on edge as they all settled in for the night, and even if she did get up to move around sometime in the night she was typically near silent.

Callum stared at the outcropping of rock above him, the dim light of the dying fire dancing across the stone. He considered how after their evening meal Rayla excused herself for a walk around their resting area, to ensure its safety for each of them, and then she disappeared into the underbrush until the sun had just dipped below the horizon. Callum had attempted to strike up conversation with her, but she was brusque, electing to perch in a tree at the perimeter of their campsite.

Ezran was already asleep by the time she jumped from the tree and tossed her rucksack to the ground to try and sleep. Callum supposed she thought him to be asleep as well, as she got up to pace around for the third time this hour. This time, however, she clambered through the small clearing with an uncharacteristic inelegance. Callum turned, propping his arm beneath his head to catch a better view of the elf as she continued toward the treeline.

He wrinkled his brow as he continued to observe her, the way she clung to the tree just as it came into arms length, or the way she drug her hands through her hair, roughly pulling against her scalp. Callum debated on taking the opportunity to reattempt sleep now that Rayla was much further away, her strange ritual quieted by the distance. He had only just closed his eyes when a muffled moan caught his ears.

Callum sat up, digging through his bag for his waterskin before rising to approach Rayla. He took stock that her twin blades sat on the ground beside her bag, folded neatly.

“No slishing and slashing if I startle her, at least,” Callum murmured, fidgeting with his waterskin as he neared the elf. Callum stood only a few feet away now, still unnoticed by Rayla, who leaned against the tree pressing the heel of her palms against her eyes. “Rayla? I brought you some water, didn’t know if you needed it,” Callum murmured, more for his own sake than hers, not wanting to risk totally surprising her with his sudden appearance.

She only groaned in response, lifting a hand to reveal one lilac eye, shadowed by heavy bags beneath it. Callum wordlessly brought the waterskin to her free hand, pressing it into her grasp as a silent urge to drink from it. Rayla’s other hand fell from her face to unscrew the cap, keeping her eyes on Callum before taking a careful gulp and returning the container to Callum.

Silence passed between them for a few moments. “So,” Callum started, kicking at the ground as though he were afraid to continue his sentence. “Are you gonna tell me what’s been keeping you up, or do you just want me to leave you be?”

Rayla only turned her eyes skyward, Callum followed suit, searching for what she might be looking for on a cloudy night like tonight. The moon could barely be made out, a faint shining sphere draped by a curtain of clouds. If his memory was correct the moon was still waning somewhere between half and new moon. He wondered briefly if its stages had any effect on Rayla.

“It’s really nothin’” Rayla breathed, loosing a half-hearted laugh. “Sorry if I kept ya up with all my amblin about.”

It was Callum’s turn to let the silence between them linger, he wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t know Rayla well enough to press the issue, and he had already prefaced with the concept of leaving her alone if she wishes. He could kick himself, of course she’d opt to push the human away when she was clearly in a moment of weakness. The analogy of a wounded animal jumped to the forefront of his mind, but he pressed it back, unwilling to liken her to a desperate creature just because she wasn’t human.

Rayla released an aggravated groan and half sat-half fell to the ground, pulling her small form as close to herself as she could, hands clasping just above her temple. Callum was still for only a breath before dropping to his own knees, unsure how to proceed from here.

“Rayla, you really can’t think I believe you when you say it’s nothing, right?” His hands hovered over her, somewhere between a protective stance and comforting hug.

“It’s just my head,” Rayla ground out, her eyes screwed tightly shut, contorting the dark marks that dripped down her face not unlike tear lines.

“A migraine? I know that Ezran has got a herb for that somewhere in his bag--”” Callum jumped to his feet. “I can brew tea for it--I swear it works like a charm every time--”

A four-fingered hand clutched his own hand in a crushing grasp. “No, it’s--it’s not the brainy bits that hurt… its…” Had she not been in so much pain Callum may have noted the embarrassment that was painted across her face. “It’s jus growin’ pains.”

Growing pains? Callum recalled the soreness in his joints from growth spurts maybe a year or two ago, but never severe headaches like this. He tried to remember a time his head hurt in a way that wasn’t a headache--had she hit her head when patrolling after dinner?

“Are you sure tea wouldn’t help? Just because it’s not a migraine doesn’t mean it won’t help your headache!”

Her hand, still holding him by the wrist tightened once more. “No you dobber! My horns--” Rayla ground out the words, throwing her head back against the tree, releasing Callum’s hand to throw her arm over her eyes. “I could cut these things off right about now, been killin’ me all day.”

Well, it certainly explained her sour mood today, Callum thought. He hadn’t considered that before though, the physical process of Rayla’s horns growing and pressing against her skull. It gave him a whole new appreciation for her endearing term for he and Ezran--flat-skulls.

Still wary about deliberately touching Rayla, Callum rocked back to sit on his bottom. They sat for a long moment without moving, though Rayla continued to squirm uncomfortably.

Callum finally elected to help however he might, angling so that he sat slightly behind Rayla. He set down his water skin, cautiously rubbing his hands together before weaving them into Rayla’s hair until the pads of his fingers found her scalp. Gently he applied pressure, methodically moving his hands across her skull, trying to relieve the grinding pain she felt.

“What in the name of Xadia are you doing, Callum?” Rayla’s words conveyed annoyance, but her head lulled back into his touch a bit. Callum’s face reddened, thinking of the way his mother would lovingly massage his head and hair as a young boy when he felt scared or stressed.

He looked away, back up toward the cloudy sky where the moon now barely peaked through the grey cover. “I just wanted to help--we have a lot of travelling to do still to get that egg back home, so you have to be ready for tomorrow too.”

Rayla hummed in response, leaning more into the touch until her shoulders fell squarely against Callum’s chest. His hands were not as tough and callused as they should be, considering how often he skipped out on training with Soren. He was never one for brute force, rather more delicate tasks like drawing or writing.

Instead Callum’s hands wandered carefully across Rayla’s scalp, mindful of the sensitive horns that jutted from just above her hairline. As his hands moved he was also sure to avoid her elven ears, unsure of how she might respond to him touching them without permission. Callum was shocked she had not yet batted him away from her head, since even he still wasn’t entirely sure what possessed him to touch her like his.

“Growing up I got nothing but tough love from Runaan,” Rayla murmured, splitting the silence which had settled between them. “It wasn’t all bad, he taught me a lot about how to handle life. I guess no one ever showed him a lick of tenderness though, because this--” she tilted her head into his hands a bit, “--is a far cry from his tried and true strategy of lickin’ your wounds in private.”

Callum could have laughed at her voicing the exact analogy he’s just mentally denied himself, but he instead focused on the conversation Rayla had presented.

“My mom,” he paused, unsure what to say. It was a tough subject for him, and Ezran had no real memories of their mother, making his happy memories with her feel even more bittersweet. “She would always massage my scalp or play with my hair as a kid. I think she coddled me so much because she was trying to make up for my dad dying and her remarrying.”

Rayla tilted her head so she could look toward Callum, “I suppose that’s better than being the one living in shame for their parents actions.”

Callum looked back down at the girl beneath him, studying the patterns in her horns, the way her chest rose and fell rhythmically, and how her heavy lidded eyes had finally shuttered her lilac orbs even as she spoke.

“I think I work so hard because I’m always trying to make up for their failure before the Dragon King.” She wrung her hands, fingering the ribbon around her wrist. “I might not be cut out to be an assassin, but I know it’s my duty to get that egg back safe. It means so much to Xadia, and has even wider implications for the relations between Humans and Xadians as a whole.”

Callum nodded thoughtfully, also aware of how important their mission was. He was grateful though that their conversation had seemed to help bring her attention away from her state of pain. He pressed his fingers into the base of each horn, kneading the sensitive scalp flanking her dark horns. Rayla only shimmied in, giving him greater access to her scalp, a silent beckon for him to continue.

She looked peaceful like this, Callum thought.

His fingers brushed against the crown of her head, watching how his ministrations seemed to melt away the tension that previously marred her features.

Rayla’s body was almost entirely slack, and her breathing had deepened. She’d fallen asleep. Callum blushed, feeling the heat rush in his ears at the way she slouched against him. He was stuck, pinned between Rayla and the tree behind them.

He briefly wished he had his sketchbook so he could capture Rayla in a moment where she’s totally unaware--a rare state for her. Callum settled for committing the image to memory, finally pulling his hands from her hair.

Hesitantly, Callum secured one hand respectfully against Rayla’s waist to ensure she didn’t slide off of him in her sleep. His other hand briefly toyed with a longer section of her hair, unsure what exactly to do in this position.

Callum pressed his head back into the tree trunk and gazed up into the sky once more, noting it had cleared considerably since he first looked. The waning crescent was clear, surrounded by the shimmering light of surrounding stars. He fell asleep like that, holding Rayla close, sure that she would wake before him and never mention this night to him again.

Before truly drifting off, Callum promised himself to draw her sleeping face from memory in his next free moment. Because when she had her guard down, she looked just like the silver moon that emerged shyly from its gray cover of clouds.

#I uwu'd while writing this #Rayllum #Well... platonic or romantic... you decide #Oneshot #TDP #the dragon prince #Callum #Rayla #TDP Callum #TDP Rayla #TDP Rayllum #Netflix the dragon prince #Rayllum Oneshot

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minttoy · 5 years ago

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all that we lost (end)

CHAPTER FIVE (END)

Summary: Five years since the war has passed. Five years since she joined the Dragon Guard. Five years since she saw either of the princes. One of them is a King now. Rayla doesn’t consider herself blessed. How could she lose so much of herself and gain nothing back? The war has come and gone, and still she’s counting her losses. Amidst this fractured peace, she returns to Katolis to make up for lost time.

Pairings: Callum/Rayla

Genre: Romance/Angst

Click here to read on FF.net.

Click here to read on AO3.

For Chapter 1:

Chapter 1 (FF.net)

Chapter 1 (AO3)

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Incense burns and fills the air with flagrant smoke.

Ezran’s on his knees, head bowed in front of his mother’s alter, palms pressed together as he mumbles in hushed prayer. Rayla kneels on the dirt beside him, hands folded neatly on her lap and listens. She offers her silence and respect to the alter instead.

In front of her, Queen Sarai is carved in stone, delicately molded to capture her beauty and heart. She’d heard many stories of the woman, spread and spoken by civilians and her own two sons. She noticed all of them vouched for her courage and kindness. As far as Rayla’s concerned, she’s grateful for the woman. The war would still rage if not for the way she raised her sons.

In the far horizon, the sky bleeds orange and yellow hues of warmth. A whisper of a breeze grazes her cheek. Combined with the earthy scent of doused incense, the atmosphere is soft and soothing. Ezran’s voice eventually hushes into silence.

“You know, if I could be granted a single wish, I’d wish they were still here,” he starts, not necessarily with a sigh. For a second, he also glances towards his father’s alter. “For guidance, mostly. I always fear I’m not doing enough as king, even though I’m just trying to do what’s right by this kingdom.”

When she looks over sidelong, he looks younger somehow. Underneath those royal garbs and golden crown, she sees the boy forced to grow up too fast.

“What more can you do? Is that not enough?”

Ezran shrugs loosely. “I’m not sure. It’s just…I feel overwhelmed sometimes.”

She places a hand on his shoulder. “That’s okay. Just remember, your parents loved this kingdom and everything in it. That means your job now is to protect it. So long as you keep that in mind, then I’ve no doubt you’re doing it right.”

He remains silent, unmoving. She can’t see on his face if her words are finding their mark, but his shoulders are relaxed and the hardness on his face has lifted slightly. He’s silent for a moment longer and it makes her wonder just how much he’s listening.

“How about you, Rayla?” he pipes up, shifting course. “If you had one wish, what would it be?”

Her lips pull to a small smirk. The concept is almost childlike, like a stretch of imagination, or based in fantasy. She’s had to ground herself in the soreness of reality for a while now. Her reality. But strange enough, she knows her answer.

“I wish my parents were here too.”

She doesn’t hesitate because she’s known for years. But her wish is largely different from Ezran’s. “I want to apologize to them. For a long time, I called them cowards. I despised them for what they did. Having been through it now…they didn’t deserve any of it.”

His expression is thoughtful, appreciative. She’s gotten better at being honest. He pushes himself up to his feet, catching her attention. “You should forgive yourself.”

She nods. For once, her voice is clear and calm, “I know.”

Ezran’s smile is radiant and proud, but he faces the side so she only sees the corner of his lips. He gazes out into the quiet horizon. “Your last day, right?”

“That’s right.”

“You should come back soon then. You’re welcome anytime here.”

Rayla stands up and follows his gaze. “I will.”

There’s an air of certainty this time, unlike the last. Ezran tips his head towards the direction of town. “Callum said he wanted to see you before you go. He might be waiting at the stable.”

She nods, but not before getting one last final look. She memorizes the curl of his hair, each line and crinkle of his smile, the way he stands up straighter now that he’s king. She commits it to memory.

“Thank you, Ezran. For everything.”

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The morning air is still crisp and cool. The streets are nearly empty this time in the morning, but remnants from yesterday’s festivities still remain.

Rayla’s already mapping her route back to Xadia, recalling the stops she made along the way. She fast-walks towards the stable, ties up her hair and slips into a loose coat. Remembering where she is, she pulls out what gold she has left to tip the keepers. Even now, she still finds the custom rather strange.

Sure enough, Callum is there when she arrives. He’s in the midst of dozing off, or was, because he pushes himself off the post with a jolting start when she walks into view.

She smirks and waves a casual hand. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

He straightens up slowly and yawns into his hand. “Apparently not. What about you?”

Rayla shrugs. It’s not hard to compare, especially when the comforts of a proper bed is infrequent in the Guard. She’s used to sleeping on the ground. “Pretty good, actually.”

She watches with mild amusement as Callum valiantly fights another wave of drowsiness threatening to crash over. His lids are half-open, and he forces himself to yawn again, just to keep them from closing.

“You should have slept in. You seemed exhausted last night,” she ventures, crossing her arms. She knows him well enough he won’t admit it. He’ll resort to stubbornness if it comes to that.

“But I wanted to see you off,” he says, but his voice is groggy. It gives him away. Perhaps his exhaustion, or maybe even a mild morning hangover, is interfering with his filter.

She follows up with a sigh. “Then could you sit down, at least?”

As if she just gave an order, he does just that.

Now that he’s in less danger of tripping over himself, she brushes past him to where her horse feeds on grains and roughage. Rolling up her sleeves, she hefts the saddle on the worktable and gets started on untangling the cords and untying belt loops.

Callum watches quietly, listening to the sounds of squeaky leather and clinking metal, mesmerized as she inspects the saddle for wear and tear.

“I still don’t know why you left, you know,” he pipes up suddenly.

She pauses her task, and when she turns her head over her shoulder, there’s no strain or discomfort in her expression, just confusion.

“I never told you?”

He shakes his head.

With a sigh, Rayla turns and leans against the table. She closes her eyes, contemplating how bizarre it is that she’s going to talk about her parents twice now just this morning. Already her day is filled with unusual happenstances.

“I’ve brought up my parents with you before, haven’t I?”

“A few times.”

She looks down at her palms and rubs the calloused spots, the way she does when she talks about something slightly uncomfortable. “They were part of the Guard too. I never saw them after that and eventually, they become strangers to me. As you know, I was raised by someone else.”

He remains silent. He already knew. Perhaps it was always that simple. She’d joined out of familial obligation and tradition.

She makes a cutting motion with her hand. “It’s not why I joined,” she adds, as if reading his mind. He blinks, appraising the hardening expression taking over.

She continues, “All my life, I’d always been curious. I wanted to know why they did it. Why they left. Why was the job so much bigger than me?”

Callum gulps, sensing where this is going. Part of him regrets bringing it up now.

“I used to rack my brain thinking about it. As a parent, what was so important out there in the world, that you would leave your child? Someone you’re supposed to love, right? Neither of them stayed so I was kept in the dark.” A hollow smile surfaces, followed by a defeated sigh. “And then the war ended. Right in front of me was an opportunity to solve my life’s greatest mystery.”

He peers at her cautiously. “You followed their footsteps.”

She swallows hard. He’s hit it right on the nail. “Imagine. Going through all of that just to find out it’s not worth it,” she says reflectively, bitterly. She bites down the memory. “I suppose I really am their daughter, aren’t I? Ironically, it meant leaving behind someone important and dear to me as well.”

Silence stretches between them. It doesn’t take him long to realize she means him.

Her expression crinkles a little and morphs into something apologetic. “I’m sorry I tested our relationship like that. It was selfish. I didn’t stop to consider how it hurt you,” she says, inwardly hoping this apology is her last. How horrible it feels to be so full of sorry and have nothing to show for it.

Callum looks more awake now after her small revelation.

Rayla pushes herself off the table and focuses again on the saddle. “Mind if I borrow a hand?”

He fishes himself out of deep thought and rushes to her side in a matter of seconds. Together, they tackle her mount with the worn-out saddle and Callum decides he won’t prod about her parents any longer. At the same time, he remembers how familiar this feeling is. The thought of her leaving again, with no timeline for return, puts a bitter taste in his mouth.

He ambles over to her side and pats the mare softly once they’re finished securing the bolts.

“I guess I’m good to go,” she says, stepping back to appraise the steed. She turns to him. “Anything else you want to know?”

He supposes a proper goodbye is in order. “Nothing else. Just…be careful out there. Keep your eyes on the road, take shelter from rain, get some rest…things like that. I know you’re more than capable, but can you promise me you’ll look after yourself?”

Rayla looks up at him, eyes gentle and bright. She knows he’s only asking for his own sake and assurance.

This time, she’ll give it to him.

When she reaches up to kiss him, it’s light as air, like particles meeting and separating. And yet, his lips are warm and so are hers. He soaks in the feathery feeling of the moment, her earthy scent filling his senses, her hand on his chest, her lips on his, even for the small and miniscule moment before she pulls away.

Afterwards, he’s caught between confusion and bliss.

She smiles, one last effort to convince him she’ll be steady and careful. “I promise.”

Callum watches as she hoists herself up on her steed.

“Any chance I could convince you to stay?” he asks coyly, perhaps for old times’ sake.

He expects an eye-roll or a scoff. Something along the lines of ‘Not again’, but he doesn’t get one. Instead, her face is instilled with contemplation.

“One day,” she finally says. From her perch, she smirks down at him. “…but not today. Maybe if you ask me later?”

He stares with wide eyes and raised brows. “Later? How long are we talking?”

She shrugs. “A year, at most?”

“Just a year?” he echoes in disbelief.

For some reason, Rayla finds his shock rather amusing. “Well, I have a few things to sort out at the Guard. I can’t leave my comrades in the dust just like that. That’s not how it works unfortunately,” she explains as a matter-of-fact.

He still hasn’t processed his disbelief yet. “I was prepared for another five.”

Now she scoffs and gives him the eye roll he expects. “It’s entirely up to you.”

She decides to leave it at that. A promise to both princes. She’ll do better fulfilling them this time. With a small kick, she prompts her creature to an unhurried trot out of the open gate. She shoots Callum one last look. He understands her better now. That alone makes the visit well worth it.

“Take care.”

“See you soon.”

Somehow, she leaves Katolis with renewed hope and vigour.

Somehow, her despairing soul is rocked to quiet waiting.

Somehow, she’s found it – amnesty, sealed with a promise. How lucky, for someone who doesn’t consider herself blessed. Even as the cold breeze caresses her skin as she rides off, her bones and chest are filled with warmth.

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Now that it’s finished, I want to thank all the lovely and wonderful readers who’ve taken interest and left their thoughts! Regarding the ending, perhaps down the line, I’ll make an epilogue forwarding a few years later. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed it! - Mint

#rayllum #rayla x callum #tdp rayllum #tdp rayla #tdp callum #angst #romance #Dragon Prince #fanfiction #dragon prince fanfic

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years ago

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Moonberry Wishes (Ruthari Week 2021 #2)

Pairing: Ruthari

Rating: T

Tags: post-coin Runaan, Runaan pulls an Eljaal, belated reunion, angry Ethari, all the feels, angst, fluff, i missed you, toppy Ethari, Runaan is never gonna be ready to hear about Rayllum

Prompt: Leaving/Returning

Moonberry Wishes

The clang of sword on shield snapped Runaan out of his morning meditation. His eyes opened on the now-familiar view of the rocky slopes of eastern Duren, their golden stone bleached with early morning sunlight. Squinting against the light, Runaan tracked the sound of battle, snatched up his bowblade, and hurled himself off the high stone ledge where he’d made secure camp the night before. The descent to the narrow pass a few hundred meters below wasn’t difficult for one with his skills, and he leaped easily from boulder to boulder as he descended past the timber line toward the old trade road.

The faint flicker of a small cooking fire at the edge of the road caught his eye as he targeted a cluster of figures at the far edge of the road. Someone had camped there in the night, and he hadn’t heard a thing! The assassin tossed his confusion aside and leaped down, skidding dramatically through a cloud of fine pale dust shot through with angled sunbeams, expecting the attackers to turn and run, or possibly turn and stare. To acknowledge his arrival, at the very least--he was a Moonshadow elf, and making himself known on purpose was a rare treat.

But no one did. Not even the traveler he’d rushed in to rescue. The man stood still, his back to Runaan, the hood of his cloak pulled up.

Runaan blinked mid-skid and reassessed, fingers tense on his bowstring.

Half a dozen bandits had clearly attempted to besiege this man. Yet three of them lay sprawled in the dust already, and one hung by his belt from a broken tree limb three meters off the ground. As Runaan skidded in, another bandit got shoved backward through the air and plopped into a muddy patch in the woods with a squelch.

Runaan sought the last bandit as he battled his surprise. He seemed to have found the one human who could hold his own as well as an assassin against half a dozen attackers. He finally spotted the greasy man when his head rose up over the traveler’s hood, caught in the would-be victim’s grip as he was bodily lifted into Runaan’s line of sight by the front of his shirt. The traveler’s other arm dropped to his side, revealing a small round silvery shield strapped to his forearm.

Runaan reassessed again, casting his gaze around the small campsite, seeking clues as to who this strange paradox of a person was.

The traveler had camped in the most foolish location, right where any passing rogue could find him. Yet he’d somehow managed to set up his camp silently in the night. He carried no sword, but he’d bested half a dozen desperate humans with a small shield. His campfire was expertly laid, but the aroma that rose from it was one of stewing fruits.

Runaan’s eyes narrowed. He suddenly doubted that this stranger had ever needed his help at all.

“I have a question for you,” the traveler huffed to his captive, catching his breath from their quick scuffle. “And if you answer me truthfully, you can be on your way.” His voice was soft velvet over cold steel, and its gentle brogue stabbed Runaan in the gut with an icicle made of all the frozen feelings he’d tried to ignore for nearly a year.

The world telescoped around him, streaking past his vision with dizzying speed. His freedom from the coin, his shame and uncertainty over failing half his mission, the strange sense of mourning he felt over feeling his blood oath breaking with his supposed death, his decision to wander in search of new purpose instead of returning home and learning he’d been ghosted. His honor had always been vital to his identity, and he hadn’t been ready to face the risk of having it stripped away despite his best and most dutiful intentions. Three seasons had passed since he’d turned his boots toward the west, and not one step had landed on Xadian soil.

But apparently Xadia had grown tired of waiting for him. This stranger was no human. This stranger didn’t sound like a stranger, either.

Runaan’s breath burst from his mouth in a single disbelieving gasp. “Ethari?”

The traveler dropped his bandit like a discarded cloak and spun to face Runaan. His silvery shield thudded to the dirt unheeded. Warm brown eyes blazed out at the errant assassin from beneath a dark blue hood edged with locks of long black hair, and his dark skin was unmarked by blue Moonshadow paint. He also sported five fingers on each hand.

Runaan let out a soft grunt of pain. This man wasn’t his--

The traveler’s mouth fell open in surprise at the sight of the Moonshadow before him. A quick hand flicked back his hood, and a pale shimmering spell rippled across his body.

Runaan’s eyes widened even further.

The Moon spell danced around the traveler’s hidden features, revealing elf horns, cheek markings, shoulder swirls. His black hair became shaggy and white, and his eyes warmed to a soft sunset, just as wide as Runaan’s were.

The elves stared at each other in shock. To the side, the discarded bandit scrambled to his feet and hesitantly edged away, his gaze darting between the safety of the forest and the big elf who had flicked him aside.

“Never mind,” Ethari told him in a faint voice, eyes locked onto Runaan. “I found him.”

The bandit nodded eagerly as if he’d actually been of help. He gathered up his foolhardy compatriots, and together the humans bolted without a backward glance.

Runaan tracked him with a tense stare until he was out of sight before he let himself drink in the sight of his precious craftsman from head to toe. Tension he’d been holding for nearly a year began to ease from his shoulders. “Ethari.” His voice was a tentative prayer.

“Runaan.” Ethari’s voice was faint, too.

The assassin’s eyes dropped to the shield. Its edge was rimmed with all the phases of the Moon. Runaan wondered briefly how many enchantments Ethari had crammed into its swirlies. “You’re fighting?” he murmured.

“I’m on a mission,” Ethari corrected breathlessly. His chest was still heaving, but Runaan suspected it was for a different reason now.

Runaan felt the first hints of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t smiled since the Silvergrove, but Ethari always had a way of--

Ethari’s brows lowered sharply. “To find Xadia’s biggest dumbass.”

Runaan’s eyes widened. “What?”

With a growl, Ethari charged at him. Runaan managed to drop his bowblade safely into a nearby fern before Ethari seized him by the front of his shirt and backed him up against a nearby tree trunk. Runaan gripped his husband’s wrists and braced for impact, wincing as his horn tip clattered against the rough bark. His toes slipped on an angled root and dangled in the air as Ethari pinned him easily in place. Runaan’s eyes danced from his husband’s furious eyes to his bulging deltoids to his aggressive stance to his fingers knotting in Runaan’s shirt to the way those two soft locks of hair always fluttered right in the middle of his forehead, and finally managed to focus on his mouth, which had been pouring an angry stream of words past his ears for several seconds.

“--where the fuck have you been? Why didn’t you come home? I thought you were dead! Or lost! Or hurt! Or captured again! I was worried sick! Did you ever think about that? Did you?”

Runaan opened his mouth to stammer a reply.

Ethari’s question was apparently rhetorical. He bulled onward: “I gave Rayla your lotus in a jar of water from the pool, and she said she’d bring you back to me. And she started to promise me, and do you know what I did, Runaan? Do you? I stopped her. I couldn’t take another broken promise from an assassin standing beside my ritual pool. I couldn’t take it. So I sent her off without it, and I started to hope again. And the full Moon came, and went, and I couldn’t sleep a wink, for days and days. I waited! I waited for you, you shadowsaken idiot!”

Runaan couldn’t look away. The full force of Ethari’s rage and sorrow poured into his eyes and slammed against his chest, leaving him breathless. “I…”

Ethari wasn’t nearly done, though. “And then Rayla returned to the Silvergrove, with Lain and Tiadrin and Callum and Ezran and the Queen of the Sunfire Elves and her human girlfriend--”

“Her what?” Runaan blurted.

“--and she had to tell me to my face that you’d run away,” Ethari continued. “Left in the night. Bolted. Scarpered. Fled, like some kind of coward. She had to say those words to me, and she had to watch me crumple to the floor and fall apart, again!” He checked Runaan against the tree a second time. “Again, Runaan!” Another shove. “I fell apart again!” And another. “How many times am I going to let you destroy my heart before I’ve had enough?” Furious tears spilled down Ethari’s cheeks and lost themselves in his markings.

“N-No…” Runaan’s whispered denial shivered into a sudden sob. Ethari’s angry slams barely registered compared to the pain of seeing his tears. His fingers fluttered toward Ethari’s cheeks, aching to wipe away the sorrow he’d caused. “I’m so sor--”

Ethari pulled him away from the tree and slammed him back against it with more force, interrupting Runaan’s gesture. “I’m not finished!” he roared. “Don’t you dare be soft with me before I’ve gotten this off my chest! I’ve been carrying it alone for ten months and I’ll be bloodcursed if I let you stop me from unloading every last word now that I’ve found you, do you hear me?”

Half terrified, half dazzled at the raw power in Ethari’s voice, Runaan could only nod mutely and cling to his husband’s wrists for dear life.

“Good!” Ethari yelled. He panted heavily for a few breaths, staring Runaan in the eye with a baleful glare, before asking in a slightly less aggressive tone, “Alright, now where was I?”

A distant light dawned in Runaan’s heart, and his brows lifted softly. “You were asking me how many times you were going to let me destroy your heart before you’ve had enough,” he supplied gently.

Ethari’s fists tightened in Runaan’s shirt. He slowed his breathing and swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was merely resentful. “Right. Yes. Thank you.”

Runaan felt one of his own tears escape over the edge of his cheek. His heart was absolutely thrumming with Ethari’s presence. His warmth, his strength, the smell of his breath, the shivering rumble of his voice--Runaan was nearly delirious with so much enchanting proof of his husband’s existence right there in front of him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing in Ethari’s grip. When he opened them again, they lingered on Ethari’s hands for a long moment, and he gave his husband’s wrists a long, fervent squeeze. “You’re welcome,” he murmured.

“No, don’t you do that, don’t you be soft and handsome when I’m angry at you,” Ethari protested grumpily. He set Runaan on his feet and checked him lightly against the tree with a quick press of his fingertips.

Runaan let out a soft grunt as his back connected with the bark again. “I keep asking you to tell me how to stop doing that, but you never have.”

Ethari glared balefully at him, and his lip curled once again. But then his bottom lip shivered, and his face crumpled into longing. He cupped Runaan’s head in his hands, bringing their foreheads together with a soft bump and pressing hard. One hand wound into Runaan’s hair, and the other encircled his shoulders, pulling him tightly against Ethari’s chest until their noses brushed tips. “You utter idiot. I missed you,” Ethari breathed, so softly Runaan almost didn’t catch it.

Uncertain but needy, Runaan slipped his hands inside Ethari’s cloak and gripped the back of his broad belt, pulling their bodies flush. He waited, silent, soaking up every heartbeat of this soft, precious, long-awaited contact with his beloved.

“I stayed, for a while.” Ethari’s words rode just above a whisper, and their warmth brushed Runaan’s lips. “For Lain and Tiadrin, and for Rayla. But they knew. They knew. They knew before I did.”

Runaan’s fingers squeezed tighter, clinging, needing to hear the rest but fearing the truth of the pain his absence had caused.

“I didn’t know where to begin, but Rayla helped me. And so did King Ezran, and Prince Callum, and Queen Aanya, and Lujanne, too. I started wandering, following stories of a shadowy hero who always saved people from danger and vanished into the night. No one ever admitted to getting a good look at him, no one remembered his words. They just knew they owed him their lives.”

Runaan huffed in wry amusement. He’d thought he was changing his life entirely, and yet his husband had known him in an instant, merely from stories of his minor exploits. “I can’t ever hide from you, can I?”

“I could recognize you by touch alone,” Ethari breathed, “by smell. I would know you blind, by the way your breaths came and your feet struck the earth. I would know you in death, at the end of the world.”

A wry smile lifted one corner of Runaan’s mouth. “I think we’ve been.”

Ethari cupped Runaan’s cheeks softly and gave him a steady look. “You made me a promise, Runaan, to return my heart to me.”

“I did.”

“But I had to go looking for it myself.”

Runaan’s gaze dropped. “You did.”

Ethari gently lifted his chin with a finger until their eyes met again. “Well? I’m here now.”

Runaan’s brows twitched down. “But… I failed you. I destroyed it, with my carelessness and my pride. You just asked me--”

Ethari pressed his finger against Runaan’s lips. “I asked you how many times. I know. Because it’s happened more than once. I know that, too. Yes, I’m angry with you. But I didn’t hike all over Garlath’s green earth just to tell you to stuff it, you great stupid moonberry.”

“What did you hike all over Garlath’s green earth to tell me, then?” Runaan asked, half afraid of the answer.

“I’m a Master Craftsman, Runaan. You should remember well how many weapons I’ve repaired for you over the years, because it’s been a lot. And I’ve repaired other things for you, too. Your feelings. Your body. Your own heart.”

Runaan went still under Ethari’s touch as a frenetic parade of memories streaked past his mind’s eye. Ethari’s soft words, soft touch, soft kisses, ten thousand times over. Overcome, he pressed his cheek into his husband’s hand and nodded, feeling hot tears slipping past his lashes.

“I’m not a Master Craftsman for nothing. I can repair anything I choose to. Anything at all,” Ethari continued softly. He leaned his forehead against Runaan’s again. “And I choose to repair my own heart when you break it. I choose. To re-pair my heart. With yours.”

Runaan laughed through a sob at his husband’s pun and slid gentle arms around his husband, reassuring himself of his husband’s warm, solid strength.

Ethari sighed in relief at Runaan’s gesture. “I hiked all over Garlath’s green earth to choose you, again. But I need to know, Runaan… What do you choose?”

Runaan sought his husband’s warm sunset eyes and found them brimming with emotion. His own lip trembled at the sight of the pain he’d caused his most beloved. A thousand years of tradition flashed through his mind, its insistence foggy and distant without the pull of his lost oath. Without that urgency pounding through his own blood, there was only one thing he longed to be: with Ethari. With this elf whom he’d hurt, with this elf whom he was very sure he didn’t deserve.

He cupped his husband’s face and bared his heart for whatever fate awaited him. “You,” he said, through an ecstatic sob. “I choose you. Take this heart of yours back, Ethari, if you truly still want it. I did my best to keep it safe, but it deserved so much more care than I could give it… I did you wrong, my heart, so wrong, and I dare not make you any promises, but...” Runaan’s words faded to desperate puffs of breath that ghosted across Ethari’s lips as he leaned closer, drawn by the dizzyingly warm, solid presence of his precious husband. “My heart… I missed you, too...”

Ethari met him halfway, and he tasted as if they’d never been apart. They pulled each other close, full of eager hands and soft whimpers. Runaan’s head spun with the blessed ecstasy of his husband’s kisses, and he clung to Ethari’s sturdy shoulders for balance even as he pressed himself closer against him.

All those months apart suddenly seemed to be happening all at once, endless yet instantaneous. Runaan felt eight kinds of fool for letting his blasted honor get in the way of the love this glorious elf was determined to shower him with. With a soft cry, he buried his face against Ethari’s neck and threw his arms around his shoulders. Ethari wrapped him in a tight hug and rocked him slowly, humming into his hair.

“What do I do now?” Runaan murmured brokenly into Ethari’s purple scarf.

“Come home,” Ethari said promptly. He caressed Runaan’s cheek and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Come home.”

Runaan raised his head, accepting Ethari’s easy words as proof that he hadn’t been ghosted back in the Silvergrove. But in that quiet moment there in his husband’s arms, high in the mountains of Duren, he realized that, for the first time in his life, he didn’t care what the Silvergrove thought of him. Only Ethari’s regard mattered now. “You’re my home. And you’re right in front of me.”

His husband’s eyes lit with eager warmth, and a teasing lilt accompanied his sassy grin. “Then you’d better come here.”

Runaan bit his lip at his husband’s suggestive pun. “My camp’s just up the slope.”

Ethari took Runaan’s face in his hands, backed him gently against the tree again, and kissed him passionately. When he finally let Runaan up for air, he gasped, “What in Garlath’s green earth makes you think I can wait that long?”

Some while later, the husbands ambled along the mountain road, hand in hand, with nowhere in particular to go. Ethari talked as lightly as he could of the things he had seen, and Runaan listened with a full heart and trod with a quiet and grateful step. His hand never left Ethari’s, needing constant reassurance that he was truly there beside him after so long, that he had truly come looking for his long-lost husband. That Runaan was worth searching for, despite all he had done.

If Ethari noticed the occasional tear of humble gratitude slipping over Runaan’s cheeks, he was kind enough not to draw attention to it. Instead, he easily shifted topics to give Runaan time to adjust, telling sweet anecdotes and dramatic retellings and recounting his brushes with powerful figures that Runaan already knew, and some he didn’t. He hopped and twirled and bowed in time with his stories, never once letting go of his wayward husband’s hand, spinning close for the occasional kiss as he always had.

“...and then the Tidebound ambassador arrived and caused quite a splash,” Ethari said as they crested a hill. A warm breeze wafted up from the valley below, ruffling Runaan’s side tails and Ethari’s scarf. “Literally, the elf shot himself out of the well! I could hear the humans yelping all the way back at the blacksmith’s shop. If it hadn’t been for Callum’s quick thinking, that first contact would’ve been quite the wet blanket! But he had everything sorted in minutes. Rayla’s truly chosen well, my heart.”

Runaan’s feet slowed. “Chosen well…?”

Ethari paused, wide-eyed. “Surely they told you when they freed you.”

Runaan’s eyes narrowed. “They mysteriously neglected to mention.”

"But why would she-?" To Runaan’s surprise, Ethari suddenly burst into snorting laughter. “Ah. Clever girl.”

“What?” Runaan asked, suspicious.

“I should’ve known what that wicked twinkle in her eye was about when I told her I’d come searching for you. She’s letting me do the mentioning for her, right now. She knows us too well, love.”

Runaan blinked. Rayla and the human prince? Together? The scheming young couple had left Ethari to search for his husband, and to unwittingly break the news of their courtship to him, knowing that Runaan would take such disturbing news best from the elf he loved most.

That didn’t mean he’d take it well.

“I’ll be right back.” Runaan spun on his heel, stalking directly toward Katolis.

Ethari planted his feet and towed Runaan right back around in front of him, though. He pulled the wayward assassin into his arms and kissed him right on his frown. “Welcome back! I missed you. Again.” His dark brows bent softly.

Runaan’s tense expression broke, and his eyebrows drifted high in dismay at what he’d just tried to do. He clung to Ethari’s muscled arms and pressed his forehead against his husband’s. “Moon help me, I am a great stupid moonberry.”

“Yes, you are. And I love you anyway.” Ethari’s embrace was gentle and warm.

Runaan pressed a soft kiss of apology against his husband’s lips and let it linger, soaking up Ethari’s patience. “Walk with me again, then, and…”

“And?”

Runaan took a deep breath and slid his fingers between his husband’s. “And... tell me of Callum. Apparently, I have quite a bit of catching up to do.”

Ethari grinned and nudged Runaan’s shoulder with his own. “As my moonberry wishes.”

#ruthariweek2021 #ruthari #ruthari fanfic #runaan #ethari #my writing #my fanfic #tdp angst #angst and fluff #soft elf husbands #a whole rainbow of feels in here #they gotta catch up see

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years ago

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I've been thinking about your Ruthari angst prompts and idk if that's even allowed 😅 but what do you think about a mixture of 3 and 11? 👀

Okay, so I wanted to play with the arranged marriage au for a bit, and these two lines landed like they might be part of negotiations. So here you go:

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” and “How am I supposed to go on?”

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” Runaan paced slowly at Ethari’s side as they circled the fog-shrouded gardens of the Silvergrove Council House for the seventh time, matching the craftsman’s easy amble. The assassin had begun their negotiations with his hands clasped behind his back as they trod the well-worn path just inside the pale filigree wall that ringed the grounds. Now they hung loose at his sides, after over an hour of conversation that gradually found its rhythm. Ethari was surprisingly easy to converse with, so far. Runaan wasn’t certain he really approved of the taller elf’s playful mindset, but his easy forgiveness and acceptance had soothed away a lot of Runaan’s initial worries.

Runaan kept his face carefully forward as they walked, not wishing to indicate any weakness by glancing Ethari’s way too often, but he kept Ethari’s boots in the corner of his eye so he didn’t walk too fast and leave him behind.

I could. I could leave him behind. I’m faster, stronger. But my life has never been mine to direct. It belongs to Xadia. And so does my heart. Runaan took a slow breath as Ethari thoughtfully contemplated his reply, nibbling at his lip. My heart for Xadia. So, my heart for Ethari, as much as I can manage it.

“I suppose,” Ethari began slowly, “I would do whatever the council wished me to do.”

That was the best answer Runaan could have expected. Ethari had a deep sense of duty that overrode his personal feelings, just as Runaan did. Another thread of tension loosened in his shoulders. No one understood duty like an assassin, but the council had selected Ethari from among all the eligible craftsmen in the Silvergrove. He was the best they could find. But Runaan was the one who’d marry him, and he needed to be sure, too. And now, to his relief, he was sure. Ethari was willing to do his duty, no matter what.

Good. He’ll need that as much as I do.

“Would they make me marry the next assassin leader, too, do you suppose?” Ethari continued. He looked further ahead on their circular path, as if he could see such a dark future already looming.

Runaan blinked in surprise. He shifted himself out of the equation--an easy habit of long practice--and considered the idea. “It depends on what sort of match we have, I think.”

“How do you mean?” Ethari’s voice was carefully distant, unwilling to give any indication of interest either way.

Runaan pouted thoughtfully. “Well, if we match well in skill, if your crafting is of high quality and I perform admirably with your weapons, then the council will be inclined to match you with another assassin so you can continue to perform your valuable services.”

“Hmm.”

Runaan glanced over from beneath a single raised brow at Ethari’s noncommittal noise. “You don’t agree?”

“Does the council take feelings into consideration in situations like that?” Ethari asked.

“Feelings?” Runaan scoffed lightly. Feelings never protected anyone from anything. They were more likely to cause chaos than bring order.

Ethari shot him an uncertain glance. “Yes, feelings. What if...?” He looked away abruptly.

“You worry they would match you with a woman?” Runaan guessed.

A tiny smile flickered at the corner of Ethari’s lips and vanished. “That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Oh. What, then?”

Ethari glanced across the gardens, to where the lacy arches of the Council House faded into the mist. “Can I ask you for a favor, Runaan?”

Runaan’s spine straightened. A personal request from his intended? This was the sort of thing he would be expected to agree to, wasn’t it? They were to be partners, allies, for the protection of Xadia and the Silvergrove. But soft subjects were merely practice for the important things. That was Runaan’s takeaway after Tiadrin sat him down and gave him a thorough talking-to, anyway. “Of course,” he responded. He had no idea what to expect, but he was intensely curious what could prompt Ethari to ask for a personal boon just then. “Anything you like.”

The craftsman’s eyes scanned the foggy garden until he spotted something that met with his approval. He held out a broad-palmed hand toward Runaan. “Will you come with me for a moment?”

Runaan stilled, studying the outstretched hand so easily offered. I suppose I should get used to this elf’s touch sooner rather than later, he reasoned. Slowly, he placed his gloved hand in Ethari’s, resting it there as lightly as a landing bird.

Ethari grinned warmly and gave Runaan’s hand a gentle squeeze. Then he towed him past a couple of short fruit trees that were just budding their spring leaves, until they were entirely hidden from sight, against the outer wall of the gardens. He pulled Runaan to face him and gave him a secretive smile. “Here, this’ll do.”

Runaan glanced around uncertainly. “For what?”

Ethari glanced down, suddenly bashful. “I, I thought we should kiss. To get used to it. They’ll expect it of us in public from time to time.”

Runaan’s brows lowered. “We don’t have to kiss.”

Ethari’s shoulders slumped a little. “Do you mean right now, or... ever...?”

Runaan’s expression tightened as he struggled with these unfamiliar notions Ethari was creating in him. “We are to be wed for the good of the SIlvergrove, Ethari. You are a craftsman of immense skill, and I am to become the leader of the assassins. Our union will stabilize the chaos of the past few years and ensure a brighter future for everyone. Kissing...” Runaan shook his head slowly, baffled. “Kissing doesn’t enter into it.”

“Kissing doesn’t--?” Ethari blurted. “Runaan...”

Perplexed at Ethari’s sudden outburst, the assassin took a moment to look him up and down, seeking some reason for his intense reaction. But he saw only a tall, frustrated craftsman before him, clearly in on some secret Runaan did not possess. It seemed he’d have to ask out loud for it. “What?”

“You fool.” Ethari’s hands were on his cheeks in a heartbeat, pulling him closer. Runaan’s sound of protest was trapped in his mouth as Ethari’s lips found his, hard and urgent, driving him back against the garden wall. Runaan backed into it with enough force to draw a grunt from his chest.

Ethari chased him there, pressing himself flush against Runaan, pinning him with writhing eagerness. At the sound of Runaan’s grunt, he let out a low, grinding moan to match, sieving his fingers into the assassin’s hair.

Don’t stab him. Do not stab him. He wouldn’t understand. This is for Xadia. The thought flared red in Runaan’s mind, tangled and fragmented by a truly frightening amount of heated sensations that burst out of nowhere and swarmed him like a cloud of moon moths seeking escape, finding none. What is... what is he doing to me... what is this...

A stifled groan slipped through Runaan’s teeth. Instead of shoving Ethari away as he felt would be proper for such an uninvited assault, Runaan found his hands knotting in Ethari’s shirt and tugging him closer still. He wrapped a leg around Ethari’s ass and snugged their bodies together, lost in the grip of unreasoning neediness.

“Nnngh.” Ethari’s moan nibbled its way along Runaan’s jaw and nipped at the delicate skin beneath his ear. Runaan arched against his lips, tilting his chin up, bucking his hips forward with a soft cry.

Ethari steadied himself with a grip on a swirly amid the pattern in the filigree wall. His other hand teased beneath the lower edge of Runaan’s shirt, and his words rang breathlessly in Runaan’s ear. “Runaan... I’ve always loved you... always... You make me so happy, this is a dream come true...”

“Aah!” Runaan tore himself away and stumbled a couple of steps sideways, panting heavily. His body throbbed in all the best places, his skin was flushed, his pupils blown. But he held out a hand to ward Ethari off. “You tricked the council?” he puffed. “You lied to them?”

Bereft, shocked, Ethari made an abortive reach toward Runaan and then stopped. “What? No!”

“They asked me if I had any attachments.” Runaan’s voice was cold, but why wouldn’t Runaan’s heart settle? It insisted on galloping across the Forest like a wild moonstrider. “I said no, so I was approved for consideration. And it was the truth.”

“I... Runaan, it wasn’t a lie! I’d never told you. There was no attachment to lie about.”

“There was in your heart.”

Baffled, breathless, desperate, Ethari took a step forward with his hands out pleadingly. “How is that a bad thing? I told them nothing of my feelings. I let them decide, for the good of the Silvergrove. And now that it’s decided, I’m telling you the truth! Isn’t that what couples do when they trust each other?”

Runaan’s brows drew down, and he thought searchingly through the wild storm of his feelings, seeking the hard edges of something reliable. Ah. There. He tucked his hands behind his back--the better to keep them off this deceptively charming elf before him--and straightened up into a formal assassin pose. “That’s just it, Ethari. I don’t trust you. We don’t know each other that well. And we’re not a couple. We’re a team--or trying to be--serving Xadia first and foremost. And you just admitted that you’re capable of deceiving the whole village council--and me--to get what you want. You told me you’d marry whoever the council paired you with, if I fell, but that’s not true, is it? You’ve put your needs above those of the many. And that, I cannot abide.”

Genuine fear bled across Ethari’s face as Runaan’s words sank in. “Runaan, please don’t... Are you calling this off?” His bottom lip trembled, and he pressed a shaking fist against his mouth. “Please don’t tell me I’ve ruined everything, please, please...” He closed his eyes and stood there, vulnerable, exposed. “You’re right. You’re right. It probably isn’t true. If I lose you to the humans someday, I won’t want to marry another. I just want to be with you. If...” His sunset eyes searched the mists for answers and flew back to meet Runaan’s stern gaze. “If I lose you--later, or right now--how am I supposed to go on?”

Runaan’s jaw worked as he stared at the pleading craftsman. His touch had been electric, dazzling. Runaan craved it again already. But such neediness would be an imbalance that could cost him in a critical moment--and if he fell, then his entire purpose was at risk. His head scrambled for distance even as his heart thrummed with eager heat. “I cannot trust you, Ethari. That must be the base tenet of this relationship, or we cannot serve Xadia as it requires.”

In true distress, Ethari grabbed his own horns and turned away, pacing erratically, muttering “No, no, no” through his teeth. Then he whirled back to face Runaan. “Please, I promise you, I won’t give you any further cause to doubt me. Let me prove myself. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you need.”

Runaan stalked closer until they stood nose to nose. “I need you to give your heart to Xadia. Not to me.”

“Done,” Ethari blurted. His gaze clung to Runaan’s face, and he trembled with tension, his fate hanging in the balance.

Runaan’s gaze betrayed him, falling for a single moment from those urgent eyes to his intended’s full lips, before snapping back up. He gritted his teeth, tugged his shirt smooth of Ethari’s recent elfhandling, and added roughly, “And don’t you dare kiss me again. You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Ethari looked down. “I’m sorry. It... won’t happen again.” His voice faded to a whisper like a wounded animal crawling into the shadows to die.

“How am I supposed to go on?” Ethari’s words echoed in Runaan’s mind, and he relented a little. “Wait. This is to be an alliance. I must consider your feelings, however... misguided, if we are to make this work, yes?” Ethari will make a solid ally, at least. I cannot say the same for every craftsman in the Silvergrove. I may never find an easier or stronger connection than this.

Ethari looked up from beneath his downcast brows, curious but not hopeful. “I suppose so,” he allowed uncertainly.

Runaan nodded decisively. “Then I’ll do the kissing, when it’s appropriate. You were right: they will expect it from time to time. Does this meet with your satisfaction?”

Ethari stared at him for a long moment and sighed dully. “I’ll take it.“

Runaan’s brows drew together. He’d expected Ethari to be delighted, grateful, that Runaan had considered his feelings and made allowances. Wasn’t that how these negotiations were supposed to work? Moon help me, I may just be making this worse... is it too late to take it all back and just let him kiss me again? That was... hnnngh...

Runaan opened his mouth to admit he was wrong, but Ethari spoke first.

“My heart for Xadia.” The craftsman offered his hand again, hesitantly.

Runaan studied that open palm again. Holding hands. A decent compromise in itself. He took it softly and nodded.

Together, hand in hand and worlds apart, the betrothed elves made their way through the mists to the Council House. For Xadia.

#ruthari angst #tdp angst #ruthari arranged marriage au #runaan #ethari #ruthari #my writing #tdp ficlet #tdp fanfic #HI HELLO WOW THIS IS ANGSTY AND I KIND OF LOVE IT #THE PINING GUYS THE PINING #RUNAAN SLOWLY FALLING IN LOVE #AND NOT WILLING TO ADMIT IT #ETHARI FEELING UNLOVED AND BEING SO SO WRONG #HELP MEEEEE

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