#platonic sorpeli

[jelzorz]

191.

Opeli has never been to the Banther Lodge.

She has never had a reason to. Typically, it's used as a retreat for the royal family during the winter festivities, although once, one of Ezran's distant relatives had lent it to the city orphanage to use while their own building was being rebuilt after a fire. It's large for a cabin, obviously supposed to be rustic without losing its air of luxury, and without the castle...

Well. It's better than camping in the temples, that's for sure. It's too far away from the city to use as a permanent base, but it will have to do until other arrangements can be made. Tents have sprung up on the grounds to house both soldiers and refugees, and although it's crowded and busy, Opeli likes it.

It's a quiet place, nestled in the heart of the woods, away from the hustle and bustle of the city with enough space to breathe, to think, to simply be without all the trappings of court life. All things considered, it's a lovely reprieve, and she wonders if, one day, she might be able to come out here and enjoy it for what it is. There's just... one thing about this current arrangement that sets her on edge.

The kingslayer sharpens his blades.

Opeli's fingers twitch.

It has not been an easy few weeks. The attack on the castle was grave indeed, and although Ezran and Corvus had returned with Queen Aanya's troops and Queen Janai's to provide aid and assistance, the loss of their home still rings painfully through camp. Prince Callum and Rayla had returned shortly afterwards as well, and Opeli had been pleased to see them, her unofficial wards home and safe, until Rayla had ushered forward someone new—or someone not so new, and all hell had broken loose among their friends.

For what little it's worth, Ezran had managed it well. His pain was most obvious in his eyes and in the crack of his voice, and he'd been composed as he dealt with it but hasn't spoken to Callum in days. He holds his anger tight, keeps it all buried under the mountains of things they have to do, blue eyes filled with cold that he doesn't let leech into his words, but he avoids the issue entirely and spends almost all his free time with Queen Aanya or Corvus, people he can't be angry with, people to distract him from kinglsaying banther in the room.

Opeli has been less mature about it, if that can be believed. She had Rayla arrested once for breaking into the chambers beneath the castle to steal the kingslayer's bow, but Callum has made it clear that he will not stand for that, so instead Opeli funnels her frustration into sharp words and biting remarks, which she does not temper, even for Callum.

The air is tense. Their council is fractured. But if Ezran won't let himself be angry, the Justice help her, Opeli will be angry in his place.

It's dinnertime. Everyone is pulling double duty because the circumstances demand it, and Opeli is helping Barius dole out the food tonight to give the other staff a bit of a break. She passes bowls of stew to Ezran, to Corvus, to Soren, to Queen Aanya, her lips tilted in an appreciative smile as they thank her, and then slams bowls wordlessly down before Callum and Rayla and the other elf who only shifts uncomfortably in his seat as the stew sloshes over the rim.

"Enjoy your dinner," she snaps, and Callum, because he's Callum, snarls and snaps back.

"What the hell is your problem, Opeli?" he demands. "You've been passive aggressive about everything for days. This isn't okay anymore."

Opeli bristles at him. "And I suppose it's okay to have a murderer at the table instead."

"He was imprisoned in a magical coin for years, he's been punished enough—"

"Has he?" Opeli sneers. "Historically, kingslayers are hanged."

"You need to back the hell off—"

"That's enough!"

Silence falls over them, and things are dire indeed because it comes from Soren. He glared at Callum and Rayla, the elf with them shrinking beneath it, but it's Opeli that he turns to, that he offers his hand to, that he ushers away from the table leaving Callum, Rayla, and the elf alone and in silence in the dining hall.

Opeli waits until they are out of earshot before she rounds on Soren too. "You're not defending that murderer now, surely."

"No," mutters Soren darkly, "but Callum's right. You need to back off."

She scowls, affronted. "That elf shouldn't even be here," she snaps. "He murdered King Harrow, and would have murdered King Ezran too, if Rayla hadn't stood in his way. And they have the nerve to bring him here, our last stronghold, at a time like this?"

"I know," says Soren, grimacing. "I agree with you. But haven't we lost enough?"

"All the more reason he shouldn't be here."

Soren sighs. "He's Rayla's dad, Opeli. You have to let her have this."

"I certainly don't," says Opeli loftily. "Why on earth should he be allowed to walk free after the things he's done?"

"Because Rayla needs him," says Soren, "and not all of us are lucky enough to have a dad we can forgive."

A pause. A breath. A beat so heavy that Opeli feels it slam the air out of her chest. Soren looks away and swallows, his own conflict painfully clear in the way that he blinks and breathes and clenches his jaw.

She relents.

"I'll leave them be," she mutters at last. "But he can't be here long."

"He won't be," agrees Soren. "But just for now. Okay?"

"Yes." Opeli takes a breath and touches his arm, a promise to make an effort, for him more than for anyone else. "Just for now."

[jelzorz]

189.

They start piling bodies up the morning after the attack.

It's grim work. Opeli has given rites to soldiers and civilians alike, but never at the same time, and never so many at once. She knows most of these faces by name. She remembers when she last spoke to them, knew their smiles and the sounds of their voices, knows the family that will mourn them long after the blessings are spoken and their bodies are burned, and when she bows her head and prays for their peace in the next life, she hides her sorrow and her tears under the sanctuary of her hood and wonders how she's supposed to do it again, and again, and again.

But she does it. Her throat aches by the late morning, her eyes rimmed with red from tears she won't let herself cry. That one was the blacksmith's apprentice. May the Lady of Light guide you through the darkness. That one was a stable hand. May Lady Mercy bring you rest in your slumber. This one was one of her novices, seventeen and barely minted, her service never even begun. May Justice grant you peace in the next life. Go in grace.

Opeli swallows a sob as she presses their eyes closed and pulls makeshift shrouds over each their faces, wondering what these people did that Justice would allow them to die so callously. She has never doubted the Five Sisters, but bodies keep appearing in the rubble and her faith wavers a little more with every set of rites that leaves her lips.

"How're you holding up?"

Opeli's breath rushes in. Soren kneels down beside her, and too late, she realises that she is still kneeling over Eugenie's shroud, the singed banner barely long enough to cover her from head to toe, her novice's robes visible through the tears in the fabric.

"You need a break."

"I'm fine," mutters Opeli, closing her fingers into fists to hide the trembling of her hands. "Is there another one?"

"No," lies Soren, and Opeli knows it's a lie because the line of bodies in the square is only growing longer by the minute. How many has she done now? How many prayers has she whispered? She lost count after the first ten, and the sun has barely even reached its zenith. "You need a break."

Opeli scowls at him, at the wariness in his eyes and the way his forehead is bleeding again beneath the bandages she'd placed there only last night. "So do you," she snaps. "You can't expect me to take one when you and the other soldiers won't either. I have a job to do."

"Take one with me then," says Soren. "I'll stop for a bit of you do. Deal?"

Opeli stares at him. "I—"

"Deal?"

She glances back down at Eugenie's unmoving body and almost breaks, her heart in pieces between her ribs.

"Come on," says Soren, and wordlessly, she lets him tug her up by the hand and away from the line bodies to the water station by ruined gates. For the first time in hours, Opeli's breathing eases, even if the ache in her chest is persistent and won't let up. The water tastes fresh and clean, her parched throat grateful for some relief even though she knows she'll be at it again in less than an hour.

"Are you okay?"

Opeli snorts grimly into her canteen. "No," she mutters. "Not after—" Eugenie's soot-stained face flashes in her mind and Opeli shuts her eyes and takes another drink, wishing it was something stronger. "I'll be fine." She takes a breath then and glances at him, noting, for the first time, the frown on his lips and the dullness of his eyes. "Are you?"

Soren doesn't answer. Not right away. Then he takes a breath. "They found him," he says. "In the rubble. His—his heart was all burned up."

Opeli's breath hitches. Her own grief suddenly seems so pale in comparison. At least she can grieve Eugenie without complication. Soren has been struggling with grieving the idea of his father for years, and now...

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. It's all she knows how to say.

"Don't be," says Soren hoarsely. "I... wanted to ask a favour actually. I know your morning's been just as shit as ours but—" He swallows. "Will you give him his rites?"

Opeli blinks at him. She hadn't even thought about it, to be honest. It was just the next body, and the next, and the next after that, but of course Viren's body is here too, of course they'd find it eventually, but she hadn't imagined she'd have to because war criminals typically do not receive them. They are buried without ceremony, undeserving of guidance and peace in the afterlife, and Viren, of all people, certainly does not deserve such a kindess, and yet...

"I think it's for me, more than it is for him," mumbles Soren. "He was my dad, y'know? He wasn't a good one but... I think maybe being able to say goodbye properly might help me put it all in the past. Does that make sense?"

Opeli studies him. How much he has grown. How good he has become. He is kinder than her now, it seems, because she would have left Viren for dead and would not have bothered with his rites at all. "Yes," she says after a moment. "It makes perfect sense."

"Will you do it?"

Opeli twitches her lips, tired and saddened as she is. Soren has a bigger heart than he will ever know, and because it's him, because he asks and he is her friend, because she knows what he's been through and how much he has had to unlearn, she nods. "Yes," she says. "Of course."

They save Viren's rites for last that day, so it's just the two of them and there are no others to watch. Soren sets the body on one of the makeshift pyres and Opeli lights it, her prayers whispered in the summer wind.

"May the Lady of Light guide you through the darkness. May Lady Mercy grant you rest in your slumber. May Justice grant you peace in the next life."

Soren's hand finds hers. Opeli holds it tight as the fire burns against the darkening sky.

"Go in grace," she says.

Soren swallows. Nods. His fingers tighten just a little around hers. "Go in grace."

[jelzorz]

194.

So much of it happens in a blur. Opeli only remembers bits and pieces of how it started to begin with before the softer parts of her brain shut down to let her do what she needed to do. She remembers an explosion, the air filled with fire and smoke, a crumbling tower and Soren beside her, ushering her towards the nearest exit, his words in her ear—stay low, keep going, go, go, go—and then there was light, and screaming, and chaos, and the rest had simply happened, because there was no time to think about it and too many people to save. There were the guards, the civilians, the dragon circling in the air; the order to evacuate and then Soren leaving her in the stairwell with Hat trembling in her palm; more fire, more smoke, a spell? And now—

The magic that protected them from the fires is starting to wear off now. Most people look like themselves again which is a relief, but it gives Opeli a chance to survey the survivors better too. Raids and wars and attacks are brutal and terrifying in the moment, but the aftermath is almost always worse—and this is the worst is has ever been. The injuries look worse on flesh and blood; broken limbs and crushed legs and burns are so much more visceral now that she can see them, now that they're able to set them and bind them and dress them with gauze. Doctors are in short supply out here, so she and the other clerics have been helping with first aid as much as they can. It's not enough. There are still people who will not see the morning. There will be more rites to give before the sun sets again.

This is why she seeks Soren out, she thinks. He's seen it all. He knows how blood looks on his hands. He knows how to handle all this.

She finds him helping to settle a couple of kids. They are fine, thank the Five Sisters, and their parents are fine, just scared and a little hungry, and he is offering them his rations when she gets to him. They hurry away as she approaches, their smiles shy but grateful, but when Soren gets up, he looks just as wary as she.

"That was very kind," she says quietly.

He shrugs. "They need it more than me. Is everything okay?"

"They could be better." Opeli presses her lips together as she studies him, swallowing the emotion that rises when she remembers he is injured too. The gash on his forehead has dried, matting the hair just above his brow, and she almost can't tell if the marks on his face are made of bruises or soot.

She is so tired of blood. So sick of how red it is, how sticky it feels on her fingers. She likes it even less on him.

“You need that looked at,” she says at last, nodding at his forehead.

He waves her off. “It’s just a scratch. The other clerics have their hands full. I’ll be fine.”

Opeli sets her jaw. “My hands are free. I’ll take care of it.”

“Opeli, seriously, it’s okay—”

“I owe you.” It slips out before she means it to. She knows he doesn't want to feel like his bravery has to be repaid. It's his job to protect his people, just as it is hers—but she thinks of the window in the tower, the dragon in the sky, the glow of an inferno and of the heat of dragonfire as it blew the glass inward, right where she would have been standing if he hadn't—

"You don't owe me anything."

"You saved my life," she points out. Twice today, she thinks, when he tackled her out of the way of Sol Regem's attack, and then she was in the crowd by the bridge, trapped by the fires after he left her with Hat to speak to his father. There was a third time too, when Viren crowned himself King and would have branded her and Corvus traitors to the realm. "Let me stitch you up. It's the least I can do."

"Opeli—"

"Soren." She gives him a look, stern, unyielding, the same kind she uses at meetings when someone won't agree to doing something reasonable. "I wouldn't be here to offer if it wasn't for you. Let me help."

He chuckles, then relents. "Fine," he mumbles after a moment. "Let's get it over with."

x

They find a quieter spot, a little away from the crowd but still close enough to keep watch over them in case something else happens. Opeli picks up a first aid kit from one of the younger clerics as they pass, one whose hands are shaking with the shock and exhaustion of treating so many wounded. She is not the only one: Opeli has already ordered two others to go to bed and leave their kits with soldiers or civilian volunteers. One of the guards threw up when Opeli reset someone's dislocated shoulder. Another had her head in her hands and jumped at every sudden noise.

The cracks are starting to show in everyone, and it's not just because of the trauma caused by a dragon attacking the castle. They are all simply exhausted, and the work does not seem to stop. The soldiers keep watch in shifts but then have to assist the civilians with tents, with food, with moving the injured and the dead.

But Soren is steady. His resolve keeps her hands from shaking, even as he winces while she drags thread through his skin. The stitches are not as neat as they would have been this morning, but the gash is clean and closed, and he's not bleeding anymore.

Opeli clicks her tongue at her work, wishing it was better, wishing she could do more, but he catches her hand as she frets over it, the warmth of his fingers like an anchor to this, to now.

"You don't owe me," he says again.

"I owe you three times over," she says. "Three times now, I—"

"You don't," he insists. "It's my job."

"It's your job to keep Ezran safe. Keeping me alive is certainly not—"

"Do not finish that sentence."

"I only—"

"Opeli." His fingers tighten. Opeli's breath catches in her throat. "It's my job to protect my friends," he says. "My family. I've lost enough. Don't act like I can afford to lose more."

There's a pause. Opeli looks away, and then, to her horror, she starts to cry.

Soren stares at her but his grip is firm, even as she hiccoughs and hides her tears in the recesses of her hood. It's all so much. Too much. The smoke and the fire and loss of life; the windows exploding inwards, the wound on his forehead, the castle crumbling to the ground. And now this too? "Thank you," she murmurs.

"Opeli, come on, you don't even owe me that."

"Not for that. For—" Opeli sniffles. "For considering me your friend. I'm honoured."

He almost laughs at her, his fingers tightening that little bit more, a man clinging to what little he has left. "You're pretty well family now," he says quietly. "Don't thank me," he says again. "Just don't die or leave or whatever else. I don't think I can—" He swallows. "Just stick around and we'll call it even. Okay?"

Opeli twitches her lips despite herself. "I can do my best."

[jelzorz]

Sorpeli please? 🥺

186.

General Amaya sends her wedding invitations out at somewhat short notice—the date she gives is not even a month after the invites arrive at the castle, and there are, of course, invites for each of them: Ezran, Callum, Rayla, Soren, Corvus, and even one for Opeli who is pleasantly surprised to receive one even when Amaya knows she will likely not be able to attend.

"The thought is nice," she says to Ezran with an appreciative smile, "but it's bad enough that your brother and Rayla won't be back in time to go. She's your aunt. You can't miss her wedding. I'm happy to hold the fort here."

"Still kinda sucks though," says Ezran wrinkling his nose. "You never to get to go out."

"There will be other occasions," chuckles Opeli. "Give her my well wishes and congratulations though."

"Oh, I will!" he says brightly. "There's just... the other thing."

Opeli snorts at that, rolling her eyes in an uncharacteristic show of unprofessionalism. "If you're referring to our guest in the dungeons, I can assure you I'll manage it without problems. Viren has been a thorn in my side for years. I can deal with him well enough on my own."

"Not like this." Ezran grimaces and shifts uneasily on the spot. "He's supposed to be dead, Opeli, and we all know how easily Aaravos can control people. Who's to say he isn't here to mess us up from the inside?"

"He was doing that long before he ever came into contact with that elf," says Opeli drily. "I'll be fine."

"It's not the same. I dunno, I guess I'd just feel better if you had some back up. In case... you know."

Opeli lets herself chuckle. Ezran has always had a good heart and she appreciates sentiment but it's really no trouble. As High Cleric, she has an amount of authority over the guards anyway and there are a number now who have become her friends over the years she has served. She's about to say so when Soren cuts in, his grin as cocky as ever even if there's a flicker of something uneasy in his eyes.

"Don't stress, Ez," he says. "I'll be her back up."

Opeli blinks. Ezran blinks. They turn to him, both surprised he would volunteer himself to deal with his father in the event Viren would do something untoward.

"You realise you're invited too," Opeli points out. "Why should you have to miss out on General Amaya's wedding?"

"Why should you?" asks Soren matter-of-factly. "Seems unfair you have to stay behind every time something cool happens. And ultimately Ez is right—it'll be better if you've got back up to help you deal with... Viren." The uneasiness flashes in his eyes again, and Opeli knows just by looking at him that he'd prefer not to deal with this at all.

"Are you sure?" Ezran asks before she can mention it. "We all know how hard it's been for you since he came back."

"I'm sure," says Soren resolutely. "He's my dad. Who better to deal with than me?"

"Yeah, but—"

"It'll be fine, Ez. Two of us is better than one, right?" He looks to Opeli then looking for confirmation and she realises in that moment that there's something else there, something he doesn't want to voice in front of Ezran.

"Yes," she agrees. "As long as you're sure."

She asks him about it later, when he brings her the usual pot of tea after dinner. It's something he's been doing for a couple of years now, something that's since evolved into quiet conversations about life and loss and growing up with a father like his. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shrugs as she lets him into her office. "I think I just want a friend right now," he murmurs.

Opeli twitches her lips. "I can certainly be that."