Silver

The very telling silence as alhaitham clocks that kaveh is exhausted and kaveh correctly interprets that, this time around in comparison to the gag in previous events, alhaitham not answering him is valid since his question was arbitrary

The care and reciprocity of this interaction speaks volumes as to where they stand in their relationship, even though kaveh asserts that there is no way for them to resolve their issues, and they haven’t come close to doing so like what tighnari believed, the back and forth of alhaitham noting kaveh’s exhaustion and offering kaveh support, that once you clock out, there’s no looking back since you can’t do anything more, and your worries should be left behind, and then kaveh offering alhaitham water and proposing to cook for them, even as means of a distraction, is still so telling

When kaveh is stressed, he goes and seeks out alhaitham – the complete opposite of in alhaitham’s story quest where kaveh left multiple times during a conversation because he couldn’t take talking to alhaitham anymore. So you HAVEN’T sorted anything out kaveh?? really??

Alhaitham identifying that kaveh is nervous and kaveh confiding that, yes, he is, but alhaitham doesn’t seem to be. we go back to alhaitham’s perspective, that there’s nothing more they can do, any worrying further will only cause unnecessary trouble for yourself – directly addressing kaveh’s current concerns, giving kaveh the comfort he needs to hear

(Also ‘I don’t worry about things I cannot influence’ okay, I’m looking at you a parade of providence alhaitham, running around looking into Sachin to give kaveh some kind of closure)

them talking about the first archon quest amicably for once, and kaveh's conclusion that they're stronger!! and then immediately pivoting to how alhaitham asked him where he was the last time, like, we get it, you're stronger TOGETHER

The second time this specific line has been mentioned since earlier in the quest. The arc has fulfilled itself because this time kaveh IS here, we’ve come full circle, and now a new path opens (thank you king of invokations) <3

Also !??!?! this acknowledgement of the discrepancies in their communication is crazy because alhaitham points out rightfully that kaveh initiates their arguments, arguments which kaveh takes to heart! but then kaveh pointing out that he didn’t intend on causing an argument and that he came for a conversation emphasises that their perceptions of their interactions negatively impact their communication – kaveh believes alhaitham to have interrogated him, causing the argument, but alhaitham holds that it was kaveh who came to him looking to start an argument

Man I just think this acknowledgement is really important in contextualising their current relationship, would this have been able to happen earlier when they were constantly at odds and kaveh was more lenient in taking everything alhaitham said as a slight? I don’t think so personally

‘it’s good having me around to help out, huh?’ oh my god I love him, I love how his self-doubt has been completely eradicated, like earlier he was doubting his ability to be able to pull such a colossal feat off, but all alhaitham had to do was say ‘at least you’re here now (so you don’t have to nag me for details)’ and kaveh’s doubt disappeared LIKE MAGIC (IM NEVER GETTING OVER THIS BTW!!!)

And kaveh wanting alhaitham’s opinion on his contributions, and alhaitham OFCCC saying that they're the better off for it! jeez i wonder if that's why he was 'interrogating' you the last time,,,, also alhaitham taking the objective lens ‘as a citizen of sumeru’ to give a sincere compliment, lmao it’s so in character for him, it reminds me of how kaveh tries to compliment alhaitham but can only do it passive-aggressively

Them having a conversation at the end of the world surrounded by a sky of stars just the two of them, what in the apocalypse au is this??? I can’t believe this is real

Also I love how kaveh speaks so freely around alhaitham; like after using king deshret’s ipad, he expressed his thoughts about it to alhaitham, how it was blurring the lines between reality and a dream, to which alhaitham agreed, saying it was a novel experience, and kaveh goes ‘what is my spirit leaves my body’ and alhaitham grounds him by going ‘that won’t happen’ – I’m reminded of how kaveh was freaking out about mehrak gaining sentience and leaving him in nahida’s bday quest, and how alhaitham just went along with it. these small, earnest exchanges now really are a testimony to how their relationship has evolved over time!

When I tell you I GASPED!!! It’s been YEARS (or however long in canon idk anymore) and kaveh is still thinking about the note alhaitham wrote him in a parade of providence, “lofty ideals may provide no defense at all against nihilism, but perhaps little decisions can. By their own choice, the idealist seeks to bring happiness to all, while denying themselves the same. Thus they shall never reach even the borders of truth until they wipe away the ignorance that blinds them." And now he finally connected the dots..??? AND THE SUN STARTS TO RISE AS HE DOES SO??? SHUT

Alhaitham saying that awful things are a part of life and that sometimes they can't be stopped and other times they can, and that he and kaveh have done the best they can without detriment to themselves correlates to kaveh's self-sacrificial thinking and how he feels he has to invest himself into every situation regardless of how it plays out for him should something worse happen down the line, so kaveh linking this to alhaitham's note conveying that self-sacrificing ideals may not actually be feasible when it’s at the bane of the person holding them; instead of risking your life, doing your part can be enough to impede disaster, is like kaveh recognising the merit of this, a logic he once thought disturbing?

Also the concluding line referring to sacrificing yourself to achieve happiness for others is contradictory to this principal in the happiness for all, like um, yes kaveh please make the connection that happiness is what alhaitham wants for you!!!

Kaveh not wanting to talk about it now is and then changing the topic to the prospect of there being a future is !!! the sky lightening into morning can be indicative of there being a future in which they can discuss these things further NOOOOOO

kaveh admitting that alhaitham acts more like an upperclassman than him?? idk if this would’ve been possible for kaveh to admit in a parade of providence, it’s another kind of honest admission that might’ve been stifled by his pride, and then alhaitham’s retort about the difference in their temparement, he’s not wrong lmaoooo

A hand clamps around his arm. Another presses something into his side—could be a hand, could be a weapon, his brain refuses to label it. The charity rep makes a strangled sound. The photographer’s camera hits the tarmac with a crack.

“Don’t make this difficult,” one of the men says. Irish accent. Calm. Like he’s ordering a pint.

Lando’s mouth opens. Nothing comes out. His feet are moving without permission, walking him toward the van. Everything stretches and compresses at once, his thoughts three seconds behind his body. There are people everywhere. Twenty metres away, maybe less. Someone will see. Someone has to—

The passenger-side sliding door is already open. They hustle him straight in.

“Wait—” he manages, but it sounds distant, not his voice at all.

They push him inside. Not violent, just firm. Practised. He stumbles onto the metal floor, breath catching in his throat. The door slams. The engine’s already running.

He sits there, hands braced against the ridged metal, staring at the two men across from him. His brain finally catches up enough to register the third figure in the driver’s seat. Smaller frame, different build. Hands steady on the wheel as they merge into traffic.

A woman, probably.

One of the men pulls out his phone. “Smile for the camera, yeah?”

Lando doesn’t smile. His face twitches into something he can’t name. The flash goes off anyway.

“Grand,” the man says, already typing. “This’ll do.“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

They drive for maybe an hour before pulling into what looks like a farmhouse. Low stone walls, weathered gate, a small porch with muddy boots drying by the door. The kind of place that feels older than it looks, tucked just far enough off the road to make you wonder who chooses to live out here.

Inside, it’s warm in that quiet, lived-in way. Faded paint, narrow hallway lined with family photos that definitely aren’t theirs. The faint smell of turf smoke clinging to everything—not strong, just that soft earthy trace that settles into walls after years of winter fires.

They walk him into the kitchen. Small, tidy, mismatched mugs drying on a rack and a radio humming low on the counter. A wooden table sits under the window, surface worn smooth at the edges. There’s a biscuit tin in the middle like it lives there permanently.

One of them puts the kettle on.

“Right,” the shorter one says, tugging off his balaclava. Maybe forty, receding hairline, absolutely someone’s uncle. “You want tea?”

Lando stares. “What?”

“Tea. Do you want some?” He’s already pulling mugs down. “We’ve got biscuits. Hobnobs and chocolate digestives.”

“I—” Lando’s brain skids. “You just kidnapped me.”

“Aye, we did.” The tall one sits across from him, balaclava still on. “Nothing personal. Political statement about British occupation of Ireland. Standard stuff.”

“Right.” Lando looks between them. His hands are free. They haven’t even tied him up. “So what happens now?”

“We wait a bit, make some demands, you get released.” The shorter one sets a mug in front of him. “Probably be back for quali tomorrow if this goes smooth. Milk and sugar?”

“Um. Both?”

“Good lad.”

The third one—the woman—finally pulls her balaclava off and sits with her own tea. Grey hair, reading glasses on a chain. She looks like she runs the parish bake sale.

“You follow the football at all?” she asks.

“Oh yeah, actually—I rep Man U, been a fan since—”

“Shame,” she cuts in, dunking a Hobnob. “Your teammate’s Australian, isn’t he? The Piastri lad?”

Lando blinks. “Uh. Yeah?”

“He seems nice. Quiet.”

“He is.”

“Proper polite in interviews. Not like some of the other drivers going on about themselves.”

“…Right.”

The shorter one snorts into his tea. “She’s not arsed about United, lad. Don’t take it personal.”

“I wasn’t—I just thought—”

“Oscar’s got a good head on his shoulders,” the woman continues, steamrolling right over him. “Doesn’t get rattled. You could learn from that.”

Lando sits there, mildly offended, getting unsolicited teammate comparisons by his kidnappers over biscuits.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Someone changes the station on the radio. Lando realises, with a weird floating detachment, that he can actually just… see the front door. It’s not even locked. He mentions this.

“Where you gonna go?” the tall one asks. “Middle of nowhere, you don’t know where you are, and we’ve got your phone.”

“Could I have it back? Just to—”

“Film another TikTok?” The woman smiles. “Go on then. But keep it vague.”

She hands it over. Lando looks at it, looks at them, looks at the screen again. Forty-seven missed calls from Zak.

He opens TikTok and hits record.

“Hey guys,” he says, voice weirdly steady. “Update: still kidnapped. They’re making demands about Irish independence, I think? Honestly they’re being really sound about it. We’re having tea.” He pans the camera. All three kidnappers wave. “Anyway, I’m fine. Might miss quali but we’ll see. Um. Free Ireland?”

“Northern Ireland,” the short one corrects.

“Right—free Northern Ireland.” He stops recording and posts it. Three million views in thirty seconds.

The woman hands him another biscuit. “Your PR team’s going to have an absolute fit.”

“Yeah,” Lando says, biting into the Hobnob. “Yeah, they really are.”

Wind rattles the kitchen window. Someone mutters about the weather. Lando nods along like that’s the real crisis here.

“So what are the demands exactly?” he asks, reaching for his third biscuit. There are already crumbs on his hoodie.

“Reunification of Ireland, withdrawal of British military presence from the six counties, recognition of historical injustices stemming from partition—”

“Right, yeah, got it.” Lando nods like any of that landed. “And you think kidnapping me is gonna help with that?”

“Worked for Fangio.”

“Who?”

All three of them stop. Stare at him like he’s just admitted he’s never heard of gravity.

“Juan Manuel Fangio,” the woman says slowly. “Five-time world champion? Kidnapped by Cuban revolutionaries in ’58?”

“Before my time.”

“Before everyone’s time, son, he’s been dead since ‘95.” The tall one shakes his head. “Point is, it’s a proven tactic. High-profile athlete, international incident, draws attention to the cause.”

“Okay but…” Lando hesitates. “I don’t actually know anything about Irish history. Like, at all. I barely passed my GCSEs.”

“We’re not asking you to solve the conflict,” the short one says. “Just exist here while we negotiate.”

“Negotiate with who?”

“British government, probably. Maybe the FIA. We’re playing it by ear.”

Lando pulls his phone out again. Seventeen missed calls from Andrea now. He googles “the troubles ireland” and starts scrolling.

“Oh shit,” he says after a minute. “This is like… actually serious.”

“Aye.”

“People died and everything.”

“Thousands of people, yeah.”

“Fuck.” He keeps scrolling, frowning. “Okay this is actually really depressing.”

“It is that,” the woman agrees, refilling his tea like she’s keeping him hydrated through a difficult awakening.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

His phone buzzes. A text from Oscar:

Bruv what the fuck is happening are you okay

Lando types back:

yeah i’m fine they’re actually really nice. learning about irish history. wild stuff

Oscar:

?????

“Can I call my teammate?” Lando asks. “He’s probably worried.”

“Go on then.” The woman waves her biscuit like a wand of permission.

Oscar picks up on the first ring. “Lando what the fuck—”

“I’m fine! I’m literally drinking tea. They’ve got Hobnobs.” Lando hits speaker. “Say hi everyone.”

A chorus of cheerful hellos from the kidnappers.

“This is insane,” Oscar says, sounding like he’s half a breath from disbelief. “Zak’s losing his mind—and apparently so is the entire British government.”

“Tell them we want a formal statement acknowledging Britain’s role in Irish partition,” the short one calls out.

“Did you hear that?” Lando asks.

“…yeah I’m not telling the British government anything.” Oscar’s voice goes thin. “Are they letting you go soon?”

“Dunno. Probably? They seem pretty chill about it.”

“This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Same,” Lando agrees, dunking another biscuit like he’s at a sleepover instead of an international incident.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Lando gets released six hours later at a service station off the M40.

They drop him off like they’re his mates giving him a lift home after five-a-side. The van rolls to a stop under the grim fluorescent lights while Lando unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Cheers for being sound about it,” the short one says from the driver’s seat. “Most people make it weird.”

“No worries.” Lando grabs his phone. “Did you get what you wanted? With the demands?”

“Got a statement out of some MP,” the short one shrugs. “Probably meaningless, but it’s something.”

The woman hands him a Tesco bag. “We got you a meal deal for the trip back. Didn’t know what you liked, so chicken and bacon.”

“Legend, thank you.” Lando pauses with his hand on the door. “So like… is this gonna happen again?”

“Probably not to you specifically,” the tall one says. “Next time we’ll branch out. Maybe kidnap a footballer.”

“Fair enough.”

He climbs out. The van pulls away and disappears into the traffic like this is a normal, everyday thing that’s happened to him. Lando stands there holding a Tesco meal deal in full McLaren kit. A family walking to their car stares at him like he’s a hallucination.

His phone rings. Zak.

“Hey—”

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

“Service station near Oxford. They dropped me off. I’m fine.”

“You’re FINE? Lando, you were KIDNAPPED BY TERRORISTS—”

“They weren’t terrorists, they were activists. There’s a difference, apparently. I googled it.” Lando starts heading toward the building. “Also they were really nice. Made me tea and everything.”

Zak makes a noise like he’s undergoing organ failure.

“Anyway I’m gonna get an Uber back,” Lando continues. “Should be there in like an hour? Can still make the engineering debrief if we push it.”

“The engineering—” Zak sputters, then snaps. “You are going DIRECTLY to the medical centre when you get back.”

“I’m fine though.”

“LANDO.”

“Okay, okay. Medical centre. Got it.” Lando hangs up and opens TikTok as he walks inside.

His last video has fifteen million views. The comments are apocalyptic—half people arguing about Irish history, half insisting it’s a McLaren PR stunt. Someone has already made an edit of him to “Zombie” by The Cranberries.

He films another one in front of the meal deal fridge.

“Final update: I’m free! They dropped me at a service station and gave me a chicken sandwich.” He holds up the bag. “Honestly pretty solid kidnapping experience. Would give it, like, a seven out of ten. Lost points for missing free practice, gained points for the Hobnobs.” He pauses. “Also I learned a lot about Irish history today. The Troubles were fucked up, guys. We should probably talk about that more.”

He posts it and grabs a Lucozade.

His phone immediately explodes with notifications.

The British government is releasing statements. McLaren’s PR department is melting into the sea. Someone’s started a Change.org petition to reunify Ireland. Oscar has texted him twelve question marks in a row.

Lando cracks open the drink and steps outside to wait for his Uber.