#bells writes

Swords were given to him on his birthday, two months past. They stayed in their decorated sheathes until yesterday. Rae was allowed to hold them only an hour ago. He has only touched one of them.

The weapon weighed heavily in his hand. It was painful to grasp and his wrist bent at an awkward angle as he tried to hold it correctly. But he wasn’t strong enough. His muscles weren’t built that way and instead, they were used to holding daggers. The heavy, one handed sword was not comfortable. It didn’t seem right.

But his father insisted, so he had to. No one went against his father. If they did, no one saw them again. Raedrian knew this very well, even if he wasn’t supposed to. He isn’t as dim as he makes everyone believe. In fact, he’s very bright. Everyone is just too drunk around the manor to hold their tongues.

Raedrian looked at the heavy sword. It wasn’t even a real one; it was a fake for practicing. It was blunt and slightly rusted around the handle, revealing how neglected it’s been over the years. His breath catches in his throat as he begins to relate to the sword. It’s rusted and heavy, jumped into action without proper care. Rae, only being thirteen, isn’t quite sure how he could be rusted exactly. However, his hair is only a shade darker than the rust, so he can relate to it in that way.

“Raedrian?” A deep voice asks, snapping him from his trance. The young boy looks up at the source of the voice. It’s his new teacher. Rae forgot his name already, but he’s not sure it’s exactly important to him. The man is rough and heavily built, just like his personality. He looks at the world through narrowed eyes and regards everyone as if they are lesser than him. Rae has a feeling that if he ever revealed to this man that he did not want to be a paladin and more than a human wanted to be an orc, he would receive severe consequences.

“Yes, sir?” Raedrian asks politely, giving the man the same tone he gives his father. Which, might be rude, to say the least.

Jeron Sunstrider, Raedrian’s father, looks at his son sternly. It appears that Rae spacing off was not accepted well. He must have missed something important. Rae mentally prepares himself for the worst and turns his attention back to his teacher.

“I am sorry, sir.”

“Lord Jeron, you must train your son to be more polite if he is to become a paladin. This… lack of attention will not be tolerated under my training. I will hope that you will see it fixed before I return next week.”

Even the way he speaks sounds like how pain feels. A parent shouldn’t train a child, they should teach. Rae knows this from the books he reads and the rare kid he talks to. ‘My mother taught me how to tie my shoes!’ One kid said, many years ago. ‘My father taught my brother to be just like him!’ Another said.

Their parents taught. Jeron trained. Or forgot down in the bottoms of a drink. There was no in between for him. And it made Raedrian upset and angry. It makes him feel neglected and uncared for, just like the sword that hung uselessly in his hand. He was just like this sword.

“Consider it done,” Lord Jeron smiles at the man, placing a hand over his heart. It looks sincere, so the trainer buys it easily. That, Raedrian realizes, is how his father got his position in power. By lying and making it seem realistic. It’s simple, yet evil. It’s visible in the way he holds himself like he is above everyone, even with speaking with someone of higher power. It’s visible in the way he smirks after a transaction has been made and the second party has their back to Lord Jeron. It’s visible in the way the manor looks elegant and rich, yet does not contain any windows.

Rae holds back a visible scowl as the two continue on with their conversation. Lord Jeron’s hand is placed on Raedrian’s shoulder at some point during this talk. It takes everything he has to stay in place and not shy away.

Raedrian doesn’t like his father. He’s pretty sure that anyone who does is equally evil. There is nothing to like about him in the first place– well, he takes that back. From the rumors he’s heard around town, he is very good looking and gains the attention of almost everyone he passes by. Rae isn’t quite sure if that’s a good thing or not. He doesn’t like people watching his every move. Then again, he might share that trait with his father. It just brings him back to the windowless manor.

“I will arrive next week at sunrise to begin your training, Raedrian.” The trainer says, once again pulling Raedrian from his thoughts. “I expect you to be ready before I get there. I do not like waiting, young man.”

The accent on not made Raedrian wholeheartedly believe it. A tinge of fear swept through him, but he pushed it back and nodded. He could not be scared of this man. Not openly, anyway. He was scared of his father but did Raedrian ever express that? He sure hopes not. Fear is weakness in Lord Jeron’s eyes. Weakness is a thing to be conquered, if not by one person, then another.

Raedrian doesn’t want that.

He smiles as the trainer leaves and gives the man his best wave. Show respect or there will be consequences. Be polite or get a beating. There’s no way around it, so Rae must become a stellar actor. Just like his father, it seems.

The thought is pushed back. He does not want to think of that now. Raedrian is nothing like his father and if he has to die proving it, he will. He will not turn into the manipulative man that Jeron is. He will not stare at people (women especially) as if they are things. People are living beings as well, not property. Raedrian will make sure that everyone he speaks too– besides his father of course, he doesn’t deserve that kind of attention– knows that they are respected by him. They are people, they should be treated as such.

The man walks down the steps of the manor and disappears into the streets of Silvermoon. The golden cast on the city gives it an almost serene feel. If Rae wasn’t aware of the actual atrocities that went down in the buildings and on the streets, away from prying eyes, he might actually believe that. He might just turn a blind eye now to the hand on his shoulder in favor of watching the last golden rays illuminate the city. The sun is warm, anyway. Warmer than Jeron could ever be. Maybe he’ll just do that.

Just as Raedrian closes his eyes, he feels the man behind him shift. It’s a painful reminder that because of his father, he’ll never be able to relax. He’ll always have to sleep with one eye open, as they say. But since Rae values good sleep, several locks and an alarm system in his room will do.

Rae tenses as he feels his father’s breath on his neck. It sends chills up and down his spine and makes his face scrunch in slight fear.

“Raedrian,” Lord Jeron whispers softly. Rae has to take a deep breath to settle the rapid pace of his heart. Every fiber of his body, however, is just screaming for him to flee. Flee now, while you’re young and have a chance. Flee now while the door is wide open and the world is just three steps ahead of you. Rae almost does. If his feet weren’t glued to the floor, he might’ve taken the leap of faith.

Another shuddering breath and Raedrian replies. “Yes, father?” It surprises himself at how steady his voice remained.

The hand on his shoulder tightens further and Rae bites back the urge to cry out.. It’s not painful, really. It’s just terrifying. This whole situation is terrifying. His father, most importantly, is terrifying. And he can’t escape from it.

“You will do well to uphold my honor. If you so step out of line even once, you will not see the light of day ever again.” Lord Jeron threatens. Rae can hear the sincerity in his words. It’s not empty an empty promise.

He has to take another deep breath before replying. “Yes, father.”

Those two words are the only ones he will ever speak to Lord Jeron, he promises himself. Raedrian doesn’t want to find out the consequences if he doesn’t. They seem violent and severe. If not done by Lord Jeron’s hand, maybe by the trainer’s or one of the woman’s Lord Jeron keeps around. He doesn’t wish to think of that. Sometimes, he can imagine that instead of having one permanent mother, he has many. They can fill that space easily. Well, one in particular, stands out as a mother figure. She’s the only one that actually cares for him, it seems.

“Good.” Lord Jeron states simply. He moves away from Rae’s ear and returns to the house. Raedrian feels like he’s going to start crying right there. He’s so scared and angry and useless. The sword is released from his grip he moment Rae hears his father’s footsteps quiet and the study door close behind him. It clatters violent and for a split second, Rae fears it will break and he will have to explain what happened. He would have to not only explain the situation to his teacher but to his father as well. Knowing them, probably at the same time. That is not something he wishes, it only makes his fear grow stronger.

But the second the sword stops clattering and lies still, unharmed, Raedrian can’t give a shit about it. It’s stupid, it’s not something he wants. It’s heavy and a burden instead of a comfort.

Rae slumps to his knees and hangs his head. As much as he promises to himself that he won’t be defeated by Lord Jeron, that’s exactly what he feels like. Defeated because Raedrian can’t decide anything for himself, not even the path to his future. According to his father, rogues are all evil. The Light has thoroughly abandoned rogues. No heir of Lord Jeron Sunstrider, a noble but not royalty by blood, will ever be anything less than a perfect champion of the Light.

Raedrian isn’t even sure that Lord Jeron himself is a paladin. He’s never seen the man in combat (and quite frankly doesn’t want to) or seen him use the Light. It’s just the air that Lord Jeron gives off.

He takes a deep breath and balls his hands into fists. A liar, that’s what everyone is. Raedrian doesn’t want to sink to their level, to be a liar like everyone else. But, maybe he can do it without sinking, without becoming like them. He can be a liar and be truthful. At thirteen, Rae isn’t quite sure how to do that. He won’t let that stop him though. He’ll only pretend to play their game and fool them all the while.

Rae smiles to himself. He will be the victor of this war.

Year fourteen was hell for Raedrian. He was forced to train almost everyday. Except, Sundays were considered days for prayer only, so there would be no training then. His trainer– a year later and Raedrian still doesn’t care to remember the man’s name– would force him to memorize prayer upon prayer. If he was to be on the front lines of the battlefield as Lord Jeron wishes, Raedrian doesn’t see much use for these prayers. Prayers are for healing, generally. Few are for protecting.

Even with the extensive training, Raedrian found something happy in the hell. He was allowed to choose one thing on his fourteenth birthday. This was very unusual and made Rae worry. Lord Jeron is far from giving. He only cares about himself and his money. This offer was not going to be bypassed, however.  

Raedrian took advantage of this “present”. There was a lone music store in Silvermoon City and it didn’t get much attention. Everyday after training, he would walk past it. Of course, it always caught his attention.The instruments carefully seated in the window, the shiny brass, the small but powerful strings of a harp– they never ceased to amaze him. But there is always one instrument that appeals to him more than the others. He knows what it’s called and he knows that it’s one of the many string instruments in this store. After speaking to the owner of the store (a lovely older lady with a gorgeous smile), he was able to get all this information.

So of course, Raedrian asked for it on his birthday. He asked for the carefully and elegantly crafted cello sitting in the window. The wood is a beautiful reddish brown and the black bow that accompanied it made it complete. There were little black markings on the corners of the cello– knotwork that stole the show.

Raedrian could see the anger behind Lord Jeron’s eyes the moment he asked for it. His father had regretted offering a present. That brings Rae back to the question– why? Sasha Embermourn, a lovely elf that hardly seemed to like Lord Jeron more than Raedrian did, had asked Rae what Lord Jeron wanted after Raedrian was excused from his father’s presence. When he told her that his father would buy him one thing for his birthday, she seemed just as excited as Rae. That was… unusual, considering how most of the women that hang around his father don’t bother to care about Raedrian. But Rae hardly thought about it at the time.

Looking back, Rae is pretty sure she had something to do with Lord Jeron giving Raedrian permission to buy the cello. He sends a quick mental thanks to her, wherever she is in the manor now.

Ever since his fourteenth birthday, Raedrian has fit cello practice into his already full schedule. It means less time for other things, thankfully. He doesn’t have to train as long or stare at boring books and try to memorize their contents. His days used to be extremely boring and tedious (especially the memorizing part) but now they’re tolerable. His music teacher, the same old lady from the lone music store in Silvermoon City, has expressed multiple times how fast Raedrian is learning. When it’s the only thing that interests him anymore, it’s not that surprising. To him, at least.

Raedrian is pretty sure Lord Jeron doesn’t appreciate hearing the sound of a cello almost every minute of everyday. That doesn’t bother him, though, as long as Lord Jeron doesn’t voice these thoughts. And even if he does, Rae will just put on his practice mute and continue like he’s the only one in the manor. That was a gift after his teacher figured out how rude and disrespectful Lord Jeron actually is. The gift made Raedrian like his teacher ven more. Few can see past the facade his father wears, unless Lord Jeron wants them to see his true colors.

He was playing his cello one evening when Sasha knocked on the dance room’s door. She pushed her way in slowly and watched him practice for a few minutes. Raedrian could see the proud smile she wore in the reflection of the mirror. It made him smile.

“You’re learning very quickly, Raedrian.” Sasha says politely, standing just inside the room. It’s customary, he’s been told, that the girls and servants must stand by the door until they are invited in. If they are invited in. He’s pretty sure Lord Jeron would like Raedrian to act the same way, but he doesn’t. It’s his own house too, for Light’s sake. He’s Lord Jeron’s blood family.

Raedrian relaxes and leans forward on his cello, removing the bow from the string. The tip of it is gently pressed into the floor. He’s aware he’s not supposed to sit in such an inappropriate position. However, this is Sasha, the only woman in the house he’s comfortable around. Hell, the only person in the manor he’s comfortable with.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Rae says politely, watching her in the mirror. She bows and opens the door. The smile fades slightly and Raedrian’s stomach drops. She must be bearing news then. It makes since; she wouldn’t just stop by to listen to Raedrian play. As nice as that would be, Rae is pretty sure they both know that’s impossible.

“Lord Jeron has requested your presence in his study.” Sasha murmurs quietly, just loud enough for Raedrian to hear and strangely serious.

He sees his expression drop and his face pale in the mirror in front of him. He knew there was a reason she was here, not just mere flattery and comfort. There is always something. Though, it is strange his father would call for him at this hour. Raedrian looks at the clock above the mirror. It’s hard to see in the dim lighting, but he can tell it’s well after ten in the evening. This does not sit well with him.

However, he must go.

Raedrian sighs and lifts his cello onto his knees. “Tell him I am coming. Thank you,” He mutters bitterly as he works the endpin back into the cello. It’s slides smoothly back, but it’s hard to grip the metal with shaking hands. A deep breath and a moment to reassure himself. It’ll be fine. Nothing will happen and he’ll be able to come back here after and continue to practice. That’s all.

Just in case, he places his cello back on its rack and the bow in the shelf next to it. Because he firmly believes he will be coming back, Raedrian leaves the sheet music on the stand as well as the chair in the middle of the room. He’s hopeful. He has to be. Otherwise he’d let himself fall into a depression anytime someone mentioned his father’s name.

When he turns around, Rae frowns slightly. Sasha is still there. What could she possibly still want? And she’s watching him with rather whimsical expression. Rae thinks it makes her look sad, despite the small upturn of the corners of her lips. It’s like she’s watching the ghost of a loved one. That thought puzzles Rae. So instead of thinking on it, Rae just watches Sasha, obviously curious. After a few awkward seconds, Sasha’s smile grows faintly and she bows. This is the general signal that she is leaving. Everyone in the manor uses it besides Lord Jeron himself. It’s seen as respectful.

Sasha turns and disappears through the open door a few moments after she bows. Rae sighs inwardly and runs a hand through the long length of his hair. Despite the awkward interaction with Sasha, he is still needed down in Lord Jeron’s study. It takes more than a few deep breaths and encouraging thoughts to get him to unstick his feet from the ground. It feels like tar as Raedrian walks. He wishes it was. He wishes he would sink into the ground and swallow him whole. It would save him from his father. But alas, it is not tar and therefore cannot swallow him. He has to face his fears this time.

Another hand through his hair and he blinks rapidly. Breathe in, breathe out. Raedrian cannot show fear. Fear is weakness. Weakness is something to be taken advantage of. There will be none of that where Raedrian is going. He’s fourteen which practically makes him an adult. Adults can take care of themselves. Raedrian can do that perfectly well, believe him.

Once he finally exits the dance room, the walk to the study appears much shorter than Raedrian would have liked. It’s to the left of the dance room, down a flight of stairs, take a turn to the right after a few steps and it’s on the left. Raedrian has the manor memorized. He could walk it blindfolded if he had to. He practically does with the amount of times he escapes his room and wanders the halls at night. It’s dark and there are few lights on. Most everyone is in their assigned room, or Lord Jeron’s. Everyone has a set schedule they’re supposed to follow. Raedrian doesn’t like to follow his.

The last couple of steps, Raedrian makes sure to walk extra slow. He doesn’t want to get there, he wants to just practice his cello forever. But before he could really get a couple of steps to himself, the door was being pushed open by one of the guards. Yes, Lord Jeron has hired guards to protect himself and his possessions. Namely his alcohol and money. That disgusts Raedrian: Lord Jeron only cares about himself, no exceptions for his children or even the women he keeps around. Rae has sworn to not be like him. He will never be like Lord Jeron. That thought itself is enough to give Raedrian nightmares for years.

The guard stares Raedrian down for an awkwardly long time. For a fourteen year old, he’s not exactly tall but he’s not short either. He’s average height at his school. Then again, Lord Jeron and all of the guards are tall. Raedrian hardly sees the women so he has only ever had those few people to compare himself to.

Raedrian mutters a small thanks to the guard under his breath and steps through the open door. Instantly, the bright eyes appear on his face and his back straightens. His chin lifts a little bit as a final touch. This is how he must show that he is unafraid and that he can defeat anyone. That, and he likes the cockiness that appears in himself like this. He looks like someone that could stand up to anyone and everything, his father is not an exception. He could do it. Yet, it might be more convincing if he looked a bit older than he does now.

Inside the room, Lord Jeron is behind his overly elaborate desk. There is a women, one Raedrian has never seen before, sitting in one of the two seats in front of Lord Jeron. She looks like she’s about to leap up from the seat. Her gaze is wary as she eyes Raedrian. However, he pretends it doesn’t unnerve him.

To his left and right are two guards, armed and fully geared for battle. They’re stoic; Raedrian wishes he could be like that. They don’t look at him as he enters the room, just keep their eyes on the newcomer in front of Lord Jeron.

Finally, a bit to the right are seats that are occupied. Well, one of the seats is occupied. The one furthest from the door has two children in it, one on the other’s lap. There sit two girls– one who seems about his age, and another who seems only a bit younger. The oldest is watching the transaction between the women and his father fiercely, but they both turn and look at him the moment he walks in. Rae is captured by their beauty instantly. The white hair on the youngest reminds him that his own is very different and very obvious. Pure, white snow and warm, crimson blood. That’s what the youngest girl’s hair and his own hair remind him of. Maybe that has to do with our roles in life? If that was the case, she must be a mage. He wouldn’t be surprised if the girl’s older sister (he has decided that’s how they are related, by the fact that the girl with snow white hair is sitting on the other’s lap) was a mage too.

Raedrian has never met a mage.

Before he can get speak to the two girls, his attention is snapped back to Lord Jeron introducing him. “Yaereen, this is Raedrian. Raedrian, this is Professor Yaereen Leysinger; you will show her the respect you show me.”

Yaereen Leysinger. She must also be a mage with a name like that. A family of mages. The thought amuses him. He wishes he could have as close of a family like that, but he doesn’t know any of his siblings besides Gerunar who left the house when Rae was only five years old. He was a fire mage, a pyromaniac. Rae vaguely remembers the relief in Lord Jeron’s eyes when Gerunar left for good. Rae’s older brother was not afraid of setting things on fire. That’s all he knew about his older brother. The two never spoke.

Instead of smiling at the amusement, however, Raedrian just settles on a nod. It’s best to show as little of emotion in front of Lord Jeron as possible. He can feel the girl’s eyes on him. They don’t seem friendly.

However, he will not speak. Raedrian will not speak to his father unless he absolutely must. It’s apart of pretending this family is wonderful, just like Lord Jeron wants, and feeling safe. Finding a perfect mix of the two is basically impossible. It always treads on Raedrian’s feelings of comfort, however.

Lord Jeron is speaking again, saving Raedrian from having to speak more. “Raedrian, these are Professor Yaereen’s daughters. Anyren, and– I’m sorry, what was your name?” “Ylaina, sir.”

The smirk that appears on Lord Jeron’s face sends chills down Raedrian’s smile. That’s not an appropriate expression to show someone so young. Ylaina– whoever this girl is, Rae already has an instinct to protect. It might be apart of the paladin training, it might be because he knows first hand what Lord Jeron can do. These girls, both Anyren and Ylaina, don’t know what Raedrian’s father can do. Raedrian wants to make sure they never know. Not like he knows.

His father and Professor Yaereen go back to talking business so Rae turns his attention to the two girls again. It doesn’t seem like he can leave, so he best make do with the time he has to be here.

Rae smiles at the girls, trying his hardest to be friendly. It’s a fake smile, but at least he’s trying. The youngest girl– Ylaina, frowns at his smile. She must have seen straight through him. He makes a mental note to make his walls extra thick when around her. Rae does not want her seeing through him so easily.

So instead, he turns his attention to the older sister, Anyren. She doesn’t seem as friendly as Ylaina, but she doesn’t seem to be able to look through him like a glass window. If she can, she keeps it to herself. That’s good.

Rae begins his normal speaking pattern when he’s nervous: he talks quickly and more than the other party. It expresses that he’s confident and happy when he does that. He has to be that way, so it suits him. Anyren doesn’t seem like one for conversation at this moment, so he speaks for her. And possibly for Ylaina too. Alright, this might just be his normal personality shining. Rae doesn’t see much of it because he’s always near his father. He has to act during those times.

At some point, Raedrian mentions that he’s training to be a paladin and Ylaina finally speaks. She’s adorable, like that. With the natural curiosity of a child in her eyes. She’s untainted by Lord Jeron. Raedrian wishes he could be the same way.

But he lets Ylaina amuse him for awhile, even actually grinning at some point. She seems so sure of her power and her sister’s. It’s amazingly cute. The pout and the slight anger– he probably shouldn’t be egging her on, but anger in her small face is worth it.

Anyren pats Ylaina’s shoulder and the younger bites back her anger a bit. She isn’t outright glaring at Raedrian anymore, but he can still see it in the way her eyebrows are furrowed and she watches him like she’s imitating a hawk. It’s still cute. Yet, it’s starting to become unnerving. Not only with the predator like staring, but the way Raedrian knows she can see through him. He doesn’t like that.

Anyren and Raedrian talk for much longer, while the adults do whatever they’re doing. Lord Jeron sounds cocky, from what Rae can hear. He doesn’t like it. He’s taking something incredibly important away from this family of mages, isn’t he?

When the clock strikes 11:30, Professor Yaereen Leysinger is the first to stand. Lord Jeron follows more slowly, leaning on his knuckles on the desk. Raedrian hates that desk. It’s where lives are ruined due to the deals Lord Jeron makes out of his clients. It’s disgusting.

Professor Yareen leaves quickly and her daughters follow right on her heels. Raedrian doesn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to them. That makes him sad. They were the only children he’s been able to speak with outside of training. And now they’re gone without a proper farewell.

Before Raedrian realizes it, he’s frowning at the door through which the Leysinger family disappeared. He catches himself quickly and fixes his expression. Raedrian cannot show emotion in front of his father, and that’s final.

However, Lord Jeron caught it. Rae knows this when he looks at his father and sees him smirking back. The same predator-like staring comes from Lord Jeron that Rae first saw in Ylaina. He realizes how much favorable that expression is on the mage child. At least nothing too bad can come from her, unlike Lord Jeron.

“Why are you upset, Raedrian?”

Rae looks way from his father and back at the door. It’s closed now, and the guards are gone. He’s trapped in his room with his father now. There’s no one to save him anymore. He’s all alone.

“They were the only other kids I had ever met that were not paladins.” Rae states simply. It’s better to say the truth than to lie. Lord Jeron knows when he’s being lied to and Raedrian hasn’t quite mastered lying believably. Ylaina made that obvious. Lord Jeron is always making that obvious.

“Do not fret, you will be seeing them a lot more from now on.” There’s something in Lord Jeron’s tone that doesn’t sit well with Raedrian. What does he mean? And more importantly, does he mean what Rae thinks he means? If so, Raedrian is incredibly sorry for the two girls. Losing a seemingly single mother and a house that was probably full of love to a dick of his father, excuse his language, is not a fair trade. Rae doesn’t know the two girls or the mother, but he still would choose them over his father. Any sane person would.

Instead of brooding about it, Rae decides to come out and ask the question. He won’t get a verbal answer, but Rae doesn’t need one to know if Lord Jeron ruined another family.

“You made her sell her children to you, didn’t you?” Rae mumbles, eyes turning back to the door. He can’t look at his father as he speaks. Rae already knows the answer as it leaves his lips. His stomach begins to churn as he replays the transaction that was happening over that Light-forsaken desk as Raedrian distracted the Professor’s children. Ylaina and Aynren– they didn’t even know about this, did they?

Raedrian can practically hear Lord Jeron’s smirk as he replies to Rae’s question. “I hope you will welcome them as an honorable host.”

That was the answer that Raedrian had feared. It completely answered his question, despite Lord Jeron not saying it directly. Lord Jeron never answers anything directly. He doesn’t ever have to, to get his message across. It’s another reason Raedrian fears him so much.

He bites his lower lip as he stares at the door. Usually, Rae would try to distract himself by studying the detail. The door can’t seem to come into focus now, no matter how hard Raedrian wills himself. With a blink, Raedrian realizes why. He feels water slowly roll down his cheek and the door comes into focus.

Why is he crying?

A guard yells outside the door and before Raedrian can recognize what’s going on, his feet are moving him swiftly forward. He’s running and bursting through the door, seemingly on autopilot. It’s probably for the best; Raedrian isn’t sure he could take control of his own body without breaking down. It’s the anger towards his father for stealing something so precious to a mother, it’s the empathy towards what the girls are going to face here, it’s the hopelessness that he can’t do anything to save them, it’s–

It’s fear.

Fear is weakness and here he is, letting it consume him so badly that he has to let his body act on its own so that he doesn’t do something he would ultimately regret. How could he let himself feel something for two girls he hardly even knows?

Raedrian races down the hallway, snapping back into his body when he recognizes entryway to the manor. He sees a figure race out through the door and a few guards try to follow. Their weapons are drawn and they’re tense. One of them gets close enough to lash out at the figure that escaped, yet another jumps in the way. The sword pierces the second’s stomach and the guard stares at her in fear.

There it is again: fear. Raedrian would be amazing to see such an emotion on a guard’s face but he’s too busy trying not to cry out as he recognizes the injured.

It’s Ylaina.

She’s staring at the sword impaling her, eyes wide and mouth agape. The guards are doing the same, their gazes flicking back and forth between the guard that did the stabbing and the girl, still frozen on the tip of the sword. They aren’t doing anything to help. They’re scared at what Lord Jeron will do to them once they find out. He will find out, too. There’s no way you can hide an injury of this scale on someone Lord Jeron just bought.

The moment seems to be frozen until Ylaina tears her gaze from the weapon and looks up at the guard. Raedrian bolts forward at that moment. He shoves the guards out of the way since they had formed a protective semi-circle around the girl and her attacker. He needs to get through! If the guards aren’t going to save her, let the paladin do it!.

Raedrian screams this and barrels through, shouldering off hands that try to grab him as he does. The girl collapses as Rae finally gets to her but he successfully catches her. She’s dying, she’s impaled, how can he save her? Raedrian is training to be on the front lines of the battlefield, not at the back with the healers. He can’t possibly heal an injury so large when he can barely heal a few scratches after training. He’s not a healer!

After a moment of panic, Raedrian starts slowly. He lays her on the ground so that the wound isn’t forced open at an odd angle which causes more blood loss. There, that’s the first step. The girl has already passed out which is most likely due to shock instead of the loss of blood. The tip of the sword is still in her.

Raedrian snaps his head up and locks his gaze onto the first guard he sees. The commands come swiftly from there, memories of the small healing training he’s had flooding back to him as he yells. This attracts the attention of many of the servants and woman, yet Raedrian can’t focus on them. They’re not the ones bleeding to death.

When he looks back down at Ylaina, Rae sees his hands glowing a warm, bright yellow. It’s the Light, coming to him in a time of need. He hasn’t even asked for it, yet here it is. Many of the greatest paladins have trouble with that. Why is he an exception?

Instead of thinking about it, he gets to work, healing around the sword. That will be pulled out shortly, yet he would like to mend anything that was punctured and doesn’t have the sword still in it first. Those are generally the deepest wounds. Yet, he has to be careful he doesn’t heal too much. If the organs healed around the sword before he pulled it out…

The time goes by in a blur of prayers, shouting and lots of blood. By the time he’s finished, Raedrian is sweating and panting heavily. He looks just as bad as Ylaina did when she was stabbed, who is thankfully still unconscious. His hands are soaked as well as his shirt. It’s alright, though. Ylaina is breathing steadily and, for the most part, the wound is healed. There is sewed up wound in the middle of her stomach, and her shirt is torn terribly from where Raedrian had to get to her wound. The sword is now with it’s owner, who is probably in his quarters, preparing to get fired by Lord Jeron. Rae isn’t exactly sure why that guard would fear getting fired; Lord Jeron is cruel to everyone, the hired guards aren’t an exception. It’s a wonder that the guard even took up the job in the first place.

Rae carries Ylaina to the infirmary wing and lets the nurses deal with her. He washes his hands in the nearby sink and tears off his shirt, which sticks grossly to him. He’s not exactly bothered that the shirt is ruined; It was one of the many hand-me-downs from his older siblings who are long gone now. Lord Jeron will have to buy Raedrian a new shirt now. He’s not looking forward to spending time alone with his father as they go shopping, but he is looking forward to a shirt he actually likes.

With a deep sigh, Raedrian grabs a nearby hand towel to begin washing himself off with water. It’s cold unlike the sweat and blood plastered to his body. It awakens him and helps him feel a little bit more at ease. He saved someone. Raedrian, the prodigy paladin of fourteen, saved someone. Pride overwhelms him as he continues washing his chest. A small smiles lights up his face, which slowly grows as Rae turns the idea over and over in his head. By the time he’s finished cleaning himself, Raedrian is beaming and the words ‘I saved someone’ have turned to mush.

He did it. He actually did it.

Basking in his pride, Raedrian carries himself over to the chair by Ylaina’s infirmary bed. She’ll live and that’s good enough for Rae. He wasn’t able to protect her, despite his mental nagging to, but that doesn’t matter at the moment because he saved her.

Raedrian leans over and squeezes Ylaina’s hand firmly.

“I actually saved you,” He whispers, eyes locking onto her face in a simple expression of longing. “I can’t believe it.”

Before he realizes it, Raedrian is passing out next to Ylaina. His arms serve as a pillow on the bed next to the unconscious girl. The healing must have taken a bigger toll on him that he realized. It was worth it, though.

He drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face, completely forgetting about the abandoned stand up in the music room that he forgot to put away.

The day Raedrian turned sixteen, he received something he had never had before. Well, received might be the wrong word, but it’s the only one that came to mind. They might have been paid for by his father, or they might have just decided he was lonely enough, but Rae gained friends. He didn’t expect to gain friends; he really didn’t expect more than a nice meal (which, let’s be honest, he always has) for dinner and another hour of cello practice.

But friends.

Rae nearly exploded onto Ylaina when he got to Lord Jeron’s manor. She was, for once, also there. Layna doesn’t like staying around the manor. Yet, as a minor, she can’t really go anywhere. She’s only fourteen, after all.

He didn’t expect much from Ylaina either. All he got from her was an unenthusiastic “Happy Birthday, Raendrain” once he reminded her.

He feels a bit guilty about reminding her.

Quickly, Rae tried to change the subject. He could clearly see that Ylaina was very curious about what had made him so unbelievably excited. Some may counter that he’s always unbelievably excited, but Rae wants to live in this moment for a little bit.

“Layna.” Rae grins, as he flops down next to her on her bed. She instantly picks up her book and shuffles backwards, her back pressed against the wall. A curious frown settles on her soft features and Rae grins a bit wider.

“What.” Rae notices that it comes out more as a statement than a question.

“I made friends today!” He giggles excitedly. He gently drums his hands against the soft covers on Layna’s bed. Yet, since his arms and hands have been trapped under him from when he fell onto the bed, they vibrate his chest in a weird beat. It makes him giggle even more. What a strange feeling that is!

“I’m proud of you, Rae.” Layna says with a quirked eyebrow. Is she amused? He guesses she’s amused. Rae hopes she’s amused under the layers of emotionless he sees in her face.

“I am too! I don’t know what I did to deserve friends but it makes me excited! Well, not as excited as I would be if they weren’t paladins like me, but excited! Oh, one of their names’ is Al… Alair? Alen?– something like that. We just call him Al. He’s kinda a big deal around school. Not only does he get stares from the girls–”

“Just the girls?” Ylaina cuts in, gently fingering the pages of her books. She doesn’t seem interested in the clearly awesome story that Rae is telling, but he doesn’t let that affect him.

“–well, he’s clearly hot…” Layna smirks. Raedrian pouts. “–But that doesn’t mean I have the hots for him! He’s just really cool and knightly, I guess. He’s like, the posterboy for paladins.”

Rae rolls onto his back, the opposite direction of Ylaina, and stares at the ceiling. It’s the same ceiling as the one in his room but, he finds this one quite a bit more interesting. This is a ceiling he hasn’t traced a thousand times during sleepless nights.

“The other two… uh, Darian and Yel– I think– are kind of the misfits of school.” He tilts his head, crimson hair falling into his face. “I’m not quite sure how I feel about them yet. But, hey, they talk to me? That has to count for something, right?”

Ylaina grunts as a response and Rae shrugs. It’s only been the first day of knowing them. He can figure out if he likes them at a later date.

With a small sigh, Rae heaves himself up from her bed. He’s only sixteen and he’s already looking like an adult. It scares him, if he’s honest. Look at his shoulders! They’re too big for a child!

But damn, if he doesn’t look good.

Raedrian throws a glance at the bed and frowns. He made an impression in the blankets. Quickly, he fixes it. It would be rude not to, after all. When it comes to Ylaina, Rae absolutely doesn’t want to be too rude. Just a little bit rude.

Before he rights himself, Raedrian pulls out a small, paper box and holds it out to Ylaina. She slowly looks up from her book, eyes gluing to the brown box. They both know what’s inside it. He couldn’t resist getting it after practice after school incase he saw her today.

“What is… Why did you get this?” Ylaina asks slowly, tearing her gaze from the box to Rae’s eyes. He just smiles fondly in response and places it on the page of her book.

Her eyes don’t move from his as he does this.

Raedrian throws her a wink as he straightens and turns on his toe, walking towards the door.

“‘Cause it’s my birthday, dearie!” He throws over his shoulder as he exits the room.

There’s soft muttering in response. Raedrian has to control his giggling.

A week later, Raedrian got his answer. He figured out if the boys he met at school were really his friends or not.

Long story short: they’re not. They’re just using him, as he suspected. At least, Darian and Yel are. Al… Al seems to be genuinely interested in Rae. He offers Rae things instead of expecting Rae to offer him things. In fact, when Rae does offer Al something, he seems surprised.

When the sixteen-and-one-month marker hit, the boys who called themselves his friends decided to celebrate; they took Raedrian after school to the beaches north of the city, they made a bonfire and played games with a ball that Darian brought with them, they even sparred until the sun was well down, unable to beat Alairan in a one-on-one match. Raedrian came the closest. Darian and Yel weren’t strong enough to hold up against him. Alairan was a few years ahead of them; it surprised Raedrian more than he cared to admit that he had lasted as long as he did against Alairan.

Something in the back of his mind supposes that’s because Al went easy on him. Rae hopes that, that isn’t true.

“Hey, Rae?” Darian calls, walking over to the bonfire and sitting down across from Raedrian. Yel joins him a second later, sitting closer to Darian than Rae. Al still stands, fixing his long, dirty blond hair into a loose ponytail.

“What’s up, Darian?” Rae responds, tilting his head as he does so.

Darian pulls out the satchel that had the ball in it and begins fishing inside of it, searching for something. It must be enchanted, Raedrian decides. It’s far too small for a medium sized ball to fit into as well as whatever Darian is searching for.

Seconds later, Darian pulls out a large, glass bottle. Al looks up and lets out a yell of triumph, snatching the bottle from Darian’s hands and rolling it between his own. His eyes begin to sparkle with excitement as Al fully inspect the labels and contents.

“Darian, where in the Light’s name did you get this?” Al chuckles as he uncaps the bottle and takes a mighty swig of it. Raedrian feels his stomach drop. Al screws up his face as he swallows, coughing as it burns his throat but ultimately laughing again.

Darian shrugs sheepishly. Behind the facade, Raedrian could see the triumph as well. Hell, he seems quite a bit happier than Raedrian does.

Rae isn’t quite sure he wants to know where Darian got the bottle.

“Snuck it from my parents’ cellar.” Darian smiles. Yel claps him on the back and stands, taking the bottle from Al before he can take another swig from it. He makes nearly the same face as Al did, though he coughs for quite a bit longer. Both Alairan and Yel laugh at his reaction.

The bottle is then passed to Darian and the boy doesn’t try to swallow all of the bottle’s contents in one try. Instead, he lifts it to his lips and takes what appears to be a normal amount of the liquid. Darian doesn’t cough, nor does he make a face. Instead, he raises his eyebrows at Al in a silent challenge and passes the bottle back to Al.

Al snickers.

“Don’t look so smug because you’ve had liquor before.”

Raedrian tenses. He feels his hands begin to shake as his eyes glue to the bottle. Light, he had so hoped that the bottle didn’t contain alcohol. Maybe it’s some foul-tasting soda? He had thought. Oh, had so hoped as well.

But with Al so blatantly saying the the contents of the bottle were alcoholic, Raedrian couldn’t dismiss the problem at hand.

The idle bickering faded out as Rae saw the liquor bottle get closer and closer to him. No, he won’t drink it. He won’t become his father. He can’t ruin so many innocent lives like his father has, he can’t–

Rae bites his lip. What about his friends? What will they say if he doesn’t drink from the bottle? He’s been having a lot of fun these past few days and he really doesn’t want them to end just because he couldn’t do something as simple as drinking from a bottle, despite the contents being alcoholic.

He takes a deep breath and clenches his shaking hand. Will drinking really turn him into someone like his father? Alcohol really can’t do that, can it? It’s his own actions and his own thoughts that turn him into a monster like his father. Taking a drink for once won’t actually turn him into someone like his father. As long as he keeps a level head, as long as he reminds himself of who he is and who he isn’t, he can keep himself from turning into his father.

That’s how it worked…right?

When the bottle is passed to him, Raedrian doesn’t let himself think. He just smirks up at Al, gives him a little wink, and takes a swig larger than Al’s. He doesn’t let himself make a face, nor does he let himself cough. Instead, he smacks his lips, looks at the bottle in mock inspection, and grins up at Al.

The expression on Al’s face is priceless.

Raedrian immediately bursts into laughter. He throws his head back in the amusement of Al’s face, unable to contain his joy. Drinking from the bottle was absolutely worth it because of the reaction Alairan gave him. Light, if he could find other ways to make Al pull that face, Rae would do it all the time.

“You might be a god or some shit.” Al says, snapping himself out of his own stupor. “How the hell did you–” He looks down at the bottle, inspecting it a second time. There’s nothing different than when Al took a drink.

“You must be one hell of an actor.” Yel cackles from his place at Darian’s side. Rae shrugs sheepishly.

“I’m one hell of a Raedrian.” He responds smartly.

Al chuckles and takes a small sip from the bottle, keeping it firmly in his hands as he plops down in the sand next to Rae. “If that ain’t the truth…”

Rae grins over at Al and receives a grin in return. Al wraps his arm around Rae’s shoulder and pulls him into an awkward hug, their heads pressing together close enough so that Rae can smell the alcohol on his breath. It almost makes him gag.

Every instinct in his body is telling him to run, to turn away and go back to the Manor: this isn’t the life he wants, these aren’t the kind of friends he needs. If he just went home and practiced cello and focused on school… Maybe Al, Darian and Yel would come back and apologize, staying friends with him. Maybe they would shrug this off as a “we tried and failed” experiment. Everything could go back to normal, if they wanted after this.

Yet… What if his friends shun him for walking off? What if they see him as weak? Rae can’t have that… He isn’t weak! Weakness is something to be taken advantage of, after all. If he’s weak, he’ll just end up being walked all over as people around him climb to the top.

He can’t have that.

Raedrian leans into Al and giggles as he forces his thoughts into the back of his brain. For once, he should let the fear of his father vanish so that he may have fun. Why can’t this night mark the beginning of that?

Hell, why shouldn’t it?

“To the best paladins of Silvermoon City!” Al cheers, holding up the glass bottle. The fire reflects on its surface, turning the contents a deep burgundy. It’s quite a pretty color, if Rae is honest with himself.

The three boys respond in turn, each laughing wildly as jokes began to be cracked and the bottle continuously passes around the circle.

Raedrian remembers that night all-too clearly. He remembers stumbling home with Al at his side as they sung off-key. Darian and Yel stayed behind, unable to keep their hands off each other anymore. Al and Rae snuck away, laughing hysterically at the awkward encounter that they just witnessed. And after another hour of stumbling around Silvermoon at four in the morning, Alairan and Raedrian ended up at Rae’s house. They snuck through the back door and wound their way up the maze to his room.

Their night didn’t end like Yel and Darian’s. Instead, they collapsed on opposite ends of Rae’s bed, giggling like the drunken teenagers they were. For another hour after, the two made shitty jokes about Rae’s father and Al’s older sister, Knowelle. They tried to be quiet but when there was a loud smack against the wall that connect Ylaina’s and Raedrian’s, Alairan and Rae realized that their “quiet” was actually rather loud.

Still, it had been quite amusing.

Their amusement ended, however, when the pair was rudely awoken by the sunlight shining through Rae’s window. Al groaned in protest and hid his face in Rae’s neck and Rae placed a pillow over their heads.

There’s something wrong. Aerven isn’t quite sure what it is, but he knows that he’s right. There is something terribly wrong and he can’t do anything to help-- to fix it. He’s just stuck at his home, pacing the corridors and mapping them out over and over even though he knows them by heart. He could walk the whole house with closed eyes by now. Aerven just can’t stop moving.

That’s what he’s been doing for a full week. Periodically, at first. Because he still had hope. There was still a chance. Also, he has Myrrhine to care for, even if she is a grown women. She’s still a part of his life and lives at his house. Though, the truth is she’s been taking more care of him. She’s been reminding him to eat, to sleep, to drink something. Those necessities have stopped being a priority.

All because Al isn’t home.

He’s late. It’s been 3 weeks and it should have only been one. There has been no letter, no messenger-- nothing. There’s always something. Always! It’s not like Al to forget or get too distracted.

So that means he’s dead.

No! Aerven screams in his head. He can’t think like that! He can’t do it because that would mean giving in and accepting and he can’t believe that. He won’t! Al is too important, too strong to be dead. He’s an unofficial  general of the Horde on the battlefields of Ashran. He’s been the lone survivor of countless battles and his streak wouldn’t just stop.

If all else fails, his bloodlust will protect him.

It’s not a pretty image, seeing Alarian consumed by rage and insatiable desire. It’s terrifying the way he smiles and laughs as his enemies die around him. How it drives him to the craziest of actions, but protects him nonetheless. His bloodlust, as much as Aerven hates and fears it, is a shield for Alairan. He can’t die during that time. Not unless willingly.

Aerven’s stomach drops and he almost throws up on the spot. Al wouldn’t be killed willingly, he’s not suicidal. He loves the life he’s created with Aerven and Myrrhine. He loves the house and forge he built mostly by himself. Alairan wouldn’t just give that all up.

He can’t. He wouldn’t.

Aerven shakes his head a desperately holds the tears back. He won’t give into his thoughts. Al is alive, Al is alive. And he will return. There must be a valid reason for the silence from him. Maybe no messengers were available or the base was attacked. Neither are nice thoughts, but they’re better than thinking about Alairan’s death.

Their cat, well, he was Ae’s originally but sometimes he believes the cat loves Alairan more than him, crosses Aerven’s path. Ae scoops him up immediately and cuddles him tightly. He’s been doing that multiple times each day. A force cuddle. Mainly because it calms Aerven, even if just fractionally. It calms him and the cat loves it. The cat purrs and rubs his head against Aerven’s chin. Ae can just get lost in the mass of fur for a few minutes.

And then it’s back to pacing. This time, he holds their cat and talks to it. He tells the cat over and over that Al is alright and that he shouldn’t worry because Al will be back soon. Then, he can have even more cuddles, this time with his other dad. He can wrestle with Al and run around and have as much fun as he wants because sometimes, Ae believes, the cat thinks he’s a dog.

Ultimately, Aerven isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince himself or the cat anymore. But the mindless rambling is something to take his mind off the anxiety. That’s exactly what he needs. Talking helps, talking distracts him. However, it’s almost three in the morning and Myrrhine is asleep. So, the cat will have to do. Just for a few more hours.

Aerven gets so caught up in his rambling and pacing that he almost doesn’t hear the front door unlock. He isn’t even sure how he got to the front room in the first place. Which hallway did he just come from? Or maybe he came down the stairs from the library. Either way, that doesn’t matter. What matters is the somehow Aerven recognizes the click of the deadbolt through all of his thoughts and freezes.

It can’t be. But it must be. Burglars usually don’t have a key to get into someone’s house. They usually enter through broken windows or by picking the lock. Possibly even breaking it. A thought pops into his head that someone probably could have pulled the key from Alairan’s corpse. That’s quickly shoved aside because Alairan isn’t that stupid. He keeps his personal belongings in the base, away from the battlefield. What if the Alliance took over? What if they ransacked the base and stole it from his bags and--

The door opens before Aerven can finish the thought. Aerven feels his throat tighten and his heart flutter. The cat jumps from his hands. He can't move to follow. For once in two weeks, he can't will his feet to move. It's like they're glued to the floor.

Then someone is bending down to pick the cat up and Aerven recognizes the scarred hands and white hair. It falls in it's tie over the man’s shoulder and covers his face before Aerven can see it. But he doesn't have to see to know. He know the way those arms move, the battered armor that covered them. He knows the only person their cat would great at the door like that.

“Hey buddy,” the man says and cuddles the cat to his chest, obviously talking to it. “Where’s daddy?”

The cat rubs his head on the man’s chest and purrs loudly. It seems like Aerven as been forgotten already. Such a loyal cat indeed. Obviously, Aerven was the one that rescued him. Ae would make a remark about that, but it’s not the time. He can’t even find his voice to welcome the man home in the first place.

So when the man releases the cat and hauls himself inside, Aerven can’t suppress the surge of emotions. It finally lets his feet move, finally lets Ae feel something more than just shock and fear. There’s anger but that is combated with love, relief and excitement. Al’s home, he’s home. He’s not dead on Ashran somewhere, forgotten. He’s alive and standing right in front of Ae. Al’s not focused on him, not yet. He’s busy taking off his bags and setting them by the front door. But when Alairan finally looks up, when their eyes finally meet and Al gives him the most loving smile Ae has ever seen, Aerven breaks and shoots forward. He bolts forward and hugs Alairan so tightly that his chest hurts from the impact. Alairan does have his plate armor on, after all. A set he personally made and crafted for himself. A loyal set.

Aerven finally lets himself cry. He cries in Al’s arms as he buries his head in Alairan’s neck. He cries because Al is alive, and here and in Ae’s arms. When Al hugs him back, Ae cries even harder. Aerven has missed him so, so very much. It’s all too much to handle at that moment but at the same time it’s the best thing in the world. Holding Al, feeling the way he breathes, the way he whispers apologizes into Aerven’s ear--

Ae isn’t quite sure he’s ever been so relieved before.

He feels Alairan kiss his temple. Everything is alright now. They’re both safe, they’re both home. Aerven feels the tears stop. He didn’t cry for long, he never cries for long. Not recently anyway. There’s no need to. Aerven cries for a few minutes and then he feels better. This situation is a good one, nothing to cry about. Just the overwhelming emotions forced it out of him.

They’re both alright. Myrrhine is in her bed asleep and Alairan came back mostly unscathed.

Aerven moves his arms from around Alairan’s neck to his chest as he removes his head from Al’s shoulder. Their eyes meet. Alairan is still smiling that smile that made him explode, melt and mend all at once. The one that gave him so many emotions that he wasn’t sure how to handle them all. And somehow, Aerven smiles back. It’s genuine, it’s happy, it’s filled with as much love as Alairan’s is. Everything feels alright.

“Hello, dearie.” Alairan whispers softly, his arms still wrapped around Aerven’s waist. He makes no indication that they will be moved at any time. Aerven finds himself completely okay with that. It’s a perfect little moment.

“Hello, love.” Aerven whispers back. His heart flutters. Only Al will hear that name and only Al is allowed to call him that. It’s specifically reserved for the two of them.

Alairan kisses Ae’s forehead gently. Aerven feels his heart explode. He’s always been a sap for gentle signs of romance between them. Sure, steamy moments are great, they always are. But they don’t have the same meaning as small kisses, gentle hand holding and soft taps. These are the moments that he knows Al loves him and he’s not with Aerven just for his body. Not that Ae would have even started dating him in the first place if he was. But that’s not the point.

Aerven bumps his head on Alairan’s chin when he moves back and smiles at Alairan’s hands. That is, until he sees the blood on Al’s chestplate. He has no doubt that most of it isn’t Alairan’s, but the thought doesn’t comfort him much. It forces Aerven to remember who Alairan is on the battlefield, how different those personalities are. It’s not a good thought. Yet, that personality lives in the same body as the one Ae grew to love, to care for. So he must learn to understand it in someway. He already has started. Aerven is one of the few people that is able to calm Al down in these moods.

Aerven runs a finger over the nearest splatter and frowns. It’s dry and it looks like it has been for days. Just, what exactly happened on Ashran? What made him forget to clean his armor before he got home? Alairan hardly forgets that-- mainly because he did it once or twice and nearly scared Aerven to death. Since then he always made it a point to clean his armor before he came back.

With a bit of further inspection, Aerven notices a few streak marks. It appears Alairan had tried to clean it. Poorly and obviously in a rush. At least he tried. However, that brings more than one question to his lips, none he dares to ask yet. That would mean ruining a Moment for Serious talk. They’ve just reunited, it can wait a bit more. Serious talk can almost always wait a bit more.

His eyes flick back up to Alairan’s and he notices that deep in the frosty blue, there’s still a tinge of white. White is not a good color, not in Alairan’s eyes. He’d rather see perfect blue, the color of the skies on a beautiful day than white. White is the color of bloodlust. Pure white is the color of death and destruction and a laugh that locks itself in Aerven’s brain and gives him nightmares for days.

Aerven reaches up and pokes Alairan in the cheek. “How are you feeling? Do we need to spar?”

Alairan shakes his head and Aerven frowns a bit more. Refusing to spar in the past has almost always ended terribly. Ae doesn’t want this to be another one of those moments. It’s late and Aerven’s not sure he can stay up much longer. He hasn’t slept in, what, 4 days? It’s possible that it’s been more or less time than that. Myrrhine would know, his mind is too clouded with more important thoughts.

“No, but thank you. I think just a night alone with you and possibly a bath would be enough.” Alairan grins. Of course that’s where his mind led him. Alairan is always thinking about alone time with Aerven. He is, as always, predictable.

Aerven shakes his head and taps the chestplate. “Not until this is off and you tell me what happened.”

Comfort and story time first, then cuddles. Always that order. He is not going to kiss and have a moment with Alairan until that plate is off. Not only does it get in the way, but it reminds them of the battlefield: of war and death and blood. They do not need that in their house. They experience it first hand everywhere else but here. There is no need to break that streak today.

They both nod (Aerven after Alairan, of course) and move Alairan’s stuff to their appropriate locations. His backpack stays by the door but Oblivion and the plate armor must go to the forge for later repairs and washing. Aerven takes the dirty clothes, oh dear Light do they reek, and places them in a basket. That basket is then placed in the bathroom. There is no way that stench is staying in their room and smelling it up.

Minutes later, they meet back up in the bedroom. Ae rolls his eyes at the amount of dirt and grime and utter filth plastered to Alairan’s clothes and skin. A shower is next. Absolutely not a bath, no matter what Al had wanted. Ae doesn’t want to sit in that and doesn’t think Al could get even remotely clean. The water would be brown by the time he sat all the way down. That thought is absolutely horrid so Ae scurries them off to the bathroom for a shower.

On the way, he notices the stiff walk and the slight limp. Any normal person, someone who wasn’t so close to Al, wouldn’t have even noticed it. Al has almost perfected his ability to seem fine. Aerven, however, knows much better than that. He knows exactly how Alairan works and what he does to pretend he’s alright. How Alairan takes deeper breaths, how his voice loses emotion, how he’s always tense; this is how Aerven knows. They’re all subtle changes, something that took years for Aerven to even notice.

It appears that once again on the battlefield Alairan either forgot to ask for healing or didn’t want to be healed. That makes Aerven nervous. Why? Why does he always refuse to be healed? Aerven understands the fear if it’s healing from a priest or paladin, but there are other healers. Druids and shamans for example. Aerven knows a few personally because of this fear. He has gone out on Ashran with Al before to make sure there was a healer there that would take care of Alairan.

That person is obviously not doing their job. No, Aerven doesn’t blame the healer. He blames Alairan. Alairan believes he’s invincible at times, especially when his bloodlust controls him. Al doesn’t take orders or accept help during these moods.

It pisses Aerven off.

Aerven quickly helps Alairan undress once in the bathroom. No matter how many times Al complains and insists that he is ‘alright’ and ‘can do it himself’, Ae knows better. He’s not blind to the way Al’s face twists in pain when he has to pull the shirt off over his head. Aerven can hear the sharp gasps and barely audible whines.

The Light answers Aerven’s unspoken prayer and warms his palms, yet he pulls back before the divine magic can touch Alairan. Aerven is terrified of using it on Alairan, even if it has been years, even if he is confident in his ability to not hurt Alairan. It’s still a matter of what if. Unholy and Divine beings do not mix well therefore Alairan and Aerven should not mix well. Their powers could destroy each other easily. It’s not a comforting thought.

The water is turned on and Alairan steps in, audibly groaning at the sensation of water rushing over him. Aerven wonders if Alairan ever misses the comfort of the warmth from showers and baths. He probably does, considering he never knows what temperature anything is. However, Al has memorized visually how far to turn the knob so the water is comfortable for Ae. This is just because he can’t feel it and Ae used to always complain about the temperature of things. Now he doesn’t have to. Al is sweet like that.

When Ae is undressed and in the shower too, he cringes at the runoff water flowing into the drain. It’s brown and red. A steady stream of that flows directly from Al. Al, who isn’t even paying attention to the water below him, has his eyes closed and face turned up to the showerhead. He seems almost asleep.

Aerven decides then that they must take a short shower before both of them fall asleep standing up.

They both rinse off, Aerven practically pushing Al out from under the water after a few minutes of standing there, freezing. The temperature is lovely. Yet, when Al isn’t looking, he makes it a tad bit colder. It’s just to motivate Ae to get out of the shower quicker.

Ae helps Alairan thoroughly cleanse his body and hair before Ae even thinks about washing himself. Alairan is first priority tonight. He is the injured one, after all. Aerven is just sleep deprived and exhausted from his mental illnesses. He can swallow those for another hour or two to make Al feel comfortable.

And then it comes to healing Al and they both stop. Al’s eyes open for one of the few times in the shower. They seem to be questioning him. Why are you hesitating? I believe in you. You won’t hurt me, I promise.

Aerven nods, the imaginary voices of Al comforting him. They're right, of course. Ae won't hurt Al. He never has. Therefore, this should all be alright. There is no way Alairan will get hurt.

He takes a deep breath and lets the Light guide him. It warms his palm and Al’s skin as they press together. The Light gives Al’s skin a golden color as it runs through his veins, healing everything it can. Every little knick or scratch is healed almost instantly. It fades to the ghostly white of Al’s skin as the Light moves on, following the guidance of Aerven’s hand. He starts at Alairan’s left shoulder, not only focusing on his powers but Al’s face. The death knight is uncomfortable, unbelievably so. It is to be expected. While Al believes in Ae’s power a tremendous amount, there’s still always that fear that Ae may make one wrong move. In a second, Al could be writhing on the floor in pain. In ten, he could be dead. They both know this.

Ae won’t let it happen. He’s too incontrol of his powers to let it.

His hand passes over Al’s heart. The vital organ had stopped beating decades ago. There was no use for it anymore, not with the amazing amount of unholy magic running through his veins. It let’s Alairan’s body function as if he was still alive.

The scar that crosses over Al’s heart warms underneath Aerven’s hand. It glows a muted golden, on that makes it look like normal skin. The thought makes Ae’s own heart hurt. This scar marks Alairan’s death. A sword was stabbed here, breaking several ribs, obliterating Al’s heart and efficiently killing him. This is the scar that turned Alairan from a holy being to an unholy being.

Fingers weave through Aerven’s forcing Ae to look up. Lost in his thoughts, Ae had stopped moving at some point. He now realizes it was probably extremely uncomfortable for Ae’s hand to have lingered over such a sensitive spot. Before Ae can jerk his hand back, though, he sees Alairan smile at him. That makes his heart flutter and suddenly he doesn’t feel so guilty. Having Ae’s hand over Al’s heart with the light seeping into Alairan’s skin-- it must have felt like he was alive again. To have a strong, Light filled heart.

Maybe that’s why Alairan smiled. The thought has Aerven smiling as well. He kisses Al’s fingers gently, the Light warming his lips. Then, he’s letting go and moving again. Ae is more confident this time and holds his head up as he heals Al. There’s no way he can hurt the person he loves. It’s about time he got that memorized.

For the remainder of the shower, Aerven heals Alairan. Ae periodically looks up at Al to see him watching, the most gentle and loving smile playing on his lips. It’s not a long healing session, not after the sudden boost of confidence.They’re out and drying off only ten minutes after Ae had begun. And Alairan looks reborn. He looks refreshed, new and alive, like he’s watching the world through new eyes.

This is a good look for Al, Aerven decides. He’s decided a lot today.

He doesn’t need to help Alairan dry off. It seems like the Light has done an abnormally exceptional amount of work tonight on Al.

The death knight kisses him the moment they’re in their bedroom. Ae can’t find the strength to fight him. They haven’t had story time, Ae needs to know what happened. But seeing Alairan like this… Seeing him so energized has got Aerven thinking that maybe storytime can wait. Just a bit longer. He’s aware an attitude like that will make sure nothing ever gets done. With Al around, though, everything is fine. Nothing has to be done, no one is expecting anything of him.

“Go to bed, Al.” Ae whispers before Alairan can kiss him again. “You look like a new man, yet you’re exhausted from battle. When was the last time you slept, love?”

Al sighs and takes Aerven’s hands in his own. “It’s been about a week. You know I don’t need sleep--” It’s sometimes a luxury that he can’t afford. You can’t, after all, sleep on a battlefield. Not without a death wish.

Maybe that’s why he’s been the only survivor multiple times.

He sees the way Aerven looks at him and has to give in. “Alright, dearie. To bed, then.”

The bed has never been more comfortable, yet stiff at the same time. It’s too soft and the perfect amount of plush. Al doesn’t know how to relax. He just lays on it and waits for his muscles to naturally unwind. It doesn’t work. His back is as tense as when he saw the Alliance gathered at the outpost before Warspear. His arms still feel the weight of Oblivion. The thought makes Al curl his arms inwards so that they’re trapped in between his chest and the bed. It works little.

When Aerven climbs into the bed next to him, Al feels the bed shift and cave under his weight. Ae is by no means overweight. He is built of muscle and has a body type similar to Al’s. However, Ae lacks the height and muscle mass that Alairan has. They are both built like a tank, ready to defend and take blows for allies. Unlike Al, Aerven’s sole purpose as a tank is to be a protector. He is a shield for his guild as they slay and injure their targets. Generally, Ae and his guild are on a complete different battlefield than Alairan. They are fighting the Iron Horde, the demons, Gul’dan’s army and Archimonde. Al’s main focus is the Alliance. He must keep the Alliance away from outposts and cities such as Warspear. His army, the Horde itself, is the protector for those on the other battlefield. Without Al’s army, the Horde combating Gul’dan would be impossible. They’d have another enemy at their back that they would be too busy fighting to pay attention to the demons.

Aerven is built to protect. Alairan is built to conquer.

The paladin makes himself comfortable in Al’s chest, cuddling against him. It makes Al smile. To see Aerven again, to be able to cuddle and sleep in the same bed as Ae: these are the things Al misses most on the battlefield. Just being with his family. Yes, family. Aerven is his husband and Myrrhine is their little companion. Not quite child, not quite sister.

Alairan holds Aerven in his arms and sighs contently. This is a nice moment. Aerven mumbles something incoherently into Al’s chest, snapping Al out of his study of Ae’s features and habits.

“Come again, dearie?” Al asks softly. He detaches an arm from around Ae to momentarily tuck Ae’s golden hair behind his ear. It had fallen in front of his face at some point. It gives Al an excuse to run his fingers through Aerven’s hair and study Ae’s face.

“I love you,” Aerven whispers, this time so Al can hear him. He looks up at Al and gives him a crooked, tired smile. It seems he’s proud of his ability to say those three words. No, that’s not it, as much as the thought is amusing. Ae is just basking in the moment of Alairan being back.

Aerven pokes Al’s little beard gently. He giggles to himself. Al sees a different face for a split second between blinks. It’s not a face he wants to remember.

But he smiles and chuckles with Ae. There’s no need to ruin a happy moment with a bad memory.

“I love you too.”

Alairan kisses Ae’s forehead. Ae just watches and smiles up at him. He reaches towards the hand Al has in his hand and threads his fingers through Al’s. It’s so great to have him back. Ae has missed him so much. Much more than words can describe. That, Ae decides, is what love means to him. It’s when you feel such a strong, positive emotion towards someone and can’t describe it with words-- can’t describe it with actions either. There is just this feeling that tugs at his heart and makes him want to cry and laugh and kiss Alairan all at once.

He promises himself that he will do that tomorrow. Tomorrow… Tomorrow is going to be exciting. There is going to be so much love that this giant house won’t be able to fit it all. All coming from three people.

Al is a little upset he didn’t get to hug Myrrhine on his way in. Although, he understands one person in this house has to be emotionally stable. Turns out Myrrhine was the one this time. She had to take care of Aerven. It makes Al’s heart hurt to think that’s how it was, that he means so much to Aerven that the paladin forgot to worry about himself.

Al smiles the thought away. He holds Ae a little tighter and finally feels his muscles relax. They can sleep in and do whatever they want tomorrow. It’ll be perfect.