#dorgle

*

And the next day he’s so happy and oh, so proud, and he goes straight to his friends to tell them.

(this is how he loses his horn; snow and gravel cold against his eyes and stinging in his mouth, ice and fire among each other, cold and heat, betrayal and muted anger – )

They do not remain his friends for very long.

(and to da he says he slipped, and he pretends that he’s crying because of the shock and not the pain – )

(da doesn’t believe him, which he supposes is just as well.)

*

He thinks long and hard about what had happened.

(their hands, rough and hard and so, so, strong – their laughter ringing, tearing –)

They’d said that it was a stupid thing to want.

(that he was stupid, that he was a dumb moron, that his life would be as long as his IQ was high –)

So he staggers to his feet and stands before the long row of the gong-ringers of the past. There are so many of them, carved and graved into stone, hung up along the walls of their living room. He can count them, but he doesn’t want to. He can see there are far too many.

“Da,” he asks, his voice cracking, “how long does a gong-ringer… ring the gong?”

Da shrugs, placing an easy hand on his shoulder. “For as long as they can. Your ma, she stopped when she got pregnant with you, then never started again – I guess she was busy raising you.” He smiles, and the smile is so warm and homely that it almost melts the ice that’s beginning to encase Migo’s heart.

Almost.

“How long is that?” Migo asks, whispers, desperate for answers that he knows he will hate.

“Oh, some… four-five decades, give or take. That’s when they get an apprentice, usually.” Da winks at him, patting his shoulder with ease. “Guess I’ll have to do it for longer, then, until you can take over.”

Migo laughs, short and nervous, offering da a wobbly smile. “Yeah,” he says. Please do, he begs silently, the words leaving imprints across his mind, dark dents that will mark his future and his happiness. Please, da, keep fighting, I don’t want to lose you –

(he doesn’t want to lose himself, either, but he’s always been selfless and he loves da more than anything else –)

(and this is how his self-hatred begins to bloom.)

*

He’s far from stupid, and so he knows exactly what all of this means.

And he’s terrified.

(they die, they all die, and of course they do, they fling themselves at a slice of metal, how could that possibly be healthy –)

It’s what his family has done for ages – it’s in his blood, it’s what everyone expects from him –

and he doesn’t want an early death, but he loves da and if Migo doesn’t fling himself at the gong then da will have to and then he will have an early death –

(is he worth it?)

(is Migo truly worth it?)

(he puts their lives atop a weight, watching, waiting, and not once flinching when it tips into da’s favor.)

*

Every single day he wakes with a smile, every single day he gladly offers his help to da, taking in everything he does with scrutinizing eyes. He wants to be ready for the responsibility when that day comes. They can’t waste a single day of practice.

He’ll save his father’s life.

He must.

*

The day the Stonekeeper tells him that he’s going to have a practice gong his heart soars. Finally, finally it’s his turn, da’s days are over. He’s no longer endangered every morning, no longer does Migo have to worry that a gong will be the last.

(as his heart soars his stomach sinks, for now it’s his turn, now he has to worry every gong will he his last, and it’s almost as though the numbers ticking above his head are plummeting, he can see himself, dead, skull cracked –)

Migo shudders and forces a beam onto his face.