#haestus

(The letter is written in a large, bold hand. It's also attached to a large bottle of good wine.)

Dear Haestus,

It's been way too long since last we talked, which is entirely my fault and I'm sorry. How've you and the husband been? And Masrin and Shae--is he still grumpy and is she still adorable? I assume the answer to both is yes. Bill and I are renovating a real fixer-upper near Falconwing, but until it's done and we can finally move we're still crammed into the apartment. I can't wait to move; the poor kid we adopted is still crashing on our couch because we only have the one bedroom, and we desperately need the space. (Do you know anything about gardening, by the way? My friend Reginald's got Bill convinced that growing herbs for cooking is a good idea.)

I confess that I'm writing this with an ulterior motive. You see, two of my friends are getting married, and they want me to perform the ceremony. There's a slight problem, though--namely that I actually need to be ordained. Again. And you're the best priest I know, so could you possibly if it's not too much trouble help me study? I promise to repay you for your time.

~Rythien Dawnhallow

((tl;dr please throw IC headcanons/etc. at this poor failpriest))

The things I do for my friends.

Rythien stalked down the street in his own personal patch of shadow, ears pinned back against his skull. Passers-by gave him wary glances and edged around him; he ignored them. There was a secondhand book store at the end of the block.

'Oh, we're getting married and we'd love for you to perform the ceremony,' and she looks up at me with those big sad eyes and I say yes! Fucking--bullshit, that's what this is. They know I've been defrocked for years, you don't just walk up to the Cathedral of Light Triumphant and say 'hi I'd like my job back!' Stupid--I couldn't resist the fuckin' sad face! It'd be like kicking a puppy and they know it! A quiet growl escaped him as he stepped up to the shop door and shoved it open hard enough to bang against the opposite wall. The cheery bell jingling above it didn't help his mood.

The shopgirl was a young troll woman, and she blinked at the expression on his face as he entered. "How can I help ya, sir?"

He took a deep breath. Right. No taking bad mood out on innocent shopkeeps. "Where do you keep your books on the Light?"

She raised an eyebrow, pointedly eying the way the room's shadows stretched towards him. However, her voice was perfectly professional. "That'd be Aisle Three."

"Thank you." With effort, he banished the shadows and headed for the books.

They turned out to be wedged between an extensive collection of Eternal Sun hymns and a selection of human folklore. Ryth felt his ill humor returning. Today just isn't my day. I should've helped Bill and Seth with the house instead. He considered that possibility. ...Nah. Memories of the last time he'd tried to help were still embarrassingly fresh in his mind, including the moment where he'd tripped over a bucket of paint, cut his shin, wrenched his shoulder grabbing for the banister, and had still sent paint everywhere. He looked over the books with a critical eye, hoping at least one would be something he could use.

If I'm going to talk old High Priest Windchaser into ordaining me again, I'm gonna have to actually know my stuff, and not just bullshit my way through it. He made a face, pulling an ancient-looking copy of St. Theopraxa's Letters off the shelf. That means studying. Again. Ugh, motherfucking Aethan and his fucking grudges, if it hadn't been for him I wouldn't be in this shit now. If I'd known it was going to matter, I would've contested it. Brittle pages crackled faintly as he turned them, flipping through the table of contents. Finding nothing useful, he put it back and pulled out a book so old that the cover lettering had worn off.

Songs of St. Aethariana? Ugh, flowery drivel. Reginald might like it. He tucked it under his arm and picked up a thicker volume. Hymns of the Stratholme Church of the Light...hmm, could be handy. He added it to his selection and frowned at the remaining texts. Aethan owes me for helping with his kid. I could ask him to pull some strings-- "Eurgh." That'd make me as bad as him. Hey, what's this?

He plucked a battered, hefty book from the shelf, squinting at the worn gold leaf that formed the title. Services of the Church of the Light, A Primer? Fuckin' A! This'll definitely help.

As he made his way to the register, his mind buzzed. Not mentioning this to fucking Aethan, but...I might need help anyway. It's been over three years since I even thought about this shit, and they'll be expecting a properly pious priest of the Light. Who do I know who're real pious-- He groaned out loud, and the shopgirl looked at him quizzically.

"Are ya alright, sir?"

He coughed, embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry. Just remembered something. How much do I owe you?"

She frowned at the tags on the books. "That'll be 25 silver for da lot, sir."

He nodded, coming up with the correct change after some rummaging in his pockets. "Thanks, here you go."

Her smile actually seemed genuine as she took his money. "Tanks, sir. Ya have a nice day now!"

"You too."

The books fit neatly into a canvas bag; he hardly noticed the weight as he walked. I gotta send word to Yve and Haestus, it's been way too long since I've talked to them. I hope Yve has his arm by now, and holy fuck I have no clue how Haestus is doing. I am a shit friend. Oughtta send 'em both booze. And then...well, I better grovel for their help.

He took a deep breath. Reeta, Leolo, I hope you appreciate the pain I'm going through for you.

Ymelei closed the bedroom door behind her with a quiet sigh, rubbing over her face as if the action could alleviate some of her fatigue.  She was covered in bruises, and everything ached; she'd had to restrain Nalette while Haestus worked on Malithas, and the little blonde had fought with a fury.  It had taken all of Lei's strength and cunning to keep her from interrupting the healers' work.

The Silverfire residence was more richly decorated than Lei’s own flat, and as she looked around, she trailed her fingertips over the gleaming surfaces, bone-deep fatigue making her limbs feel heavy and clumsy as she padded through the house.  Even though she knew it was secure, she wandered through, checking all the windows, testing the doors.  In the confusion, no one could say whether the people behind Mal’s kidnapping had survived, and… with everything Lei had seen happening lately, she wanted to leave nothing to chance.

She smelled him before she saw him; smoke and herbs and the oil he used to maintain the light chainmail he was fond of.   “Ya want to be getting some rest now?”  While it was phrased as a question, there was a gentle weight to his voice.  “Ya didn’t sleep on the zepp’lin, no.”  Haestus had kindly offered them a room; she had thought Rhoten long since abed.

She turned to the mounded, shadowy form in the enormous kitchen, leaning forward until her brow bumped against his.  “Not sure I can.”   She closed her eyes, hearing again Nalette's screams, feeling her childhood friend's nails score deep furrows in her arms.  "He... He's not doing so good, Rho."  She heard the tremor in her voice, felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes.  She hadn't known Malithas long, but no one could mistake the love shared between him and Nalette.   She felt Rhoten's arms curl around her, pulling her in close as if he could shelter her from the awful knowledge that her friend's husband might not survive the night.

There was nothing he could say, nothing either of them could do.  "Dat healer, he don't seem t' type t' give up, Em.  An' nothin' ya can do by stayin' up.  Less go t' bed."  He straightened to his full height, an arm sweeping beneath her legs to lift her up against his chest.  Ymelei was too exhausted to argue, and lay like a child in his arms.  For all of her protests that she couldn't sleep, she was unconscious before they left the kitchen, sinking deep into uneasy dreams.

Shae hugs him. :3