#ryneus

"You're a sweet fella, helping your mother out with the house," some woman at the market tells him, handing him his basket full of vegetables after she weighed them out for him.

Tharaêl nods quickly, mutters out a quick thanks after taking back the change, glaring at Teliora who's got the corners of her lips raised up in a tiny smile. That woman is his roommate, NOT his mother. She'd be a lousy mother too, abandoning him for days on end to work on some relic up at the temple, leaving him all alone down here in the foreign quarter.

"I didn't say anything," she shrugs, avoiding his gaze.

"You better not." He grumbles back to her, trying to pierce a hole through her skull from his glare, before snatching out of her hands her own basket - he's better at shopping than she is anyways, and her weak frail arms of a nerd are probably already tired from holding a basketful of bread.

Teliora's gone for a few weeks, to retrieve some stones, or something like that. When she comes back, she... well, she quite frankly looks like shit, and even that's an understatement. Calia got that stick out of her ass and started beating Teliora with it, and Jespar finally revealed himself to be the asshole Tharaêl always thought he was. Well, it's a rude awakening for Teliora, but better now than later, huh? She forgoes the soups Tharaêl makes that she usually loves, instead going straight for the wine and the bread.

"Come to Silvergrove with me? The sun will do you some good," Teliora asks softly, when he's watching her prepare her bag a few days later. She's tired, too tired. The bags under her eyes are worse than before, she looks weary, as if the burdens of the world rested on her shoulders. Which wasn't too far off, considering she's been the Order's errand girl ever since this 'prophetess' business started.

Tharaêl doesn't want to leave. The first summer harvest is coming in a week, he'll miss out on finally eating the nice tomatoes instead of the watery shit, and he still has to repair the door knobs of their new house, on top of polishing the floors, fixing up the windows for better security and removing the weeds from the tiny little backyard that’s barely big enough for him to lay down in. But... he comes along, to Silvergrove. He hates that he's being soft for her, that she manages to tug at his heartstrings. He hates that he melts the tiniest bit when she gives him a bit of praise and kisses his forehead like he's just a baby. He's not a baby, he's a grown-ass man.

"What do you even need to go to Silvergrove for?" Tharaêl asks, when they're camping at night, not far away from their destination. Teliora's cutting up an apple for herself, that much reassures him. At least she's eating.

"Black stones. Supposed to light up the beacon." She says, before crunching down on her apple slice. She shows him notes, little diagrams and scribbles in black ink on yellowed out paper, all wrinkly from being shoved in her bag. At the bottom, a stamp he doesn't recognise.

"Oh, it's Lexil's." She says, her voice with the tiniest hint of strain, when he asks about the stamp.

"Which one is that?" He raises a brow. Lexil... Lexil... Firespark's first name? No, that bastard died a while ago.

"The monocle one."

"Oh, him." The boring one. Utterly.... unremarkable. An idiot, even, who wears white while working with black ink that’s impossible to wash out of fabric.

They were supposed to leave Silvergrove with one of those fabled black stones, but what do they get instead? A stone, yes, but also a kid. Rynéus. Rynéus, that clings to Tharaêl, who's too unsure about what to do right now. Tiny, sleepy, his body deformed for whatever reason. But when he looks over to Teliora, she's got some look of hope that he hasn't seen in a while. Ever, actually. Maybe a hint of it when she let him crash at her place, or when she's advancing in her journey as 'prophetess', whatever that means.

****

"Don't move," Tharaêl grumbles, fixing up the bandages on Rynéus' legs and arms. The boy's lumps and bumps get drained daily, a long hollow needle piercing each soft spot to let fluid drain out into a metal pan. It's painful, but it's obvious that in just a few days of this procedure, paired with healing elixirs, the boy is doing a lot better - the healers at the Sun Temple are worried about what to do about his face, but that'll be a bridge they'll cross when they get to it.

****

Rynéus lets out a little whine, tears pooling in his eyes, looking up at Tharaêl. He doesn't like children, the gross, snotty little brats. But... fine, he'll make an exception for Rynéus.

"What?" Tharaêl sighs, when giving him water to chase away the bitter taste and the sting on the boy's tongue after drinking the elixir. Rynéus avoids his gaze, before answering.

"It's just... Teliora, she..." She usually gives him a cuddle and a peck, a pat on the head.

Rynéus is about to give up, hide back under the blankets when he sees Tharaêl rolls his eyes, only to be surprised when the older man sits down on the bed, pulling the boy to lay his head on his lap. Like Letho used to do with Tharaêl, in a previous life.

"It'll grow back." Tharaêl grumbles, when Rynéus whines again, getting his stringy hair cut down. It's been... what, two months now? Two months of learning to live with not just Teliora, but this little... guy, tending to him and taking care of him. Just yesterday, he carried him in his arms to the woodworker, to get him some crutches.

Wake up, wash his own face. Wake Rynéus and help him wash his face. Dress up, keep an ear out to hear if the boy's struggling to dress himself up. Carry him out the door to the dining table, to eat bread and jam with a bowl of steaming tea. Bring him to the Sun Temple, scold scholars for treating Rynéus as a curio rather than a boy who needs help. Have lunch with Teliora, who fusses over him in a way that almost (almost) makes Tharaêl jealous, before tending to chores for a few coins, while Rynéus is devouring book after book in the Chronicum.

When Tharaêl is about to walk up to Rynéus to pick him up to head back home, he stops in his tracks, sitting back down to a nearby chair.

There. Right over there, in broad daylight. Teliora's hand was on Lexil's for exactly three seconds, before they both flustered up and she removed it, too slowly with her fingers dragging on the fabric. That look on the magister's face, that softness in her eyes.

Absolutely disgusting.

That evening, Jespar is... here, somehow. Whatever bad blood was between him and Teliora seems to have vanished, and he's helping himself to too big servings of the stew Tharaêl has made.

“Tharaêl, will you please tell me what I’ve done wrong this time? You’ve been giving me the stink eye all evening.”

Teliora puts her fork and knife down as she talks to the young man, concern and annoyance washing over her face. While Tharaêl’s expression worsens, Jespar, who’s sitting next to Teliora, can’t help but have his interest piqued.

“You were being gross.” Tharaêl mutters, before taking a bite of the piece of beef that sis in his plate, lightly burnt on the edges and almost as sad-looking as him.

“With what?” There was only confusion on her face now, retracing every step of the day in her mind to try and understand what he means. “When I spilled tea on my coat? It’s just… leaf water, it’s nothing gross.”

“No.”

Jespar stops pretending to not pay attention anymore, and looks at them straight on, eagerly awaiting to know more. Gossip is slow these days, both down in the streets and up in the temple, people only talking about their worries with Nehrim’s army at their doorstep.

“I saw you with that old man.” Tealor? Some other dusty magister? The corners of Jespar’s mouth lift up a bit, while Teliora’s eyebrows knit together in complete confusion, and it isn’t long before she carefully tries to rip answers out of him.

“What old man? What are you talking about?”

Tharaêl forcibly puts his cutlery down, before replying in almost child-like anger. “That… That magister with the monocle! I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, it’s disgusting to see that in public.”

And Jespar simply lets out a chuckle that built into laughter within seconds, that he tried to hide from Teliora with his hand over his mouth, but she shoots him daggers with her eyes anyways.

“Lexil? We’re… We were just working! On those old starling texts!” There’s a slight tinge of panic in her voice, realising that if Tharaêl has noticed what’s going on, and that Jespar had noticed it, then others must’ve noticed it too.

Jespar winks at her after catching his breath, “Yeah right, working on a blossoming relationship between you two.”

“I am going to kill you, and I’m not even going to make it look like it was an accident.”

Jespar dramatically pretends to be shocked, opening his mouth and placing a splayed-out hand on his upper chest.  “And I was just about to give you romance tips! Now, I’m not entirely sure if geriatric romance is the same as what us young ones do, but I’m sure that it’ll be helpful.”

“Geriatric? Jespar, we’re barely ten years apart in age. And besides, you’re one to talk about romance- didn’t you literally abandon your last girlfriend in the wild?”

Well, things were bound to be revealed one day, though she did wish it would’ve been under different circumstances. It had only been two months, after all, since she had started meeting up with Lexil. Oh, who was she kidding. Two months, since they’d started sneaking around, doing gross things like holding hands and pecking each other on the cheek, blushing like young teenagers.

She remembers making that comparison a few days ago, and the two had settled on the fact that because they weren’t allowed to be young and carefree teenagers back then, that therefore, they were allowed to be young and in love, when it was just the two of them, alone in the archives where no one ever went.

Rynéus had already figured it out, because of course he would. When Teliora smiled when she was by herself, and not just when either Tharaêl or himself were around, he knew that something was up. He’d devoured the secret stash of romance novels that was hidden in Yaela’s desk when he was brought along in the Temple, and had connected the dots. That, and Yaela had shared her thoughts on the pair with him.

He's a good kid however, and had promised to keep it a secret, even if it killed him to not be able to talk about it with Tharaêl. But he let it slip to the stray dog that he played with, to the smith’s girl who he studied with, to the guard that helped him get down the stairs when the stone was slippery and his crutches were rendered useless.

Teliora wondered how she’d break the news- she’d never experienced anything like that, and in the only case where she’d heard someone reveal a romantic relationship, it usually involved a wedding invitation for a ceremony to be held within a few weeks.  Would such a day ever come? Would she and Lexil ever be married? She made her peace long ago with the fact that she would perhaps never get married, and therefore didn’t care too much. But now that it was an eventuality, she didn’t know what to make of it. Did Lexil even care for marriage? It had only been two months, and they were taking everything at an excruciating slow pace, and had never talked about these things. The most they had talked about was a trip they’d take to the southeast when all of this would be over, taking in the sun and the warmth.

But now, the cat was out of the bag. The secret was out, there’s no news to be broken.

The air in the chronicum is silent and still, Yaela and Lexil’s quills scratching on paper, leaving tight loops of black ink that no one will ever read again. There’s a shuffling in the lower floor, though they quickly chalk it up to a slightly inebriated scholar, trying to find his way to a tome to settle a debate sparked over dinner.

Yaela raises a curious eyebrow, eyeing the staircase, while Lexil shrugs, turning his attention back to the endless pile of paperwork surrounding him.

“Oh, it’s you two. A bit late to be in the Chronicum, isn’t it?” Yaela welcomes Jespar and Tharaêl with her usual warm smile, wondering what could bring the two of them in- Tharaêl didn’t like Jespar, and as much as Jespar liked to bother him, he knew it was dangerous to poke that specific bear. For the two of them to be together, surely something important was afoot.

Ignoring Yaela, Tharaêl focuses his attention towards Lexil. “Are you fucking my mom, Lexil?”

Yaela took in a deep breath, trying her best to hide the emotions rushing through her, while Jespar gently hits his forehead against the stone wall, hoping the pain would stop him from bursting into incontrollable laughter.

“What?”

“You. Teliora. You’re looking at each other weird. Stop it.” Lexil leans back as Tharaêl slams his hands on his desk, looming over the magister with a look that could kill anyone who stared into his eyes a bit too long. “Unless something is going on, you have no business looking at her like that.”

“Oh, he doesn’t know?” Yaela cuts in, her eyes darting between the two men, surprised.

“You know?” Lexil exclaims, his attention now on his mentor.

“You ARE fucking his mom?” Jespar snaps around, his mouth agape in a smile, revelling in tonight’s revelations.

“We’re not…! Well…”

Jespar drags a chair up to the desk, happily sitting down to hear every single detail. He never held much regard for Lexil, seeing him as a boring magister with his own set of quirks, perhaps lacking a bit of a backbone, but now that he’s involved with Teliora in some way? She clearly sees something in him, and he has to know what.

“I think what good boy Tharaêl here wants to know, is if you’ll be his new dad.”

Tharaêl used to not care. But right now? He cares a whole damn lot, if this scrawny magister is entangled with his mothe- with Teliora. There's a tense dinner the next evening. A... family dinner, in some way. No, that's not the right word. But it's the only word Tharaêl can use, to describe this. There's Calia and Jespar sitting at one end, Yaela next to Rynéus, and Tharaêl right in front of Lexil and Teliora, staring them down like they're kids introducing their beloved to their family for the first time ever, except this time, Tharaêl still isn't out of his twenties, and Teliora started her fifties last spring. Yaela breaks the silence, complimenting Tharaêl on the food, before they all dig in, one end of the table chatting, the other end wrapped up in freezing cold silence.

"What are your intentions?" Tharaêl grunts out, arms crossed over his chest, staring deep into Lexil's soul - he was a Rhalâim, he knows how to be bone-chilling scary if he needs to, and right now, he is. What Tharaêl doesn't know, is that Lexil is grew up as a slave. The scary that Tharaêl is, is nowhere close to the sort of scary he encountered growing up.

"...What?" Lexil can only reply, blinking in confusion. What is this... delinquent child getting at?

Tharaêl quickly finds out that Lexil is as boring as he remembers. His mind had labelled him as the 'boring, unremarkable one', and his opinion hasn't swayed much, apart from that little hiccup. All Lexil ever does at most, at least when Tharaêl and Rynéus are around, is give Teliora the most chaste touch that feels utterly devoid of anything - even the pats on the back that Tharaêl gives Rynéus are warmer. Either the magister knows nothing about women, in which case Teliora can do so much better than him, or the magister is polite enough to restrain himself, in which case Tharaêl is thankful for not exposing him to such... indecency.

And it's even worse, when Lexil makes Teliora as boring as him. Even in the Undercity, Tharaêl had seen a few romances out of the corner of his eyes - he knows how people act when they're sweet on someone, how couples act. Even men that yelled and were hardy as stone gave their wives a soft embrace around the waist, a hand lazily slung over the hips to keep them close. But Teliora and Lexil? None of that. They probably keep a pillow's width between them on the occasion they sleep together too, and Lexil probably covers his eyes when Teliora changes.

What does she see in that man that's more plain than gruel?

Well, there must be something she sees in him, from how one day their conversation about taxes turns to the tax benefits they'd be entitled to if they were married, and the conversation is all positives and no negatives.

Tharaêl slithers out the back door, into the tiny patch of grass they call a backyard. Rynéus is there, reading with the cat in his lap, and the dog resting at his feet.

"They're gonna marry, you know?" Tharaêl says in a grumble as he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms.

Rynéus lifts his eyes, raises a brow as he takes in Tharaêl, before putting his attention back on his book. "Okay." So what? They seem to like each other, it's nice that people this old can still like each other, but it's something Tharaêl doesn't like too much.

"Just 'okay'? You realise he's going to live with us all the time now."

"I don't see the big issue, he's nice. He likes it when I illustrate his research."

"You don't get it, do you?" Tharaêl frowns, his mood souring even more, before he leaves in a huff, shoving his hands in his pockets and stomping down the street.

He swears at the Nehrimese soldiers that stand proudly in the streets, flipping them off when they've got their backs turned to him. He doesn't like any of this. Lexil. The Nehrimese getting hold of Enderal. Rynéus needing him less and less.

Fuck, he hates to admit it. It pains him to admit it, even, but he liked it better when it was just him and Teliora and he was the one she put her attention on. By Malphas' balls, what's happening to him? He's Tharaêl Narys, not some little pansy who's mad that mommy's too busy with her new boyfriend. He's too old for this.

"You don't look like shit, I guess." Tharaêl shrugs, when Teliora's in something nice, flowers in her hair as she gets ready for this wedding that's definitely not a love marriage, just for tax benefits, as they've both highlighted many times. Bullshit, Tharaêl knows that these two boring people are just boringly in love with each other, but they've got some weird pride complex that makes them unable to accept it.

In the corner of the room, there's some crate of fancy Nehrimese wine.

"Coarek gifted it to me," she says bitterly. "We kind of... knew each other, back from the revolution in Nehrim. Kind of... helped out his armies."

Ah, that'd explain it. Tharaêl just hums and nods, he's heard the tale a few times before.

"You're a handsome young man, like this," she says, standing up, combing her fingers through his hair into something less messy, readjusting his collar, the buttons on his shirt. "You're not bringing anyone to the party? Not even... ah, what was his name? That... nice archer guy you were talking to? What was that man's name again... Mark? "

"No. And I wasn't talking to him. He was talking to me. I couldn't leave." He flusters up, back to frowning and grumbling his words out.

Well, time to head down to the Sanctum. They just wanted a small, tiny thing, a glass of sparkling wine to drink as they signed some papers in the dining room, but Tealor had to butt in... well, for once, he meant well.

"Uh, go on ahead, I have to readjust my socks." Tharaêl says, when he stops in his tracks and she's turning around to look up at him from the stairs she's starting to walk down on. She nods, telling him to not be too long.

He watches her go, this... strange, strange lady. This scholar who took him in even after being a complete asshole to her the entire time she helped him out, who helped him start a new life after he almost ended his own, who patted his head and gave a peck to his temples when he reluctantly helped her out in return with cleaning around the house or made her dinner, this friend who trusted him enough to tell him that she was involved in some prophecy she half-believed in, to have him watch over her house because she believed he wouldn't ransack it and steal what little she had. She swats at the back of his head when he’s being rude, and she pats him when he’s doing something right, and she makes him taste wine and cheese with her in the middle of the night, and she can’t even take care of herself but she makes sure he’s fed and rested.