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lexil you better not be fucking my mom - enderal fic
tharael's roommate teliora (NOT his mother, that's an important distinction) is having a Thing with that nerd lexil merrayil, and tharael doesn't really like that.
ao3 here - 3.9k words
cw: medical procedure/graphic-ish stuff in this, i'll mark that section off with * so that you can skip ahead!!
TharaĂȘl doesn't care anymore. He stopped caring a long time ago, honestly. About the people she brings back home, the guests, the overnight work she does with colleagues. At least she's had the decency to not bring any romantic entanglement back home - not that she's got any. Hell, he can't even fathom her bringing anyone back, ever. She's too old for that, right? When she brings Jespar back for dinner, TharaĂȘl just raises a brow; Jespar feels almost sleazy, from how he leans back in the chair at the dinner table, smoking lazily while Teliora rolls her eyes at every word he says. TharaĂȘl has to admit that he prefers when Calia's around, just because she's more polite, even if she's got a stick up her ass sometimes. Sa'ira this, Sa'ira that, just call her Teliora, damn it. At least Calia helps with the dishes after eating, and even brings bread too.
Sometimes, that Firespark guy comes around, calls him 'Terry' before drinking all the tea in the house, grumbles the entire time he's researching something with Teliora, before leaving in a cloud of old man stink. Or that Lijaam guy, a mousey little thing that seems terrified of TharaĂȘl. Good. Let him be scared.
"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.
TharaĂȘl 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 TharaĂȘl always thought he was. Well, it's a rude awakening for Teliora, but better now than later, huh? She forgoes the soups TharaĂȘl 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.
TharaĂȘl 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 thatâs 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?" TharaĂȘl 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 thatâs impossible to wash out of fabric.
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 TharaĂȘl has made.
âTharaĂȘl, will you please tell me what Iâve done wrong this time? Youâve been giving me the stink eye all evening.â
Teliora puts her fork and knife down as she talks to the young man, concern and annoyance washing over her face. While TharaĂȘlâs expression worsens, Jespar, whoâs sitting next to Teliora, canât help but have his interest piqued.
âYou were being gross.â TharaĂȘl 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.
âWith what?â There was only confusion on her face now, retracing every step of the day in her mind to try and understand what he means. âWhen I spilled tea on my coat? Itâs just⊠leaf water, itâs nothing gross.â
âNo.â
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 Nehrimâs army at their doorstep.
âI saw you with that old man.â Tealor? Some other dusty magister? The corners of Jesparâs mouth lift up a bit, while Telioraâs eyebrows knit together in complete confusion, and it isnât long before she carefully tries to rip answers out of him.
âWhat old man? What are you talking about?â
TharaĂȘl forcibly puts his cutlery down, before replying in almost child-like anger. âThat⊠That magister with the monocle! Iâve seen the way you two look at each other, itâs disgusting to see that in public.â
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.
âLexil? Weâre⊠We were just working! On those old starling texts!â Thereâs a slight tinge of panic in her voice, realising that if TharaĂȘl has noticed whatâs going on, and that Jespar had noticed it, then others mustâve noticed it too.
Jespar winks at her after catching his breath, âYeah right, working on a blossoming relationship between you two.â
âI am going to kill you, and Iâm not even going to make it look like it was an accident.â
Jespar dramatically pretends to be shocked, opening his mouth and placing a splayed-out hand on his upper chest. âAnd I was just about to give you romance tips! Now, Iâm not entirely sure if geriatric romance is the same as what us young ones do, but Iâm sure that itâll be helpful.â
âGeriatric? Jespar, weâre barely ten years apart in age. And besides, youâre one to talk about romance- didnât you literally abandon your last girlfriend in the wild?â
Well, things were bound to be revealed one day, though she did wish it wouldâve 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 theyâd 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 werenât 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.
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 TharaĂȘl. But he let it slip to the stray dog that he played with, to the smithâs 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 sheâd break the news- sheâd never experienced anything like that, and in the only case where sheâd 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 didnât care too much. But now that it was an eventuality, she didnât 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 theyâd 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, thereâs no news to be broken.
The air in the chronicum is silent and still, Yaela and Lexilâs quills scratching on paper, leaving tight loops of black ink that no one will ever read again. Thereâs 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.
âOh, itâs you two. A bit late to be in the Chronicum, isnât it?â Yaela welcomes Jespar and TharaĂȘl with her usual warm smile, wondering what could bring the two of them in- TharaĂȘl didnât 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, TharaĂȘl focuses his attention towards Lexil. âAre you fucking my mom, Lexil?â
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.
âWhat?â
âYou. Teliora. Youâre looking at each other weird. Stop it.â Lexil leans back as TharaĂȘl 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. âUnless something is going on, you have no business looking at her like that.â
âOh, he doesnât know?â Yaela cuts in, her eyes darting between the two men, surprised.
âYou know?â Lexil exclaims, his attention now on his mentor.
âYou ARE fucking his mom?â Jespar snaps around, his mouth agape in a smile, revelling in tonightâs revelations.
âWeâre notâŠ! WellâŠâ
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 heâs involved with Teliora in some way? She clearly sees something in him, and he has to know what.
âI think what good boy TharaĂȘl here wants to know, is if youâll be his new dad.â
"What are your intentions?" TharaĂȘl grunts out, arms crossed over his chest, staring deep into Lexil's soul - he was a RhalĂąim, he knows how to be bone-chilling scary if he needs to, and right now, he is. What TharaĂȘl doesn't know, is that Lexil is grew up as a slave. The scary that TharaĂȘl 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?
And it's even worse, when Lexil makes Teliora as boring as him. Even in the Undercity, TharaĂȘl 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.
"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?" TharaĂȘl frowns, his mood souring even more, before he leaves in a huff, shoving his hands in his pockets and stomping down the street.
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 TharaĂȘl 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." TharaĂȘl 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, TharaĂȘl 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. TharaĂȘl 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." TharaĂȘl 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 heâs being rude, and she pats him when heâs doing something right, and she makes him taste wine and cheese with her in the middle of the night, and she canât even take care of herself but she makes sure heâs fed and rested. Â
Fine, okay. TharaĂȘl does care. But not a lot. Just a tiny bit.
and then he asks you to stay. but you can't. you have a destiny you have to fulfill and you have to save the world and you can't stay in the perfect childhood fantasy you've created here. you have to get the Black Stone from him and then you have to go. he made a painting of the two of you because you mattered so much to him and you were the older sibling he always wanted. and you have to end all of it.
you tell him you can't stay and you discover that the stone was keeping him alive. you have to kill him and take the stone. you have to be the one to rip this perfect fantasy away from both of you. you both just wanted to be "normal" kids and neither of you could ever have that.