Chapter Text
Soren is rolling on the ground laughing, and he's been that way since Callum told him and Ezran what happened between him and Rayla the previous night.
Callum has his head in his hands trying to avoid looking at Ezran, because he's never seen his younger brother look more mad in his life.
“Soren– why the f– why are you laughing!?”
“Yes Soren, It's not an appropriate time for that.”
Soren only began laughing more, but forced himself to breathe and calm down. “You really said that? Rayla I want us to fight- and never clarified it was sparring, you know there's a difference right?”
“Of course I know the difference, she knows it too!”
“Does she? Did she tell you that?”
Callum glares at him, and Ezran glares at him, and he goes back to hiding in his hands.
“Callum, you took it too far. What were you thinking fighting like that?”
He stayed quiet, because it was stupid thinking fighting would fix things, or help them talk things through. But maybe it put a greater distance between them, and he hadn't meant for it to go that far.
“I don't know, I thought we could talk while fighting? Maybe it would get rid of the anger enough to talk?”
“Well it didn't work now did it?” Ezran still glaring daggers at him and he can feel his eyes burning into his skull.
“Oh no. Not at all, in fact I think the step–mage just landed himself in a terrible situation, worse than before.” Soren starts laughing again, but this time Callum knocks him upside the head.
Soren looks up and mumbles something Callum can't hear, he could care less though because he's about to go on an hour long rant, “Well it always worked for–” He stops himself.
“For who?”
He looks away, making eye contact with Soren again, who manages to put the two together pretty quickly.
“Your parents..” he says, and Callum looks a little embarrassed having heard it out loud.
Maybe it was a bad idea after all.
He remembers watching them fighting through a window, at least in his young mind he thought it was fighting. It scared him a little to see his mother look so angry, when she was always a kind, gentle soul.
And when he saw her walking away from his stepfather after plunging her staff into the ground, he silently ran to meet his mother in the halls of the castle.
“Why did you and King Harrow fight?”
She knelt down to meet his gaze, “You saw that, huh?”
That's when his mother explained to him, in the best way a mother could to her son. That sometimes words weren't all you could do while settling disagreements. In the end they were walking through the halls of the castle, with her much larger hand holding his smaller one, “Will you go with him?” He asked, with big curious eyes.
She looks down at him and smiles.
“Yes, he's stuck with me no matter what.”
He watches her sleep, chest rising and falling. She's been that way almost all day, probably tired from their little– moment. Her cuddle monkey was staring at him intensely. He tries offering a berry, which she ignores and keeps staring.
“Yeah, I wouldn't want a berry from me either.”
He says to her, she hisses. Then runs off, to where he wasn't sure, but she'll be back. He hears Rayla stur and looks to find her sitting up, eyes closed with a hand on her forehead, groaning.
“Moon, I feel like I fell off a–”
She opens one eye and sees Callum, “tree..”
“Morning, or night since it's night and you've been asleep all day.” He's rambling and he internally screams at himself.
“I've been asleep all day!?”
“Yeah you were tired after–” he stops and looks away.
“Our little battle?” She chuckles, but it sounds forced. He watches her rub her face from the corner of his eyes and watches her flinch when she brushes against her split lip.
“Rayla, I'm–”
“Sorry?”
“Yes, and last night I–”
“Took things too far?”
“Finish my whole speech, why don't you?”
She chuckles again and this time it sounds genuine. “I'm just teasin’, it's the least you could let me do after smacking me with your stick.”
His face is written with guilt at this point. He wants to dive into the ocean and sink to the bottom. He busies himself by pulling a small glass bottle out of his bag, and handing it to her.
“Here, for your injury.”
She pokes his rib and he jumps a little at the sudden pain running through his side. “You'll be needing some too.” She says as she takes the bottle.
Then the question comes to his mind, she was the better fighter in fact the only advantage he had against her were his spells. He wasn't as fast or physically as strong as her, and he saw the way she dropped her unopened blades, as though she was surrendering to whatever punishment he thought she deserved.
“Rayla, Why didn't you block?”
She freezes a little but continues uncapping the bottle, “I just wanted the fight to end, you were clearly mad, you still are and I haven't apologized– I thought if I let you land a hit you'd be calm enough to talk.”
She leaves out the part about the look he'd given her, and how it reminded her of the way Runaan would look at her when she couldn't make the choices necessary for an assassin, the disappointment and disapproval in his sunken eyes, and then she remembers the last words Runaan spoke to her before he ran off to finish the mission.
“Your justice will come later.”
She never really understood what he meant, and she didn't get the chance to ask either.
“I'm sorry for leaving it was wrong and stupid and I shouldn't have. I regret leaving you, I really do, and if I could I'd take it all back.”
“Yeah.. I'm sorry too, I thought that if we— well I don't know what I thought I guess, but whatever anger I felt for whatever reason should've been handled better, not with fighting that was stupid.”
He looks at her, “I'm sorry for dragging you into it.”
“Well, next time we're sparring we'll just have to start by setting up rules.” She says and hands him back the bottle. He nods in agreement until her words sink in and he looks back at her with a confused look.
“Next time? No, this is the last time I'm not hurting you again.”
“Uh, you can't hurt me if we set up rules, and what makes you think I'll let you land another hit like that next time?”
He's shaking his head and looking all wide eyed.
“No, no next time.”
“Yes, yes next time.”
They keep going back and forth with the same response. Until Rayla sighs and says, “We can settle this with another sparring match.” And Callum is protesting and whining and saying no repeatedly. But that just gets her laughing, because she's missed this banter.
Then they're both laughing and leaning into each other's sides because it's the funniest thing. And then they look at each other through laughter that has subsided.
He doesn't know when his hand grew a mind of its own and he started drawing circles with his thumb on her elven marks. He doesn't know when both his hands started reaching for her and drawing her closer, he doesn't know a lot of anything, it seems. But he keeps going and reaching and tracing along those marks. And her eyes have closed because she finds it soothing, and her lips are parted because she sighs and he doesn't know if he should but he does anyway, he kisses her and he's suddenly back at the oasis, and back on the ambler and back at the storm spire. He's back in all the places he'd known her.
And he pulls back only to meet her a second time, a third, which turns to several and he stops counting because he starts smiling and she's smiling, even though it hurts her lip, their teeth click, noses squished against one another. And he opens his eyes to meet her gaze and her eyes are silent, observing like a dragon, and still the prettiest shade of lilac he's ever seen. He just–
He doesn't want to blame her anymore.
“Callum..” she says, while taking his hands and holding them to her lap.
“Let's start over.”
She lets them go and instead places her hand in front of him as if making a deal or a greeting.
He takes the hand, and she shakes it. “Hi, My name is Rayla, I'm the last of The Dragonguard.”
He smiles at her because it's silly and dorky, but they need this.
“I'm Callum, I'm the high mage of Katolis.”
They always knew the truth, there would be something about them that wouldn't last, wouldn't see things through. Maybe there was only one of them to blame or both or no one, only they know.
But they wouldn't have it any other way.