Archive of Our Own

It was rather cold for Tarprima, even for the Dyrwood. Even though Aloth had gotten used to the cold. And the rain. And the mud. Really, it didn’t bother him as much as it used to, anymore. Or at least, that was what he was telling himself to not to have to think about the state of his boots.

They’d stopped to refill their waterskins from a nearby stream, on their way to Dyrford when Tryggvi approached him. They’d been on the road for hours, and Aloth was starting to get tired, exhaustion slowing down his every movement. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten more than a few hours of proper sleep.

The Watcher found him crouched next to the water, where he was trying to keep the ends of his cape from getting wet and covered in mud, and failing. He could feel Tryggvi’s eyes on him, and when he turned around, he wasn’t surprised to find him with that amused look in his eyes. He was starting see more and more of that expression, lately.

Ever since telling him about his past with the Leaden Key, Aloth felt a lot more relaxed around him, knowing he had nothing to hide. He could finally be himself. Honest. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Tryggvi had told him about trading masters, and he couldn’t have hoped for forgiveness in a million years; it meant more to Aloth than Tryggvi could ever know. And now that he could be so open with him, it felt like a wall between them had been broken, and they had been spending more and more time together.

“Here, take this.”

This, however, was still unexpected.

Aloth inspected the ring in his hand, carefully turning it over. It was heavy – heavier than a ring of its size should be. Roughly-hewn and tiny impurities glistening around the band, it was an ugly thing; bore the tool-marks of an amateur. It seemed to be made of a poorly-refined lump of silver, the gleaming blue gem the only thing of any value on it.

He could see his hazy reflection in the gem, shrouded in blue, and if he looked at it for long enough, he thought he could start seeing the telltale trace of veins and faint glow of adra. It was hypnotizing, yet unsettling at the same time.

A ring? He askin’ fur yer haun? Iselmyr laughed; callous, crude. Aloth ignored her. A proper chiel! she mocked.

It wasn’t a gift – or if it was, it was a terrible one – that much was clear. Aloth felt his heart sink. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was an unreasonable reaction to have. He had no reason to be disappointed; he hadn’t been hoping for anything. Pushing away the thought, he chose not to dwell on it, barely a conscious decision.

“What’s this?” he asked, cautiously.

“It’s a ring,” Tryggvi deadpanned.

Aloth fought the urge to place a hand on his forehead, settling instead for a sigh.

“I can see that,” he said patiently. “But what is it for?”

“You wear it,” Tryggvi replied with a confused look, like Aloth was the one who said something stupid. Was he doing it on purpose? It was hard to tell with Tryggvi, sometimes.

“Right,” Aloth said, narrowing his eyes. “That would be a no, thank you.” He wasn’t about to wear a ring that was obviously the work of an amateur, certainly not with those marks. He shuddered at the thought. He was about to hand it back when Tryggvi interrupted him.

“Look, it’s for protection. You know, when fighting.” He shrugged. Aloth wasn’t convinced. “Just wear it,” he said. The pleading look in his eyes belied his indifferent tone.

He was being suspiciously vague, and Aloth knew he was doing it on purpose this time. There was something he wasn’t telling him. But he also trusted Tryggvi, after fighting beside him for months. After getting to know him for months. He was perhaps the only person Aloth would truly consider a friend, and a good one at that. If the Watcher really wanted him to wear this ring, Aloth was sure he had a good reason. Besides, he could never say no to Tryggvi when he looked at him like that. He knew he had to work on that.

So he sighed, looked at the ring, then looked back at Tryggvi, and finally nodded.

It fit perfectly.

***

It wasn’t an ordinary ring, that was for sure. There seemed to be some kind of magic or spell on it – except it was unlike anything Aloth had ever seen before. Which, he admitted, he wasn’t an expert, but... it was still unusual. He could feel some kind of energy surrounding it, but any tangible essence was fleeting, elusive. Not to mention it only seemed to be there while he was wearing it; any trace of magic disappeared almost completely when he took it off. It really did have a protective effect during battle, though. He found himself able to fight for longer, suddenly invigorated whenever he got badly injured, feeling like he wasn’t going to be able to keep going.

Over time, it had become a familiar presence, a comforting weight on his finger. He’d grown accustomed to it, often catching himself idly fiddling with it, more so than he did with his other rings. The impurities and tool-marks didn’t matter anymore; the ring had grown on him, not just despite but because of all its imperfections. It was… unique. And even though it wasn’t a gift, it was still from Tryggvi. He didn’t want to lose it, and… wearing it made him feel closer to him, in a way.

So when Tryggvi asked him why he never took it off, he didn’t know what to say.

They were at Caed Nua, just outside Brighthollow. The calm sounds of the dark, clear water from the fountain flowing, the ripples shimmering under the glowing moon; it was a peaceful night. Perhaps a bit too warm, though nothing compared to the sticky hot, humid nights of the Cythwood. Aloth missed it, sometimes, but he knew he could never go back home. He wouldn’t.

Tryggvi had that look on his face waiting for an answer, genuinely curious, yet still cautious. Afraid of prying.

“It’s, er... nice,” Aloth tried, almost a question. His voice sounded small. He could feel Iselmyr laughing at him.

“It’s an ugly ring, Aloth,” Tryggvi said dryly. His hair looked almost completely white under the moonlight, Aloth noticed, matching his pale, ivory skin.

“It’s hideous,” he agreed, exhaling deeply.

Tryggvi grinned, clearly amused. He seemed to be studying Aloth, watching him intently. It was a rare occasion to see him show emotion so openly, and Aloth cherished it. His chest ached a little. He ignored it, forcing himself to stop staring at his lips. They looked surprisingly soft, and he felt the urge to – or was it Iselmyr? He couldn’t really tell. He ignored that, too.

But Tryggvi’s grin faded almost as soon as it appeared, and Aloth missed it immediately. His eyes widened a little as if he’d just thought of something horrifying. He spoke too fast, stumbling over his words.

“You know you don’t have to wear it all the time. If you felt forced, I–”

“No, of course not,” Aloth interrupted. “I just...” he trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s stupid.” He tugged at his sleeve, looking down.

“Tell me,” Tryggvi said softly, the corner of his lips twitching in what Aloth recognized as a suppressed smile. He’d gotten used to his expressions, by now. It didn’t take any effort to read them, it came naturally to him. Not that Tryggvi made it any easier, trying to hide them all the time.

And now, Aloth could tell that he was being sincere. It was in his eyes; usually cold and distant, they were now gentle, kind in a way that looked almost affectionate. Aloth had gotten used to that, too. He thought could see a hint of lavender in his eyes. Probably the moonlight.

“It’s... comforting. I know it sounds strange, but–” Aloth stopped. But what? He didn’t really know how to explain it. It wasn’t like anything he’d felt before, not really. It was a pleasant, warm feeling, deep inside his chest. “It feels peaceful. Familiar somehow, but also different,” he said eventually, and hated how stupid that sounded. Yet it was the only way he could describe it. It reminded him of the way he always felt around Tryggvi, only with an added sense of... safety? “I think I’ve grown fond of it.”

Tryggvi looked suddenly taken aback by this, frozen. Had Aloth said something wrong? Tryggvi wasn’t speaking, and Aloth tried not to panic as he felt his heart start beating faster. Stupid, stupid, stupid–

“I told you it was–”

“No!” Tryggvi’s eyes widened as he exclaimed. He seemed to notice this, immediately regaining his composure. “I mean,” he cleared his throat, “No, it’s not stupid. It’s... I’m…” He gave him a weird look, taking a few steps backwards. “I have to go.”

“What’s wrong?” Aloth called, but he was already disappearing into the Keep.

Whit’s his problem?

“I don’t know,” he murmured, frowning in thought.

***

And then the feeling was gone.

Aloth had to admit he missed it. It had been there for weeks, some kind of warm presence, reassuring. Now there was just a hollow pit in his chest.

It hadn’t even been a strong feeling really, just a faint tingling varying in intensity, depending on the day and hour. He had barely noticed it (at least consciously) before it was gone, but now that it was, its absence felt painfully obvious, like a part of him had left with it. He felt... alone.

Aloth didn’t know what to make of it. It was still the same ring, made of the same lump of silver, except the comforting feeling was gone. It was also odd that he could no longer detect the thin veil of essence surrounding it, even while he was wearing it.

Except in battle.

It was still there during battle, though in a much different way. Instead of warm and tingly, it was a profound feeling of security, like as long as he was wearing that ring, he would be safe. Nothing bad could happen to him. It didn’t make him and less careful, though – if anything, he took more care not to get hurt.

And he was feeling it now, as he was about to launch a fireball in the direction of a couple of crag ogres. He could feel it burning, like a thing living, warming the air around it in pulses as it was being conjured into existence. The heat reached his fingertips, flames threatening to burn, at the same time reminding him of the cold. The White March was freezing, and Aloth despised it; he’d grown up in the Cythwood, memories of the stifling summer heat still vivid in his mind. He wasn’t built for this.

Focus, lad!

She had a point. This was no time to reminisce about his hometown, or his childhood. Grimoire in one hand, eyes closed, he continued the incantation, louder and louder until he could feel the fireball forming, its heat becoming almost unbearable. He was about to hurl it at the ogres when he suddenly felt a tug at his chest, like something snapping, followed by immediate and overwhelming dread; an incredibly disquieting sense that something terrible had just happened. He could feel it in his very soul – something was wrong.

That was when he saw Tryggvi on his knees across the room, gasping for breath and a twelve feet ogre towering over him. He was clutching his side, eyes wide. He was in bad shape, armor torn and bloodied in various places. His daggers were nowhere to be seen, and he looked as if he was about to pass out, though had no visible cuts or wounds, at least.

There was no time for a sigh of relief. The ogre approached him, slowly taking a step as the Watcher leaned back, trying to move away. But there was nowhere to run, Aloth knew. They both did.

Dae something, ye numpty!

So he did. There was barely any conscious thought behind it as he muttered a few more words, and the ball of fire was now floating right in front of him, fully materialized. The heat was excruciating, and he was grateful his armor or hair didn’t catch on fire. He knew he’d stalled it for too long, gotten distracted – it was one of those mistakes people did when they hadn’t memorized the spells yet, one of the first things they taught novices at the academy. He’d heard horrifying stories of fireballs and noxious bursts exploding in people’s faces, but he couldn’t think about that now.

He took his time mumbling a few more words, redirecting the fireball. He finally snapped when he heard a sharp cry of pain, and saw the ogre kick the Watcher against a wall. His chest ached, and it was a harrowing feeling. Immediately he felt a wave of fury and panic rush over him, and with a shout from Iselmyr, he threw the fireball at the ogre attacking Tryggvi, using whatever strength he had. Before he could see what happened, though, he felt suddenly exhausted, like all the energy in his body – his soul – had been drained out of him. He felt a little dizzy, almost losing his balance. Darkness threatened to take over his vision, blurring the edges.

It was only for a moment, though, and when it passed he saw that the ogre was down, her corpse in flames, and… Tryggvi was back on his feet. That was an extremely quick recovery, Aloth couldn’t help but notice. Perhaps it was due to his being a cipher, some kind of ability? Maybe he had a potion? Either way, there was no time to dwell on it, as the two ogres from earlier were heading his way.

Too tired to fight, and still lightheaded, for once it felt easy to let go of control. He simply watched as Iselmyr, always too eager to shed blood, attacked one of them with all her strength and ferocity, until finally Pallegina made short work of him with a headshot. The other one suddenly burst into flames shortly after, and Aloth recognized it as Tryggvi’s handiwork.

With the fight over, and the adrenaline slowly being replaced by exhaustion, Aloth started feeling his limbs again. His heart was being fast as he tried to catch his breath.

Ye alright, lad?

He knew she was talking about what happened with the fireball, and his sudden loss of energy.

“I’m alright,” he breathed. “I think,” he added after a moment. It still surprised him, sometimes, to see that Iselmyr... cared, in her own way. He felt what he could only describe as a mental nod from her, and was about to look for Tryggvi to check on him when he saw him approaching with quick steps.

“What the Hel did you do?”  He was almost yelling, loud enough to be heard from halfway across the room. Aloth could see he was angry, and for some reason his anger seemed to be directed at him. “What was that?!”

He was standing right in front of him now, though still keeping his distance, and Aloth was torn between surprise and disbelief. He had rarely seen the Watcher get so angry before. There was something in his eyes, burning – not with hatred, or anything of the sort, just… intense. It was more akin to frustration, or... worry? He looked distraught. It was rather unsettling to see him like this. Aloth didn’t know what to feel, what to think. Had he done something wrong? He wanted to shrink and disappear.

His first instinct was to apologize. Iselmyr wouldn’t let him.

Who th’ Hel does he think he is?

“What are you talking about?” Aloth asked, ignoring Iselmyr.

“You–!” Tryggvi began, and stopped in frustration, a small sound escaping from his throat. “You used the ring! You weren’t supposed to do that!”

Now, though, Aloth was just confused. The ring? What ring? The one Tryggvi had given him didn’t have any powers to use, and he hadn’t used anything else. He could feel Iselmyr getting angrier and angrier, an uncomfortable presence prickling beneath his skin, anxious to get out.

Ah will tell him what’s whit!

“Iselmyr, this isn’t the time–” Aloth muttered through gritted teeth, closing his eyes. When he opened them, it wasn’t his decision.

“Like Hel it isnae! Ye listen tae me, ye wee scunner,” she said, pointing at Tryggvi, almost poking him in the chest. “Ye dinnae git tae say shite like that, ye hear? Calm doon!”

And so he did. Tryggvi took a step back, seemingly only now realizing his outburst, completely stunned. In seconds, his expression melted into one of pure worry and regret.

“Let’s just hear what he has to say, first,” Aloth interrupted Iselmyr, and it was all he could do keep her down.

“Gods, Aloth, what were you thinking?” Tryggvi asked quietly, running his hands over his face. “It could’ve killed you!”

“Can you just tell me what’s going on!” Aloth demanded. He was getting impatient, now.

“You–” Tryggvi began, and abruptly stopped, like he’d just realized something. “You used the ring.” Any trace of anger was suddenly gone from his voice.

“What are you–”

“The ring, the one I gave you.” He sounded distant, like he wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. He was looking Aloth right in the eye, but seemed to be talking mostly to himself.

“You said it was for protection, you told me to wear it–”

“How did you figure out how to use it?” he asked, interrupting as his attention finally turned back to Aloth. Was he even listening to anything Aloth was saying to him? This wasn’t going to work.

“Tryggvi,” Aloth began calmly, taking a deep breath. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, enunciating every word slowly.

“This!” Tryggvi suddenly raised his hand, and Aloth almost flinched. Almost. But he knew, on a deeper level than even the oldest memories of his childhood, that Tryggvi would never hurt him. He never felt as safe as he did when he was with him, and he trusted him completely. He trusted him with his life. With his heart. “I’m talking about this,” Tryggvi said, sighing. “I should’ve told you.”

And sure enough, Aloth finally saw the copper ring on his finger, a dent where the gem would’ve been. It seemed familiar, but it wasn’t until he noticed the tiny blue gems and the tool-marks covering the band that he recognized it for what it was. It was the other half of his ring. He could see how they completed each other; they would fit perfectly.

“Is that…?” he trailed off, too shocked for any coherent thought.

“It’s the pair, yes.” He paused. “I’m sorry, I–”

“What are they for?” It was Aloth’s turn to interrupt.

“They… well, they give you the ability to transfer some part of your vital essence to whoever is wearing the other half.” He seemed to think for a moment before continuing. “At least, that’s the best way I can explain it. You know how it is with soul stuff.”

He did; Tryggvi was terrible at explaining them, and often oversimplified everything, despite being more experienced with souls than most people Aloth knew. He often wondered what it was like for him, being a cipher. Being able to interact with souls in ways Aloth couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Aloth took his time digesting the new information about the rings. What happened after the fireball… and how he thought wearing the ring gave him more strength to keep fighting… it all made sense, now. So all this time…

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve used it sooner,” he said quietly.

“That’s exactly why I didn’t.” What was that supposed to mean? “It’s extremely dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. I gave it to you because I was going to use it, not you.” How could he be so casual about this? Aloth could feel his restraint and patience running out.

“You could’ve have still told me! I would’ve been careful with it, I’m not–“

“You could’ve died! Do you really think I would let you risk your life like that?”

“It’s not your decision to make!” Aloth retorted, louder than he’d expected. It was getting harder and harder to keep Iselmyr from taking control. She was struggling to get out, scream, shout, and Aloth could feel her rage building.

Tryggvi didn’t speak for a while, just watching him. Studying. What was he looking for? It was impossible to tell what was going through his head.

“No,” he sighed eventually, casting his gaze down. “No, it isn’t. But this is,” he said, and Aloth didn’t understand what he meant for a moment, until he saw him take off the copper ring. He immediately felt the connection break, fading away. It was a terrible, heart-wrenching feeling. Empty. Iselmyr's anger was just background noise now, slowly dissipating.

“What are you doing?” Aloth asked stupidly, and as Tryggvi gently grabbed his wrist, Aloth felt his heart skip a beat at the contact. He pulled Aloth’s hand towards himself in a loose grip.

Then Tryggvi dropped the ring into his palm, and it made a sharp clink when it hit the one he was wearing.

“There. This was a bad idea from the start,” he said, looking back up at Aloth. It took Aloth a moment to meet his eyes. When he finally did, he found regret there, and sincerity. “I’m sorry.”

Aloth felt his heart break. It was just a ring, useful in battle. This was barely even an argument. So why was hearing that so painful? Did Tryggvi really have such little trust in him? Aloth had no answers, and he found himself speechless. And for once, so was Iselmyr. He almost wanted her to say something. Anything.

“Hey!” Kana called suddenly, a little too loud. It startled them both, and Aloth knew he’d lost his chance to say something. “Found something! Better take a look at this, Watcher.” It was only then that Aloth noticed the rest of the party had scattered, searching through the room. He hoped they hadn’t heard too much.

And with one final look, Tryggvi was gone, leaving Aloth to stare blankly at the copper ring in his palm. It was a perfect half, glistening under the dim light; matching gems, matching flaws. He didn’t know what to do with it, but something told him to hold on to it.  

And even though the connection wasn’t there anymore, it still hurt when the silver ring easily slid off his finger.

They didn’t talk again that day.

***

It wasn’t until a week later that either of them brought it up again.

It was the small hours of the morning, and the only reason Aloth was even awake was because he’d abruptly jolted awake a couple hours ago, and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep. It happened from time to time, and he’d learned to deal with it over the years. So he decided to practice some spells, especially since Iselmyr was being unusually quiet today. He could finally have some peace.

And he did. It was completely silent except for the steady humming of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves. The dawn chorus would start its song soon, and there was a gentle breeze, the kind that could only be truly enjoyed before sunrise. He could hear the faint sounds of water flowing in the distance. Aloth felt, for the first time in a very long time, completely at peace.

Or he would have, if only he could stop thinking about the rings.

It hurt to think about it, and Aloth knew it was irrational, but it felt a lot like being rejected – not that he’d had much experience with that sort of thing. The only explanation he could come up with for Tryggvi’s actions was that he either didn’t trust Aloth with something as simple as a healing spell, or the thought of Aloth actually caring about him enough to use it was so bothersome, he’d rather not wear the rings at all. Aloth didn’t want to think about what that meant, but found himself unable to think about anything but, staring at the rings in his palm.

That was when he heard footsteps approaching, and his first instinct was to hide, a hand going to his sceptre. Almost as soon as he heard it, though, he realized they were coming from the camp, and relaxed. That, too, did not last for long when he saw who it was.

Aloth knew better than to ask. Why are you awake? What are you doing here? He doubted even Tryggvi himself had the answers. What did I do wrong?

He closed his grimoire, placing it back on his belt and putting the rings back into his pocket. He turned to face Tryggvi, only to find that he wasn’t slowing down. He kept walking in the direction of the woods, casting a glance at Aloth, and it was so quick Aloth almost thought he’d imagined it. Still, he found himself falling into step behind him.

They didn’t go very far, and Aloth followed suit when Tryggvi sat down on an old, fallen tree trunk. It was almost completely covered in moss, but seemed to be relatively safe to sit on. Still, Aloth regretted not wearing his armor. Even a cape would do, really.

They didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity, the silence stretching on and on. The peaceful morning air was now brimming with tension; unspoken questions and half-glances. It seemed even the songbirds could feel it, singing a little quieter than usual. Hesitant, almost, to break the silence.

“What are we doing out here?” Aloth asked finally. Talking felt out of place, like it was some forbidden thing.

“Oh, you know,” Tryggvi said offhandedly. “Getting some fresh air,” he gestured towards the surrounding woods, glancing at Aloth. “Enjoying the scenery,” he added quietly, without breaking eye contact.

It took him a while, but Aloth knew he was blushing when he saw Tryggvi suppress a small smile, and he hated that he got flustered so easily. Why did he keep saying things like that? Aloth looked down, then away, and wanted to be angry at him. He knew it was useless.

The Watcher looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than usual. They never talked about it, but Aloth knew he had nightmares. You knew these things about people when you’d been traveling with them for over a year. He suspected he’d been having them even before he became a Watcher, though. He didn’t act like someone who had just started having trouble sleeping. Aloth could recognize the signs.

“I’m sorry,” Tryggvi said softly. It startled Aloth, who hadn’t been expecting it. “I noticed you’ve been avoiding me. I thought an apology would be a good start.”

“I wasn’t–”

“Listen, I know I can be a little… insensitive, sometimes, but I–”

“A little,” mocked Aloth, and Tryggvi gave him a look. They both knew he didn’t mean it.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he said, and paused. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you.”

Aloth wasn’t sure if he was playing coy, or… But then again, this was Tryggvi.

“You really have no idea, do you?” Aloth asked. There was no malice in it.

“I…” he paused. “Not really, no,” he sighed after a moment. “But that’s not to say I’m not–”

“The rings, Tryggvi,” Aloth said, reaching into his pocket. “It’s about the rings.”

“The...” he stopped when he saw Aloth put them down on the trunk. “Oh.” He stared at them for some time. “What about them?”

“Do you really have such little faith in me? I thought–” he stopped himself. “Or does it just bother you that much to know that I care?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to wear it. That’s why you took yours off.”

“What? That’s–” Tryggvi stopped himself, seemingly putting conscious effort into it. “I didn’t want you to wear the ring,” he said slowly, “Because it manipulated your emotions and put you in danger! I meant what I said, Aloth. I don’t want you to risk your life for me. I can’t ask that of you. I won’t.”

Aloth resisted the urge to pinch the bridge his nose, and it was all he could do to stop himself from screaming in frustration. Was he even serious?

“I’ve been risking my life for you since we met! And I know you’ve been doing the same. That’s how it works, Tryggvi! We’re in this together,” Aloth said, realizing he’d spoken without thinking, and louder than he would have liked. He heard the fluttering of wings from the canopying trees. “Or at least, I thought so,” he added absently.

“You really feel that way?”

“Why would I lie?”

“No, I wasn’t– I mean, of course you’re not lying, it’s just– The rings, the way they work is... complicated. I wasn’t sure how much of what you were feeling was... well, actually you. There was no way to be sure.”

“What does that even mean?” Aloth exclaimed.

Tryggvi didn’t say anything for some time, thinking.

“You’ve probably noticed the ring doesn’t actually hold any spells, in the strictest sense.”

“Yes, it’s rather unusual. It’s still enchanted, though.”

“It is. They form some kind of connection between the souls of the people wearing them.”

“And you know this how?” Aloth asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t felt anything of the sort when he was wearing it, but it made sense. It would explain why it was a pair, for starters.

“I… well, I can see it. Sort of.” Of course. “I thought it was messing up your emotions. I even started wearing it only in fights, but it seems it didn’t make much of a difference.”

“Hold on, why would it affect my emotions?” He remembered, as he asked, that he had indeed felt different while wearing the ring. He didn’t see how that was a problem, though. It had made him feel safe.

“I told you, they link souls. I don’t have complete control over my powers. It’s… hard to know how much I share through the link.”

“So?”

“You really going to make me say it?” Tryggvi asked, attempting a humorous tone. There was sadness in his eyes. “You know how I feel about you, Aloth.”

Aloth was too late to stop a small gasp from escaping, eyes widening in surprise; but it was surprise to find that indeed, he did. But hearing it from Tryggvi… Aloth was aware of this thing between them, growing with each passing day, each stolen glance, each word left unspoken. He had been for months, only refusing to acknowledge it. What was he so afraid of?

“Oh, fuck,” Tryggvi murmured when he saw the surprise on Aloth’s face. “Sorry, forget I said anything,” he tried, swearing again under his breath.

And it clicked. Finally, Aloth understood what Tryggvi had been talking about this entire time, why he had made such a big deal about the rings, everything.

And it was ridiculous.

“You thought… you were forcing feelings on me? Because I used the ring to save you?” Aloth asked, slowly soaking each word in understanding. “Do you have any idea how preposterous that sounds?”

“You said it yourself that it made you feel weird! And this is soul magic, it works differently.”

“It’s all soul magic!”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Aloth said, and he really didn’t. Why did he always insist on being so vague?  “And I certainly don’t know how you thought that somehow meant you were manipulating my emotions.”

Tryggvi sighed. “It’s not like casting a spell. The ring uses the link between souls to work, it all happens on its own. You just…” he trailed off, looking suddenly self-conscious, uncharacteristically shy.

“You just what?”

“Well, from what I can tell, you just, uh,” he coughed, looking away. “You just have to be willing to die for that person.”

Aloth was silent for a while, after that. Speechless, perhaps, would be more accurate. Processing information, trying to understand what Tryggvi was saying. His heart sank as he finally came to a single, crushing conclusion.

“You only gave it to me because you thought… I couldn’t use it?”

Tryggvi didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.

It was only the sounds of nature for some time. Aloth didn’t know how long they stayed like that, without saying a word. The air seemed colder, the breeze harsher. The world was starting to awaken. The sun would rise soon, and they would have to get back to camp.

He was about to stand up when suddenly he felt a weight on his hand, and a small sound escaped his lips, heart skipping a beat. Looking down, he saw that Tryggvi was holding his hand; soft, reassuring and so, so gentle.

And all Aloth could think in that moment was that his hand was surprisingly warm. Tryggvi looked like he barely had any warmth in his body; pale skin tinted with blue in the early morning light, and frost-white hair. Eyes like ice. Aloth had expected stone cold.

“I was wrong,” Tryggvi said softly, thumb lightly brushing over his knuckles. When Aloth finally met his eyes, he saw honest, open emotion. Regret. Forgive me.

Aloth didn’t stand a chance.

And it must’ve shown, because the next thing Tryggvi did was to pick up the silver ring from where it was sitting between them. The metal was cold, in stark contrast to Tryggvi’s fingers when he put it on. Aloth couldn’t stop looking at it.

“Hey,” Tryggvi said quietly. He looked serious, almost concerned, and it was only then Aloth realized he’d been holding his breath. Tryggvi gave him a small smile, amused, as he finally breathed out. He was too overwhelmed to even think about saying anything.

So Aloth took the copper ring without a word, hesitating for only a second before taking Tryggvi’s hand. Immediately after he put it on, Aloth could feel the connection again, except this time he knew what it was. Tryggvi’s emotions had never changed his own – the ring had only allowed Aloth to feel his affection in a way he’d never felt before. In a way he couldn’t have imagined was possible, before.

Suddenly Tryggvi gave him a look, unsure, and Aloth realized too late that he was still holding his hand, and… had he been sitting so close this whole time? A few more inches and Aloth would be able to feel his breath. His eyes were clear and Aloth realized he’d never seen them up close, before. Not like this. And he could see that indeed, there was definitely lavender in them. They were beautiful.

He saw Tryggvi’s gaze drift down, and he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same, staring at his lips. Before he could get any ideas, however, he was interrupted by the first blooming rays of sunlight, passing through the leaves in fragments and illuminating the Watcher’s face in a bright, warm orange. Squinting at the light, Tryggvi blinked a few times, trying to adjust.

And the moment was gone.

“We should, uh,” Tryggvi mumbled, looking away. Avoiding eye contact. “We should get back to camp.” He glanced at Aloth, as if searching for something in his expression.

“Yes, they’ll probably wake up soon,” Aloth agreed. They sat like that for a while.

It took all of Aloth’s willpower to actually stand up. Tryggvi followed as they made for the camp. They didn’t speak the entire way.

And it was only then, as they finally saw the smoldering remains of the campfire, that Iselmyr spoke.

Glad ye two managed tae figure things oot!