Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Augh, can’t this stupid soup boil any faster?” Veronica griped, glowering at the cookpot as if it had personally revived Mordegon.

“Funnily enough,” Erik drawled from his position reclined against the woodpile, “soup doesn’t heat up any faster when threatened.”

Veronica huffed, looking every inch the child she seemed to be. “Well, maybe it should!”

“Maybe if we had a hotter fire,” Erik shrugged, settling down for a bit of a nap.

“A hotter fire, eh?”

Erik turned just in time to see a wicked grin form on Veronica’s cherubic face, and a fireball came to life between her hands.

“Veronica, don’t–!”

“Have a taste of my fireball!”

Erik only just managed to get behind cover before the entire campsite was coated in charred vegetables and ashy sludge.

El was not so lucky. He stood at the forge, just at the edge of the blast zone. His clothes weren’t exactly ruined, but he’d certainly need to wash them before the stink of burning food stuck to the fabric.

“Oh dear...” Serena sighed. She’d been giving treats to the horses and managed to escape unscathed. “I suppose this isn’t as bad as the Cake.”

“What cake?” El and Erik asked nearly in unison. One was simply curious, the other incredulous.

“Well, you see–” Serena began.

“None of your business!” Veronica shouted. “Serena, we agreed not to talk about that.”

Serena’s eyes widened. “Did we?”

“We did.”

Chapter Text

Serena sat quietly beside the fire, her nose in a book. Veronica had gone to practice a new spell, and Sylvando was mending his tights, while the esteemed Luminary was hard at work at the Fun-Size Forge, making a claymore to sell.

There would never be a better time.

The morning was cold, the night's chill lingering in the air, so the frog was slow-moving and sleepy in Erik's hands. It made it all the easier to creep up behind Serena, his steps silent and sure, and then–!

Plop!

Serena let out the tiniest of gasps, and Erik grinned, ready for the scream.

“Ooh, aren’t you just adorable!” Serena cooed, cupping her delicate hands around the fist-sized frog in her lap. “What a lovely surprise!” She twisted in her seat to beam brightly up at Erik, standing behind her in stunned shock. “Thank you, Erik!”

“Yeah,” Erik said, blinking a few times. “No problem.”

Serena made soothing noises at the frog, petting it gently along its bumpy back. “Frogs are cold-blooded, so I’m sure it appreciates warming up a bit!” she said.

“Right.”

She gave a happy sigh. “They really are wonderful little creatures.”

Erik chuckled. “I’m… glad you like them so much.”

“Oh, everyone ought to!”

Chapter Text

“After all of that, helping him find Jade and fighting that huge spider, that old man has the nerve to steal the prize?” Veronica had been ranting in that fashion almost since the moment the theft had been revealed, only taking a short break during the walk to the ruins of Dundrasil. She’d started up again once they stopped to set up camp for the night. “Ohh, we’ll never get our hands on that stupid branch at this rate!”

“Well, not with that attitude,” Sylvando said. His tone was encouraging, but Veronica only got more worked up.

“My attitude has nothing to do with it,” the half-pint sage snapped, tossing a stray stick into the fire. “That old fathead ought to show more gratitude to people who only wanted to help him.”

“Now, now, Ronnie,” Sylv scolded playfully, hands on his hips for a moment, “we don’t help people so they’ll be grateful! We help because it’s right!”

El nodded before Veronica could do much more than huff.

“My granddad always said to live life with love in your heart,” he said, one hand splayed on his chest. “Holding onto grudges never did anyone good.”

Veronica groaned. “You’re all so disgustingly nice,” she grumbled. Seemed like El had interrupted her flow.

“Love, eh?” Erik mused, interlacing his fingers at the back of his neck. “Sounds like your granddad was a good one.”

El wore a tiny smile as he nodded. “He was.”

“Didn’t you tell us his name once?” Serena asked.

“Chalky,” El said proudly, “the greatest adventurer to ever live.”

“Quite the title.” Veronica tilted her head. “...wait. Did he ever come to Arboria?”

El thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, but that was a long time ago. Why d’you ask?”

Serena piped up brightly, “Oh, I know this one! About fifty years ago, the son of the high priest of Arboria got sick while traveling. A kindly adventurer and a Gallopolitan doctor saw him home safely, and the high priest offered them each one of our treasures.”

Erik glanced over, eyes wide. “Wait, don’t tell me...”

“The Rainbough,” Veronica sighed irritably, “and something called the–”

“The Keystone!” El exclaimed, not seeming to realize that he’d interrupted. “Yes, Granddad left it to me! It’s how Erik and I made it to the Hotto Steppe!”

Sylvando, who had listened quietly up until then, cut in. “So your grandpapi’s adventuring days are what made it possible for you to meet people from the same town where he rescued someone fifty years ago?”

Erik chuckled to himself. “It’s one heck of a coincidence.”

“Perhaps it’s fate!” Serena declared.

“Either way,” Veronica huffed, “no one’s going to believe this back home.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, come on, darling, just try it on!” Sylvando’s voice rose in pitch as he wheedled and begged. “Pretty, pretty please?”

Jade, meanwhile, merely sounded exasperated. “I’ve already told you, Sylvando; it isn’t my style.”

El exited the tent curiously. Sylvando was holding a shimmering dark blue cape of some light and airy fabric. There were gold designs on the back in the shape of stars that looked hand-embroidered.

“That looks expensive,” El said, moving closer. “Did you buy that in Gondolia?”

Sylvando perked up at the question. “Oh, darling,” he grinned, “I made it myself!”

El looked at the cape again with new eyes. “Really?”

“Of course!” Sylvando laughed. “Did you think I bought this–” he paused to gesture at his striped jester’s ensemble– “–in some shop? I make all of my clothes and costumes!”

“That’s amazing!” El said. “How d’you even have time?”

Sylvando winked, slinging the cape over his shoulder to strike a knowing pose. “You make time for the things that you love, darling,” he said.

El nodded slowly. “And you love sewing?”

Sylv gestured broadly with both arms. “Oh, honey, I can’t even describe how proud I am when I see someone wearing something I made for them!”

“That sounds like when I make armor,” El said. “I love making things to keep you and the others safe.”

“Just like that, sweetie,” Sylv said. Just then, he got a gleam in his eye. “Actually, while we’re on the subject...”

“Looking good, El!” Erik called, a broad smirk on his face.

“Thank you,” El said, flicking the cape over his shoulder. “Sylv was testing out a new kind of grommet!”

Erik blinked. “I don’t know what that means,” he admitted.

“I think it’s something t’ do with the laces,” El explained, a little uncertain himself. “He explained it, but he also talked a lot about fabric weight and weave direction, and I sort of lost track.” El chuckled. “He seemed excited about it.”

“That’s Sylvando for you,” Erik agreed, leaning back against the woodpile.

“It swishes nicely, though, look!” El demonstrated, beaming.

Erik watched with an unabashedly fond look. “Looks good,” he said again.

Chapter Text

“Ohh!”

Serena crouched down, looking behind some boxes and reaching out with one hand.

“Come here, little one!” she called.

Rab looked up from his meditation, losing his balance and focus for the third time that evening. He made the executive decision to take a wee break and strolled over to investigate.

“What’ve ye got there, lassie?” he asked.

Serena beamed up at him. “We have a visitor!”

Rab raised his eyebrows. “A visitor?” He moved closer.

“Oh yes!” Serena beckoned to the gap between the boxes with a series of soft clucks.

Out came the cat, then, gray and striped and rather on the small side, with wide yellow eyes and a crooked tail.

“Hello there,” Serena cooed. “Are you hungry?”

Without thinking much about it, Rab withdrew a bit of dried fish from his pack and offered it to Serena. “Here ye go,” he chuckled. “Put some flesh on the wee creature.”

“Oh, thank you!” Serena accepted the fish with a smile, then turned to offer it to the cat. The cat, for its part, almost tripped over its own paws to get to the fragrant fish.

“Poor thing,” Rab murmured, watching Serena feed it. “It looks half-starved.”

Serena gently petted its back as it crouched over the dried fish, eating quickly.

“It seems quite tame,” she said, “and very friendly despite how hungry it must be.”

Rab could hear the cat purring from where he stood, and he imagined it must be a happy creature indeed.

“Ooh, the poor thing is skin and bones,” Serena said, stroking the back of her fingers along the cat’s side. “I can feel its whole spine, and most of the ribs.” She made an unhappy noise. “This was someone’s pet once, I’m sure of it.”

“Well,” Rab huffed, standing, “perhaps our good friend the jester has an idea of what to do with it.”

“Ohh! What a darling kitten!” Sylvando gushed, reaching out to let the cat sniff his hand. “Where did you find this adorable little thing?”

Serena smiled, cradling the cat like a baby. “Over by the supplies,” she said, tracing her fingertips along its side. “It’s so very hungry, Sylvando.”

Sylv gasped, pressing his free hand to his chest. “Oh, that just won’t do!”

“Aye,” Rab added, “we thought ye might have an opinion on what we ought to do with the wee bairn.”

A slow grin crept across Sylv’s face. “You know,” he drawled, “Davé keeps saying he could use a ship’s cat...”

Chapter Text

There was only so much training one could do alone, and Jade preferred not to let herself get too lax. Rab’s enthusiasm for it waxed and waned with his moods and how present the memory of his teacher was at any given time. She’d hoped, she would admit, that things might be different with the long-lost Luminary and his party, but...

“Sorry, honey, I’m just so, so busy with mending.”

“Are you kidding? After Octagonia? Forget it.”

“Och, sure, lassie, just let me finish readin’ this...”

“I would, but there’s so much forging to do...”

“Fight a lot of children, do you?”

Jade sat on a crate and did not let out an undignified sigh of disappointment. There was only one more person to ask.

“Serena,” Jade began, steeling herself for another letdown. “Could I get a favor?”

The beatific healer looked up from her bandage wrapping with a smile.

“Jade!” Serena sounded genuinely happy to see her. “How can I help?”

‘This is a bad idea...’ Jade smiled back diplomatically.

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me do a bit of training,” she said.

Serena hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know how much help I’d be with claws.” Jade was halfway to giving up when she went on, “But I’d love to do a bit of spear practice.”

Jade arched a single eyebrow as Serena got to her feet.

“You use a spear?”

Serena tittered softly, moving toward an open area where Jade had already set out some practice weapons. “I don’t much look it, do I?”

Jade had some difficulty imagining Serena wielding a weapon, if she were honest. “I’ll admit, you look much more at home with a wand and shield.”

“I am,” Serena said, “but Father Benedictus insisted that Veronica and I should each learn a weapon aside from wands, or staves, in Veronica’s case.”

“A wise decision.” Jade picked up a training spear, a long laundry pole with some of Sylv’s fabric scraps bound to each end, and spun it in her hands to get a sense for the balance. “And you chose spears?”

Serena nodded. “Veronica wanted to learn to use a whip, I think because someone told her it was the most difficult one.”

Jade let out a snort of startled laughter. “That sounds like her.”

“Doesn’t it?” Serena picked up the other training spear. It was technically an extra, in case the other broke, but Jade made a mental note to ask El to make another.

Taking a ready stance, Jade grinned at the healer. “Are you ready?”

Serena took her own stance, feet shoulder-width apart and fingers loose on the haft. “Whenever you are!” she chirped.

This was going to be such fun.

Chapter Text

Day or night, who could even tell anymore? And what did it matter, anyway?

Elior prodded listlessly at the campfire, and the burning logs collapsed into one another. He could sympathize.

It had all gone so wrong, so fast. The nightmare nightscape world had been in place for months, but it seemed like only hours since he’d been camping in the First Forest, Erik snoring softly beside him, the twins speaking indistinctly with one another. If he looked through the smoke, he could almost see Sylvando mending something, almost hear Rab grunting as he lost his balance. Any stray breeze could be Jade walking by him, but when he looked up, all he saw was dark red stormclouds.

El poked at the fire again. Even at the beginning, he hadn’t been alone, not really. Erik had been a friendly shadow, and before that, his horse.

His horse. Oh, Yggdrasil’s roots, what if–?

El looked to the bell at the edge of camp. Could he bear it, if it rung and nothing happened? Would it be better not to try?

He stood suddenly, violently, against the images of what could have befallen the poor mare, and went to the bell. For a little too long, he just stood there, staring at the blackened metal. What if, what if?

What if he wasn’t entirely alone?

El startled himself with the sound of the bell breaking the silence of the eternal night on the Emerald Coast.

For two, five, ten seconds, he stood, unable to even breathe for fear of disturbing the moment where his horse could still be alive.

Then, distantly, he heard it.

Hoofbeats.

El turned, and there she was; the mare stood out like white smoke against the black trees. When she got closer, she whinnied, bright and familiar and—

“Cassay!” El shouted, and he ran out to meet her.

The mare neighed again and pulled up sharp in front of him, nudging him insistently with her velvet soft nose.

“I missed you too, girl,” El said, and choked, his eyes stinging suddenly.

He pressed his forehead to Cassay’s broad shoulder and finally lost control.

Chapter Text

Hendrik had been a blind fool.

His greatsword was heavy, a familiar weight in his hands as he ran his drills over and over. The basics were essential to any knight, but especially to those who wished to be the best, to give as much as they could.

To serve had always been Hendrik’s dearest wish; to protect the weak, his most ardent desire. To that end, he had suffered, tempering himself with the fire of his passion, honing his skills and sharpening his focus with each passing day. He had never begrudged the hard work, and in fact had always found his training, the routine of his daily practice, to be soothing.

There was something to be said for constancy.

But there was danger in it, as well. Reliance on constancy had led Hendrik by the nose into complacency, into serving a monster in the guise of his king for seventeen years. He should have known that something was amiss, if not with his king, than at least with–

...Jasper.

The point of his sword lowered as a wave of something like exhaustion swept through him. Thoughts of Jasper left a weight on his chest, moreso than his regret, even. It was as though he had lead in his very bones, bringing to mind the arm and leg weights Don Rodrigo had given him on his very first day of training. Happier days by far, Hendrik thought, recalling the hot sun on his back, the sweat on his brow, the teasing words of a fellow squire–

“Sir Hendrik?”

The Luminary. Hendrik snapped to attention, pressing his fist to the center of his chest.

“Yes, Honored Luminary?”

The Luminary shifted awkwardly in place. “I’ve told you, just call me Elior.”

Hendrik frowned. “...Prince Elior, then.”

Prince Elior huffed, but accepted the change. “Supper’s ready,” he said, gesturing back to the campfire, where a bubbling pot of stew hung.

The very instant that Hendrik registered the smell of the stew, his stomach reminded him of the lack of food in it.

The Prince of Dundrasil smiled gently. “Shall we eat, then?” he asked.

Hendrik had always been a voracious eater, devouring whatever was set before him with what a fellow squire had called monstrous enthusiasm. The stew had been delicious, and he told the Prince so.

“I had not expected cooking to be amongst your talents, Prince Elior,” Hendrik said, having just polished off his third helping.

Prince Elior looked into the fire, his own bowl already long set aside. “It isn’t, really,” he demurred, “‘s just something I picked up from Mum, an’ then being on the road.” He wore a sad smile. “Erik’s a rubbish cook, so’s Jade, an’ Veronica’s not allowed. Rab’s okay, but he doesn’t like it much. So Sylvando an’ Serena an’ me, we’d trade off who’d cook, an’ the others would trade off dishes.”

“I see,” Hendrik murmured. Put in such a way, it seemed so obvious.

The Prince went quiet again, staring into the flames with an unreadable expression.

Perhaps he ought to say something? “...I know I am a poor substitute for your missing companions–” Hendrik began.

Prince Elior’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and frantic. “No, you’re fine,” he insisted. “It’s better with someone else here, not that Cassay isn’t great company, but–”

Hendrik narrowed his eyes. “Cassay?”

Prince Elior paused, a light flush coming into his face. “My, ah, my horse,” he said. “I... her name’s Cassay.”

Hendrik glanced over at the mare, grazing next to the camp statue. “...it suits her,” he said after a little too long.

For a moment, all was still but for the popping and crackling of the fire.

At last, Hendrik could stand the silence no longer. “I... do not wish to be a burden to you, Luminary,” he said.

Prince Elior stared at him, his thoughts utterly impenetrable to Hendrik.

“You’re not,” he managed at last. “I think I would’ve died if you weren’t here.” He looked down at his boots, and his voice grew very small. “I would’ve been lonely without you, an' that’s not nothing, Sir Hendrik. Not to me.”

For all Hendrik’s flaws, he was at least self-aware. He knew he was not the most emotionally adept, and he had been rightly called stone-headed on more than one occasion. He simply lacked the sensitivity to other people that Jasper, that Norberto and the rest of the squires, that so many others seemed to master as children. Something in him had never allowed it.

Even so, with the way Prince Elior seemed to slump, as though exhausted beyond the physical, he looked very much like an overwrought child.

Even Hendrik couldn’t miss that.

“I will wash up,” Hendrik said, standing to gather the bowls, spoons, and cookware.

Prince Elior looked up, what Hendrik finally identified as grief in his eyes.

“You don’t have to–”

“And tomorrow morning,” Hendrik went on, as if he hadn’t heard, “I will prepare our breakfast, and you will wash up.”

The Luminary–

The Prince–

Elior finally seemed to smile, properly.

“All right, Sir Hendrik,” he said.

Chapter Text

Rab never was one to turn down free food. It showed in his gut, in his arms, and in his round and ruddy cheeks, and of all the foods he loved, his grandson's cooking ranked consistently in the top ten.

El would be the first to say that his cooking was none too impressive, but Rab had to disagree, insisting that El’s turn at the cookfire was his favorite. One of his favorite pastimes, once Rab and Jade joined up with El’s merry band of miscreants, was to pointedly and loudly ask for seconds. It never failed to embarrass him, and watching Eleanor’s boy go red at the tips of his ears was a privilege Rab had never thought he’d get to enjoy.

“More stew, Rab?”

Which made El’s behavior all the stranger.

“I’ve already had two bowls, lad!” Rab laughed, mostly to disguise his confusion.

The boy looked so disappointed that Rab had to relent.

“Och, all right, but just a wee bit!”

El brightened and ladled about half a serving into Rab’s bowl.

“Ye know I love yer cookin’, but I’m beginnin’ to suspect ye of tryin’ to fatten me up for a feastday! I promise, I won’t starve.”

Rab chortled, starting to eat, but as El turned away, Rab saw the smile fall from his face.

So that was it.

Rab’s own memories of waking after his little trip ‘round the spiritual cul-de-sac were somewhat blurred. He remembered sensations, mostly: of stiff knees, a sore back, his fingers and toes numb with chill... and a gnawing, yawning emptiness in his stomach. He’d been lucky to survive it, lucky that the monks of Angri-La still had stores of food in these dark times.

The lingering stares made sense at last. Thanks in no small part to the monks and to his own naturally ...robust physique, Rab was back to his old self, fighting fit and healthy as a man his age ever really got, but the poor lad must’ve been having a hard time. Of course. He’d lost all his friends in one go, after all; coming upon his grandfather starving in the snow must’ve been horrible. More than horrible.

Rab looked at the stew, nodded to himself, and slurped it down.

“Elior, lad?”

El looked up from the stewpot.

“On second thought, I’d like just one more helping.”

Seeing his grandson smile was well worth the stomachache.

Chapter Text

“There you go, darling!” Sylvando shook out the mended tunic with a proud look in his eyes. “Good as new!”

El favored him with a tired smile. “Thanks, Sylv.” He turned back to the forge, tipping a handful of pearls over a piece of armor.

Sylvando sauntered over to see—it was so, so fascinating to watch him work—and the smile slid from his face.

“Didn’t you just finish working on that?”

“Not good enough,” El said simply, raising the heat with practiced ease.

Sylvando raised an eyebrow. “Not good enough?”

El grunted, striking the softened metal with a blow that could shatter bones.

“It looked just fine to me.”

El’s shoulders drew up around his neck.

“Just fine isn’t–” He stopped, inhaling sharply and letting out a sigh. “...it needs to be better,” he went on. “Perfect.”

Both eyebrows. “Perfect?” Sylvando shook his head, reaching out to touch El’s shoulder with a comforting hand. “Honey, nothing’s per–”

El shook off the hand in a single sharp movement.

“It has to be perfect, Sylvando.”

El wasn’t shouting, was hardly speaking above his normal range, but the camp went still. Hendrik stopped his drills, Rab stumbled out of his stance for good, and Sylvando stood there, frozen, with the offending hand drawn back to his chest. For a long, strained moment, no one moved a muscle.

Then, El went back to the forge. He really was a master with it, and the armor was coming together beautifully.

Tink, tink. Tink.

Crunch.

“No, no no no.” El tapped and blew on the piece, but it was no good. By what appeared to be a stroke of bad luck, the armor had turned out no better than it started.

“No...”

Sylvando knew the start of a storm when he saw it; theatre was a business of high tension, after all. He moved closer to the poor boy.

“El, sweetie, maybe you should–”

El let out a roar of frustration, casting both armor and hammer into the dirt beside the forge with a clatter. This close, Sylvando could see the shadows under his eyes, the faint tremor in his soot-streaked hands as they clenched into fists. El pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes with a low keening sound.

“It has to be perfect,” El murmured. “Has to.”

Sylvando reached out to draw the boy into a gentle embrace, and this time, El allowed it, sagging into his arms like an exhausted child.

“Come sit down, darling.”

El was finally pliant, letting himself be pulled away from the forge and toward the fire.

Sylvando sat him down. “Don’t move, now,” he said with a gentle smile, turning away to get him a bowl of soup.

By the time Sylvando returned, soup in hand, El had clasped his hands together between his knees. He accepted the bowl without a word, eating slowly. Sylv could almost see El’s energy coming back.

“There you are.” Sylvando sat beside him. “Now... do you want to talk about what all that was?”

El ducked his head, a shadow passing over his face. “...do I have to?”

“Of course not, sweetie,” Sylvando was quick to assure him, “but you might feel better.”

El thought about that as he chewed, swallowed... shrugged.

“Can you at least tell me why the armor needs to be perfect?” Sylvando asked gently.

“I...”

Sylvando reached out to rest a hand on El’s shoulder. “It’s okay, honey, take as much time as you need.”

El nodded, leaning into the contact until he was resting his head on Sylvando’s shoulder. “...it sounds silly when I think about it.”

“It’s hurting you, darling,” Sylvando countered. “It’s not silly at all.”

“I just keep thinkin’... if the armor’s perfect, then maybe...” El took a deep breath. “...maybe we won’t lose anyone again.”

Sylv bit back the urge to gasp, to loudly and confidently assure the poor boy that they wouldn’t lose anyone, that they’d find all their friends, and everything would be all right again. Sure, Sylvando believed it, but El needed something softer.

Pulling El into a hug, Sylvando started to hum. It was an old melody, half-remembered; his Papi used to sing it to him when he was just a little child, shortly after his mother passed away. Of course, once he'd begun his training to become a knight, all of that had stopped.

Once the Luminary began to softly snore, his head resting in Sylvando’s lap, Hendrik and Rab approached.

“...Thank you, Norberto.”

Sylvando sighed. “He’s more hurt by all of this than he lets on.”

“Aye...” Rab hefted himself onto a nearby crate. “I just don’t know how tae help the poor lad.”

“I imagine,” Hendrik said slowly, “that finding the rest of your former companions will help greatly with easing his mind.”

“You’re right.” Sylvando brushed a stray hair from El’s face. “I wish he’d open up a little more, though.”

Hendrik nodded. “It cannot be healthy for him to hold everything inside as he has been.”

Rab chuckled. “Don’t ye worry; once we find Erik, he’ll set the lad right.”

Chapter Text

El wasn’t good at hiding his feelings.

He wasn’t. Jade could take one look at him and know something was bothering him. She wasn’t as good as Erik, who could tell exactly what was on his mind from the slant of his shoulders or some such thing, but she made a point to notice when her dear little brother wasn’t feeling his best.

Still, just knowing that something was wrong didn’t mean she knew how to fix it. Jade hovered around him for days, back through Zwaardsrust, to the inland sea, and found that, even on the boat with nowhere else to go, El could still avoid her. She would almost be impressed if it weren’t so frustrating.

But frustrating it was, and so Jade went to other sources.

“Let the poor lad be,” Rab advised, shaking his head. “He’s had a lot on his mind, and with the state ye were in... I dinnae blame him bein’ worked up.”

“I do not know him as well as you, Princess,” Hendrik said, looking away. He also hadn’t met her eyes much of late. “I can only tell you that he seemed... distressed, having to fight you.”

“He just needs some time, dear.” Sylv placed a hand on her shoulder. “Once we get the whole gang back together, we’ll all feel much better.”

Deeply dissatisfied but utterly flummoxed, Jade stared into the campfire. What could she do? What could mend this divide?

It would be so much easier if Erik were with them, Jade thought with a scowl. The thief was perceptive, good with his words, and utterly devoted to her little brother’s well-being. He and El were joined at the hip sometimes, to the point where it was deeply strange to see one without the other. It must’ve been even stranger to be one without the other.

Sylvando was probably right; El was off-balance, missing his best friend, and still finding his footing in a world where his friends were scattered to the four winds.

...That still failed to explain why he was avoiding her. If anything, he should’ve been clingier than ever before. Jade had seen the way he hovered over Rab at mealtimes, and, having heard the way the two reunited, she was hardly surprised.

...The way they reunited...

Oh, she was an idiot.

“Elior.”

El flinched, looking up from his forging for a scant second before the cooling temperatures led him back.

Jade allowed herself a moment to smirk; her perfectionist little brother would never be able to abandon his forging, even if he desperately wanted to leave.

“I don’t suppose you’ll simply tell me why you’ve been acting like I have some contagion,” she drawled, leaning against a crate.

“Um.” El tapped gently at the metal he was working. “I haven’t...?”

“Don’t try that,” Jade said, voice sharp.

El grimaced.

“I hardly saw you the whole trip here, and that’s impressive, even as big as the Stallion is.” Jade feigned examining her nails, glancing at El in her peripheral vision. “So, what’s it going to be?”

El sighed, or maybe blew on his project to cool it. “It’s... not that I don’t want to see you,” he began haltingly. “I’m so glad you’re here, Jade, really I am.”

“Then what is it?” she asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice and not entirely succeeding, from the way El seemed to slump in place.

“Well... I keep thinkin’ about that... that costume I gave you.”

Jade couldn’t quite keep the disgusted noise in. “I did so hate that thing,” she said, “but I’ll admit, it had good defensive value.” A point which continued to confuse her, but which she had decided to grudgingly accept. “What about it?”

El’s hand stilled for a moment. “I... ‘m sorry. For makin’ you wear it.”

Jade rolled her eyes. “You didn’t make me wear it, El,” she said. “I put it on myself, wore it myself. I may not have enjoyed wearing it, but I preferred it to the alternative.”

“I should’ve tried harder, t’ find somethin’ you’d like,” El insisted. “I’m th’ one who makes this stuff, I should’ve–”

“You were working from a blueprint,” Jade pointed out. “It kept me alive, anyway. It’s not like those recipes grow on trees.”

“But, the old man–”

“Was a dirty old man,” Jade cut in. “Ridiculous, shameless, yes, but ultimately harmless, and you used what he gave you to keep us all safe, right?”

El made an unhappy noise, but he nodded, examining his handiwork.

“Anyway, my point is...” Jade took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I don’t blame you, little brother. I charged headlong into a bad situation, and it wasn’t your fault I got caught.” She moved to crouch beside El, resting one hand on his shoulder. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

El looked up, finally, finally meeting her eyes with watery blue. “‘m sorry, Jade,” he choked, and he seized her in a tight embrace.

Her shoulder grew damp as she stroked his silky hair. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “I’m here.”