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Runaan, fifteen years old and the best of all of his peers, had nothing else on his mind but training.
The other elves were happy to fool around with each other and play pranks and do silly dares, but Runaan was different. He was determined to become the best Moonshadow assassin in history, and that meant that he had to be the best at everything he did. Distractions were to be avoided at all costs.
Those distractions included gossip. Silvergrove was not a big village, and everyone knew everyone’s business. Delwaan, the local smith, was getting old and frail, and needed an assistant to help him. As a result, his young grand-nephew was coming from a few villages over to live with him as his assistant and apprentice, and to eventually take over the trade after old Delwaan passed. This was not unusual. Runaan thought nothing of it. He was uninterested in whatever clumsy apprentice might come and live with the old weaponsmith.
That all changed when he arrived.
Runaan had been standing with Tiadrin and Lain when it happened. They’d been discussing something silly like dagger-throwing techniques; later, Runaan would not remember anything else but the boy following Eldun, the leader of the assassins, into the clearing. Runaan’s eyes had passed over him briefly, but then he had to look again. He had to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.
But no. The new boy was beautiful. His eyes were the color of melted copper. His feathery white hair shone in Silvergrove’s eternal twilight, cut messier than most elves kept it- Runaan loved it instantly. He had the loveliest little smile, nervous and slightly tentative, like a spring flower about to bloom. His hands kept nervously wringing the strap of his leather bag. He looked like a dream.
He felt Tiadrin’s elbow dig into his ribs. “What?” he hissed.
Tiadrin looked disapproving. “Don’t stare at the new kid. It’s rude.”
Lain watched good-naturedly, twirling the little braid at the side of his hair. “He seems nice enough. Let’s go talk to him later.”
Almost like he’d heard them, Eldun signaled and called them over. “I’m going to need one of you to show him to old Delwaan’s place. Introduce yourselves.”
“I’m Tiadrin,” Tiadrin said, smiling. “Welcome to Silvergrove.”
“Lain,” added Lain, extending a hand, which the new boy shook gratefully.
There was an awkward silence. Oh, shadows and stars, the new boy was staring at him. Runaan stood there like a rabbit caught in a snare. Tiadrin elbowed him again, and Runaan came to his senses.
“R-Runaan,” he stumbled.
The new boy smiled so brightly, Runaan thought he might’ve glowed. “I’m Ethari. It’s nice to meet you.”
Ethari. Runaan memorized the way he said it, the way the syllables rolled off his tongue.
Eldun was watching them curiously. “Runaan, you take him to Delwaan’s.”
Runaan wanted to scream. He wanted to run away and hide. He wanted Ethari to stop looking at him. But he was nothing if not a good assassin, and a good assassin always obeyed orders. “Yes, sir.”
He gave a horrible, awkward little bow to Ethari, who nodded at him innocently, and marched off with the new boy in tow.
“Why’s Runaan acting like such an idiot? He’s being embarrassing,” he heard Tiadrin wonder as they walked away, Ethari struggling to keep up with Runaan’s powerwalking. Lain made a noncommittal sound. Runaan walked harder.
“D’you mind slowing down a bit?” said Ethari, laughing a bit breathlessly. “Not everyone trains to be an assassin, you know.”
“Right. Apologies.” Runaan forced himself to walk slower. They marched in silence.
“…What is that place?” asked Ethari after yet another painfully awkward silence.
“The restaurant. They make food. Moonberry surprise.”
“That sounds nice. What about that place?”
“Apothecary.”
“And there?”
“Village hall.”
Runaan didn’t look at him. He was afraid he might do something stupid if he did, like trip and fall or something. Eventually, Ethari stopped asking questions and lapsed into disappointed silence.
After the most painful five minutes of his life, they finally reached the foot of the hill where Delwaan lived.
“Follow the path and you’ll find his forge,” Runaan said, staring furiously at the ground.
Ethari gave him another one of his blinding smiles. “Thank you so much for showing me the way, Runaan. I appreciate it.”
The worst part was that there was not an ounce of sarcasm in Ethari’s words. He was genuinely grateful. Runaan felt his cheeks heating up.
“ByeIhavetogo.” Runaan turned around and ran away.
Ethari watched him go, still rather confused.
“Silvergrove is so funny,” he commented to himself.
That evening, Runaan did worse than usual at training, much to Eldun’s frustration. He couldn’t hit the center target at all during archery practice, and lost to Lain in hand-to-hand combat even though Lain had always sucked at that. Ashamed and humiliated, Runaan scowled fiercely all throughout practice and as they walked to the village for dinner, so that only Tiadrin and Lain were undeterred by his ferocious expression.
“So what was the new boy like?” Lain asked, tearing away a portion of bread with his fingers. Tiadrin grinned and opened her mouth, and Lain tossed the bread neatly inside. Food-throwing was their favorite juvenile game, and Runaan had wasted no time in telling them how immature it was (even though he sometimes participated).
“He’s fine.”
“Great answer,” Tiadrin said sarcastically, around a mouthful of bread. “What is he like? Funny? Annoying? Irritable? The dragon king’s long-lost cousin?”
“There’s nothing to say,” Runaan said, refusing to look at either of them. “He’s just an elf.”
“You’re boring,” Tiadrin dismissed him.
“I mean, whatever. He looks nice. Stupidly nice. It’s kind of ridiculous, really. Like, annoyingly nice. That’s the word for him. Nice.” Runaan was rambling. He wanted to make it look like he didn’t care. So Tiadrin would stop pestering him. Nothing more.
“Oh. He looks stupidly nice.” Tiadrin and Lain got that look on their face that Runaan hated, narrowing their eyes at each other and smiling slyly. “Care to elaborate on that, lovely Runaan?”
Runaan took his food and sat somewhere else.
Runaan needed to get over this silly crush. And for a little while, he did. For the next two weeks, he erased all thoughts of Ethari from his mind and focused purely on training. He totally ignored him when he saw him in town. He definitely didn’t think about how he wanted to ruffle his messy white hair with his fingers, and how his smile made his whole face glow like magic. He didn’t think about how his marks caught the twilight and how his voice was soothing as a singing river.
At least, that was during the day. At night, when he was supposed to be asleep, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to make Ethari laugh, to hold his hand, to dance into Silvergrove together.
He got so good at training during those two weeks that Eldun brought him along for a scouting mission meant for adults only. It was nothing dangerous- just a quick scout near a neighboring village who’d been afraid of bandit raiders nearby. In the end they found nothing but a few rowdy banther cubs. As they made their way back, the older assassins joking about the banthers, something caught Runaan’s eye. A small grove of shadowflowers, the flowers that glowed only at night. These were known to be beautiful and a lovely gift -often between lovers.
Runaan thought of Ethari. He thought of how his smile glowed like a shadowflower at midnight. He had an image of him holding a flower in the dark, the soft light bathing his face in softness. Without really thinking about it, as quietly and discreetly as possible, he reached down and picked one, and rushed to put it in his pocket. He caught up to the other assassins without a sound.
All the way back to Silvergrove, he thought about what he’d done. He wanted Ethari to have it. But he couldn’t just- give it to him. Giving a shadowflower to someone was equal to a declaration of love for Moonshadows. That would be disastrous. Ethari would laugh at him. Tiadrin and Lain would laugh at him. Eldun and the assassins would laugh at him. All of Silvergrove would laugh at silly, stupid Runaan. No, he couldn’t just give Ethari a shadowflower.
That meant it had to be anonymous. He had to leave it somewhere where only Ethari would find it. He finally had an idea to leave it on Ethari’s worktable at Delwaan’s forge, at night, when he wouldn’t be working there. He’d be in and out without a trace.
That night, he snuck out of the bunk he shared with Lain and activated his magic, turning nearly invisible in the moonlight. He tiptoed through town as he’d been taught, in the ways of a stealthy assassin, until he reached Delwaan’s hill. He climbed it, up and until he reached the forge’s door. He made sure nobody was there, and then, he slipped inside, quiet as a shadow.
It was easy to make sense of Delwaan’s forge; Runaan had been there a bunch of times. Now it was slightly different; near the back of the room, there was a slightly smaller worktable than the master’s big one; this had to be Ethari’s. Tiptoeing so he wouldn’t make a sound -for Ethari and Delwaan lived and slept just the floor above- Runaan made his way to the worktable. It was strewn with drawings, swirly designs, bored doodles and notes, along with a few tools and unfinished projects. Runaan couldn’t help but admire Ethari’s craftsmanship. Everyone did. Ethari was already impressively good at his craft; it seemed he’d inherited his great-uncle’s talent. Runaan resisted the urge to look at Ethari’s notes- those were private- and instead set the shadowflower on the center of the worktable. It was already beginning to glow. Runaan wouldn’t get to see Ethari find it, but that was fine. It was even fine that Ethari would not know it was Runaan who left it. It was enough to know that he would understand what it meant.
The next morning, Runaan woke a little later than the others, tired after his little adventure. He went into the clearing for morning practice with the other elves only to find them gathered in a circle around Ethari.
They know. Runaan’s heart began beating rapidly.
He forced himself to walk to them. “What’s going on?”
Lain looked excited. “Haven’t you heard? Ethari’s got a secret admirer!”
Runaan almost let out a sigh of relief. Nobody knew. “What?”
The elves parted to show Ethari holding a slightly wilted shadowflower bloom in his hands. “I found this on my worktable this morning,” he said shyly. “Someone left it there last night.”
“I wonder who it is!” said another elf, Glenwig. Ethari looked adorable, standing there smiling happily at the flower, none the wiser. Runaan could feel his cheeks heating up again.
“It could have just blown in with the wind,” Runaan said, panicking.
Tiadrin rolled her eyes. “The forge is built into a hill, genius. There are no windows. Stop being a buzzkill.” She turned to Ethari, grinning mischievously. “We’ve got to find out who it is.”
Alarm bells went off in Runaan’s head. Runaan was the strongest elf, but Tiadrin was the cleverest. She would easily figure it out if she put her mind to it, and then everything would come crashing down.
Ethari smiled easily. “Whoever they are must have felt uncomfortable if they felt the need to be anonymous. I’ll just let it be known I appreciate it. I don’t want to know if they don’t want me to.”
What a saint. Runaan found himself falling deeper and deeper into the pit that was this abominable crush. Ethari was beautiful and kind and sweet-hearted. Despite himself, Runaan felt warmth bloom, deep in his heart.
He appreciates it. The loveliest elf in Silvergrove liked Runaan’s present after all.
After that, it became a weekly habit. Runaan would find something pretty in the forest- some nice-looking stone or flower or trinket- and drop it off at his worktable in the middle of the night, and the town would be rife with gossip, wondering who was Ethari’s mysterious secret admirer. Runaan watched from afar as Ethari happily showed the others his growing collection of gifts. Everyone assumed Runaan just didn’t care, as he always did.
One time, Runaan found a real sapphire while on a recon mission with Eldun. It must have slipped away from a careless traveler. Before anyone could see, he pocketed it, and left it that night, as custom, on Ethari’s worktable. The sapphire set the town into uproar; all of the young elves could be possible culprits, for Ethari was friends with everyone. Runaan was ruled out immediately, however.
“He’s too uptight for something that romantic,” someone had said, when they’d thought he’d been out of earshot.
Runaan should have been offended, but he wasn’t. After all, two days later, Ethari revealed he’d crafted the sapphire into a necklace he would wear around his neck.
“To show them that I’m truly grateful for their lovely gifts,” Ethari told the gaggle of people would now gather on a weekly basis to hear about Ethari’s latest thrilling present. “Perhaps, someday, I can give them this necklace in person.”
Runaan wanted, so badly, to tell him then. He imagined Ethari’s blinding bright smile, imagine bending his head so Ethari could drape the necklace over his shoulders. His fear stopped him, though. Ethari would be disappointed if he found out it was Runaan leaving the gifts. He probably wanted it to be someone nice and goodhearted like Lain, or outspoken and funny like Tiadrin. Not boring, stuck-up, uptight Runaan.
It was nice imagining scenarios, though. When he was alone, Runaan would smile to himself and think of them.
When the winter came, Ethari came down with a common cold, and was coughing into his fist all throughout the week. Runaan got his idea then. He dug up an old scroll at Silvergrove’s library and resolved to learn how to knit. His fingers were not clever like Ethari’s, and he had never done anything like this before, but Runaan was nothing if not the most stubborn elf in Silvergrove. Once he put his mind to something, he did it no matter what.
He took a day trip two villages over so nobody would know -citing that he’d left something at a tavern there- and secretly bought some rich, soft purple yarn. It took up a big portion of his allowance, for the yarn was of a rather high quality, but Runaan didn’t care. The first few of his creations were ugly, misshapen things, which he immediately threw in the fire. However, he eventually produced a respectable scarf, a deep purple that would compliment Ethari’s markings and bring out the warmth of his eyes.
He snuck to the forge that night, only to find the fire blazing, the forge occupied. He peeked inside, terrified, only to find that it was only Ethari. He was asleep at his worktable, a pair of tongs in one hand and some part of a new project in the other. His mouth was slightly open in his sleep, his expression serene.
Of course he’s fallen asleep here, Runaan thought with affection. Silly Ethari.
What would go wrong?
I could just leave the scarf there. Ethari would wake up to find it. He wouldn’t have a clue.
Runaan activated his invisibility and snuck inside. He arrived at the worktable, looking down at the slumbering elf below. His hair looked so soft. Runaan folded the scarf neatly and set it down on the worktable. He hesitated, then, giving in, brushed aside lock of hair that had fallen above his brow.
Ethari began to stir. Much to Runaan’s chagrin, it seemed he was a light sleeper. Runaan made his exit as Ethari rose. He was gone before Ethari registered he was awake.
“They were there and you didn’t see them?”Tiadrin’s voice sounded frustratedly from the clearing the next day. She groaned, exasperated. “Ethari!”
Ethari laughed a bit helplessly, adjusting his new purple scarf. “I was asleep!” He smiled dreamily. “This is the sweetest gift yet.”
“Too bad you don’t know who it’s from,”Tiadrin said frustratedly.
Glenwig rubbed his hands together with glee. “The plot thickens!”
Lain frowned. “I don’t know anyone who knows how to knit.” He raised his voice. “Does anyone here know anyone who knows how to knit?”
“Fool, it’s not like they’re gonna say it!”
Ethari seemed to never take the scarf off, except when he was washing it. It had become his signature look. Everyone thought it was very sweet. Runaan put on a mask face, but in private, he let himself grin as wide as he could. Ethari liked his presents.
And yet, there was something…missing. The presents were nice, but they were just a spectacle. They told Ethari nothing of how Runaan felt. Of how his laughter was sweeter than the music of any melodaisy, and how he was kind and gentle and clever and talented and a thousand other wonderful things.
I could write him something. I wouldn’t sign it.
Elves were fond of poetry, but few were good at it. Runaan was not one of them. Still, like he did with any new task, he approached it with diligence. He borrowed more scrolls from the library and did his best to study what made love poetry good. He spent hours thinking of ways to make his feelings feel as beautiful as Ethari was, as beautiful as he deserved. He wrote a few stanzas, then threw the whole parchment away, late at night, by the light of a single candle, quiet as a mouse.
The poem took its form with time. It was embarrassing, but it was suitable for his feelings, at least. Ethari would know how he felt. How this wasn’t just some kind of game of cat and mouse the two of them were playing. He was slightly proud of it.
The night he finished it, he set out to leave it at Ethari’s desk, as per usual. He climbed the familiar path up to the forge and let himself in.
Runaan was the best of the moonshadow elf trainees, but Eldun was always repeating his fatal flaw: overconfidence in routine.
There was some kind of project lying on the floor. One he didn’t see. His foot caught on it and he was sent flying clumsily, a shame of a moonshadow elf, crashing down onto the floor in a sound that would wake a magma giant. Runaan tried to get up and found that he’d sprained his ankle.
Oh, shadows and stars.
Thundering footsteps sounded in the floor above. I’ve been caught.
Delwaan reached the forge first. He saw someone crouched there in the dark, and shouted, “THIEF! THIEF IN THE FORGE!”
“Wait, Uncle, no!” said Ethari, like the saint he was. “That’s just Runaan! From the village!”
Delwaan seemed to calm down enough to recognize Runaan. “What in the name of Xadia are you doing in my forge in the middle of the night, boy?”
Runaan did not know what to say. He sat there like a rabbit caught in a snare.
May every god who ever did or did not exist bless Ethari.
“He…borrowed my tongs today, Uncle,” he said, lying on his behalf. That could only mean one thing. “He needed to tweak something with his arrows. I told him to return them as soon as possible…” Ethari laughed a bit nervously. “I guess he took it literally.”
“Oh,” Delwaan said. “Well, no harm done. Next time, you can just knock, eh, Runaan? Or just wait till the morning.” He eyed Runaan’s ankle, which was beginning to swell. “You alright there?”
“Just a sprain,” Runaan said, finding his voice. He forced himself to his feet, wincing. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll walk you down the hill,” Ethari said, stepping forward. Oh, no. “I’ll be right back, Uncle.”
“As you will. Go.”
“Sorry, Delwaan,” muttered Runaan, as Ethari reached out to steady him. Even that small touch set Runaan’s skin on fire.
They walked out of the forge and down the hill in silence. Finally, Ethari spoke.
“You were the secret admirer all along, then?” Ethari asked.
Runaan’s face was so hot, he could’ve been a Sunfire elf. He nodded, without looking at Ethari.
They continued walking in silence, Runaan limping awkwardly. Ethari’s cheeks had turned a deep brownish purple.
“I’m sorry,” said Runaan, finally, full of shame and humiliation.
“Why are you apologizing?” Ethari said, turning to him. That bright smile was back. “I loved your gifts. They were sweet and thoughtful. They’re the highlight of my week.”
Runaan did not respond. He only looked away, unable to meet Ethari’s eyes.
“My favorite is the scarf,” Ethari continued. “You knitted it yourself, didn’t you?”
Runaan nodded again.
“Where did you learn how to knit?”
“Library.”
Ethari laughed. “Of course.” He pushed a lock of hair behind his ear, the same lock that Runaan had brushed aside the night of the scarf. “To be honest, I thought you hated me at first.”
“I don’t hate you,” said Runaan, quietly.
“I know that now,” Ethari said teasingly. “It’s just that you always…ignored me or avoided me. I thought I’d done something wrong.” His eyes were full of warmth. “I should’ve guessed it was you, Runaan.”
He loved the way he said his name, even now.
Runaan still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“What was the gift this time?” Ethari asked.
Runaan stopped at the foot of the hill. “Forget it. It’s stupid.” There was no way he could show Ethari his dumb poem now.
“No it isn’t. Please, Runaan.”
Runaan kept looking at the ground.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Ethari sighed. “Alright, you don’t have to give it to me.”
The disappointment in Ethari’s voice was difficult to bear. In one motion, Runaan dug into his pocket, took out the neatly folded poem, and shoved it into Ethari’s hands. Ethari let out a surprised “oh!”
“We will never speak of this again!” Runaan nearly yelled, face on fire. And with that, he turned tail and ran away, leaving a bewildered Ethari standing there at the foot of the mountain.
Ethari watched him go. He unfolded the poem and read it, his heart warming with each word. He’d never gotten a love poem before. Carefully, he folded it back and set it into the pocket next to his heart.
“You silly assassin,” Ethari said, to no one in particular. “You never stopped to think that I might feel the same.”
I have never seen a face like yours.
It is love itself.
Your eyes have the beauty of the moon and the warmth of the sun.
Your smile has the light of the stars.
I have never heard a voice like yours.
It puts music to shame.
It is the wind in the trees.
It is the call of the singing nightingale.
I have never met anyone like you.
Someone who holds my heart in his hand.
I wish for a hundred eyes,
To see you a hundred times.