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Death was not a thing Runaan particularly feared, for he had long ago accepted the risks that came with his occupation. Even as a little elfling, he knew what it meant when the delicate metal lotuses sank, the fate that befell assassins. So when he was captured by the palace guards of Katolis, he was prepared for what would come.
But humans were cruel creatures, monsters devoid of honor and sympathy. The dark mage smugly promised him a fate worse than death and, as evidence, dropped a handful of coins before him. “You monster,” Runaan said through gritted teeth, when he recognized the faces of the souls trapped in the coins - they were his friends, elves who were believed to be long dead. He felt his heart plunge into ice when the dark mage began to recite a foul incantation, eyes glowing eerily, illuminating the gray walls of the dungeon. And a few excruciating moments later, Runaan found himself trapped in his own little Hell.
He screamed into the darkness around him, but discovered that no sound came out. If he still had physical form, he would’ve grasped at his throat in shock; or perhaps he would’ve clawed at his neck until he bled into the sweet release of true death. But the inability to do so, the lack of any control over himself and his own fate, that was the true torture that the dark mage had sentenced him to. That was his world now, he realized with horror - a vast abyss of infinite nothing, nothing but his sense of self.
An eternity passed in the darkness.
Fear had turned into a dull sort of acceptance. Runaan spent every moment reminding himself that there was a time when he had known something other than the darkness. The vibrant colors and beautiful creatures of Xadia, he could no longer picture clearly in his mind. But still, he clung desperately to the things, the images that mattered most to him. Because as long as he remembered, then he was still himself.
The Moon , he quietly reminded himself as he pictured the celestial body in all of its waxing and waning phases. It’s beautiful and luminous and white. The guardian of the moonshadow elves, my people. Goddess of the night sky.
Ethari, my love. He’s strong, the way all blacksmiths are. Made me feel safe, even though I never needed protecting. Eyes the color of amber, a soft smile to melt winters into spring, and a heart so gentle and kind.
And little Rayla, who isn’t so little anymore...
Well , Runaan thought bitterly to himself as he recalled his last encounter with Rayla, when both had drawn their weapons atop the royal palace of Katolis. She probably hates me now. Serves me right, I suppose.
Another eternity passed.
The Moon, Runaan frantically repeated to himself. It’s beautiful and luminous and white.
Ethari, my love. Strong and gentle and kind. And his eyes... what... color?
And... my daughter... I... I don’t remember her name...
-----
“I’ve found a way to reverse it,” Callum said as he looked uneasily at the small pouch in his hands. “But there’s so much uncertainty. Our friend Gren heard it, apparently, when Viren cast the spell. There was... um... screaming. I have no idea what it’s like in there, if they were in pain, or even if they’re still alive. But,” he cast a sideways glance at Rayla, “it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
Ethari wordlessly reached out for Rayla’s hand, and she grasped it shakily. They watched, slightly dazed, as Callum carefully emptied the contents of the pouch onto the table of Ethari’s home. Three golden coins tumbled out.
Rayla, of course, knew exactly what the coins were. After Viren flaunted his ‘collection of Moonshadow elves’ at the battle of Storm Spire, she searched for the coins relentlessly. Obtaining them had been no easy feat, with the dark mage and his daughter as obstacles in her path. But she had succeeded nevertheless. And when she discovered that the coins held not only Runaan, but her missing parents as well, she wept tears of joy.
As for Ethari, he had only recently found out about the existence of the coins. Rayla and Callum chose not to tell him until they were somewhat certain that the spell could be reversed. No use in giving Ethari false hope, the two agreed between themselves. Ethari would have chastised the children for that, because they had no right, no right , to keep information of that magnitude from him. But the chastizing would have to wait.
Ethari watched with bated breath as Callum drew some runes in the air, chanting some incantation that he couldn’t understand. And then, just like that, they were back. All three of them - Runaan, Lain, and Tiadrin - sitting on the ground as if they had been pushed down, blinking at the world around them in dumbfounded confusion.
Ethari’s gaze fell on the elf nearest to him. His heart pinched at the sight of the thin form, the discolored arm, and the broken horn. But it’s really him , Ethari thought to himself, feeling pure elation swell in his chest. Before there was time to doubt the reality of the moment, he dropped to Runaan’s side, vision blurring as he tightly embraced the love he had very nearly lost. “Love you,” he whispered in his husband’s ear, voice cracking slightly. Of all the words he wanted to say at that moment, those two were the truest. He peppered a few kisses along the soft skin of Runaan’s neck, something that, until a few moments ago, he could only do in bittersweet dreams.
And Runaan... stayed perfectly still through this all.
Ethari pulled away from the embrace slowly, puzzled by his husband’s reaction to their reunion, or lack thereof. He looked into those familiar turquoise eyes, feeling a twinge of unease. “...Runaan?”
Runaan gazed back quietly, with a sort of inquisitive curiosity.
“Love?” Ethari tried again. “Darling? Moonlight?”
Runaan tilted his head slightly, as if to ask Ethari if he had been speaking to him.
“Callum,” Rayla said with a slight tremor in her voice. Ethari tore his concerned gaze away from his husband in order to look over at Rayla.
Rayla had knelt down next to her dazed parents. Her hand hovered near her mother’s, eager but too afraid of closing the distance between them. “I... I don’t think they recognize me... or each other, for that matter.” The words Rayla uttered sounded so helpless, so small. The clear nervousness of Lain and Tiadrin confirmed that Rayla was, perhaps, right.
“Runaan?” Ethari called softly as he turned his attention back to his husband. No, no, no... please... please don’t let it be true , a voice pleaded in the back of his head.
Ethari slowly raised a hand to Runaan’s face. After a moment of hesitation, he gave Runaan’s nose a light tap. Runaan had always hated it when Ethari did that in the presence of others - he would always turn away with a wrinkled brow and a small pout, muttering some nonsense about how the leader of the assassin’s guild had a certain dignified image to maintain, and should therefore never be booped in public by his lover; and when Ethari gushed over how absolutely adorable the little pout was, Runaan would frown even deeper. That was the elf who Ethari had known for years, who he loved more than the Moon itself.
And so, when Runaan simply looked at Ethari with mild confusion in his eyes, Ethari felt something inside him shatter.
“Maybe the spell Viren used messed with their memories as well,” Ethari heard Callum say, though he could hardly hear the boy through the pounding in his ears. “I’ll start asking around about memory-restoring spells, just in case...”
-----
The first day was the most difficult.
Runaan seemed slightly less affected than Lain and Tiadrin, who had been in their coin prisons for considerably longer than he had. One or twice, he appeared to want to speak - eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration as he looked at a certain person or thing - but he simply did not know how to anymore. This didn’t worry Ethari too much, because his Runaan had always been clever, and would surely relearn his native tongue in no time, no matter how long he had gone without speaking it.
Hours after he was freed, Runaan finally ventured from the corner where he had confined himself. He stood up cautiously, only to lose his balance and collapse a moment later, unaccustomed to his own body. Ethari dropped what he was doing immediately when he heard the clatter, and rushed to Runaan’s side. He asked urgently, “Are you alright, love? Are you hurt?”
Runaan said nothing as he pushed himself up once more. He gingerly touched his bruised and discolored left arm, only recently freed of the constricting ribbon that signaled the failure of his last mission.
Ethari reached out to grasp Runaan’s hand, stopping its motion. “Don’t do that,” he chided gently. “Don’t bother it, and it’ll heal faster.” Of course, Ethari had no idea if what he said was true, and he hated himself for not being a skilled healer instead. He comforted himself with the knowledge that the healer would be there soon, as soon as Lain and Tiadrin were cared for. Ethari felt the slightest bit of irritation towards the healer for tending to Lain and Tiadrin first. The irritation was immediately followed by a wave of guilt for thinking that way.
With a sigh, Ethari tugged at Runaan’s good arm. “Come on, love. Since you’re up anyway, we should get you something to eat.”
Runaan gazed quietly at the floor, but made no effort to step forward.
After quite some time had passed and no progress had been made, Ethari took it upon himself to scoop Runaan into his arms and stride towards the kitchen, thanking his lucky stars that the years he spent toiling in the forge had given him the physical strength to do this with relative ease. He felt Runaan stiffen in his arms, a small show of protest.
“You remember?” Ethari asked. His lips curved upwards, ever so slightly, as he reminisced aloud. “You used to abhor being carried like this. Said it felt undignified and pathetic to rely so much on somebody else.” Ethari carefully set his husband down on a chair, before pulling another chair closer so that he could sit right beside him. “But you went and got yourself trapped in a coin, and had me believing the worst for so long. So from now on, no more complaints when I carry you. You hear that, love? You’re just going to deal with it. Punishment for breaking my heart.”
Ethari pushed a bowl of moonberries towards Runaan, and watched as Runaan slowly curled his fingers around the bowl - the basics of taking care of himself and the intended function of certain objects, he seemed to vaguely remember. He ate a moonberry, paused for a moment with wide eyes as he recalled how the food tasted, then slowly ate a second and a third.
And at that moment, Ethari suddenly felt a violent rush of emotion, like the dam holding back every teardrop had suddenly broken. He suppressed the sudden sob as best as he could so that the serene moment at the kitchen table wouldn’t be disturbed. For so long, he had ached for this - something as simple as watching Runaan eat moonberries again. And by some miracle, he was granted the reunion that so many less fortunate than he could never have. Of course, the situation wasn’t ideal - far from it, in fact. But Ethari was still infinitely grateful.
Runaan looked towards him inquisitively, perhaps sensing his sea of emotions. Ethari hastily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, though his wobbling voice betrayed him. “I just... love you.”
And although Runaan couldn’t quite say the words back, Ethari swore he saw a fleeting glint of softness in Runaan’s eyes. But then, he thought dejectedly to himself, it could’ve also been a flicker of the candle, a trick of the light.
-----
A month passed.
Ethari had handed over the responsibility of his shop to an apprentice - only for the time being, of course. He needed some time to take care of Runaan, and no job was as precious to him as his husband’s well-being. And he needed the time for himself, as well. Time to simply enjoy the small gifts in life that had been missing ever since the dark day that Runaan’s lotus sank.
One morning, Ethari idly chatted the silence away as he carefully weaved Runaan’s hair into an intricate braid. “I heard from Rayla earlier,” Ethari said. “Apparently Lain spoke. Only one word... his wife’s name. But that was enough for our little Rayla to be squealing in delight when she rushed towards me with the news.” Ethari fastened the braid with a cord, and then paused for a moment to admire his handiwork. His gaze briefly landed on the broken horn, and he forced himself to look away, to not think about the pain that Runaan endured at the hands of the dark mage. Putting on a grin that covered every trace of the sorrow and rage within, Ethari moved to the other side of Runaan so that they faced each other. “Of course,” he continued with his idle chit-chat, “Rayla was a bit disappointed that her father only recognized his wife, and not his daughter, too. But he hadn’t seen her all grown up, had he? In his mind, Rayla’s still only as tall as our knees.”
Runaan smiled slightly, which he sometimes did when Ethari seemed particularly passionate about whatever the chosen topic of conversation was. Rayla... our daughter? He wanted to ask.
Ethari seemed to understand the question in Runaan’s eyes. “Our little girl, love. Remember? Took her in when Lain and Tiadrin joined the Dragonguard. Lain was always a bit jealous that she grew so close with us.” Ethari chuckled lightly at a certain memory. Seven-year-old little Rayla pranced over to them one night, yelling ‘Dad, Dad” excitedly, waving in her adoraburr-sized fist a hideous wooden dragonfly that she had whittled herself (much to the horror of the adults, who had absolutely no idea where she could have gotten a knife). “She called us her ‘dads,’ once. It caught us completely by surprise. My heart just melted . You, on the other hand, froze for a solid minute before stammering to her something about the dangers of playing with knives, you hypocrite. Then you gave her an hour-long lecture about why good little elves should try to keep all eight fingers.”
The rest of the story, Ethari chose to keep to himself. He remembered it very clearly, the tearful look on little Rayla’s face when Runaan very sternly told her that she only had one father, a courageous warrior who loved her very much, and it would be ungrateful if she referred to anybody else the same way she would refer to him; and Ethari, having similarly felt guilty for stealing the joys of parenthood from his friends, did not intervene to stop Runaan. Rayla called them by name after that.
That wasn’t a particularly happy memory, and Ethari selfishly wanted to fill Runaan's head with only the best memories of their past. Logically, he knew that if Callum found the elusive memory-restoring spell anytime soon, then Runaan would remember everything - every dark and painful detail, every moment of disappointment or anger or sorrow. But for now... Ethari’s gaze landed on the faint smile on Runaan’s lips. For now, this would do.
“Love,” Ethari said as he gently took hold of Runaan’s hand. “Let’s go see Rayla later. And Lain and Tiadrin. Wouldn’t that be nice? A couple of old friends, all gathered together. Rayla can tell us all about her adventures with the dragon prince.”
Runaan nodded slightly, as if to say, yes, that sounds quite lovely.
-----
Another month passed.
Callum came to visit them one day. He brought a gift with him - not the memory-restoring spell that he had yet to find in the vast libraries of Katolis, but still something of great significance.
“Runaan’s bowblade!” Ethari exclaimed in surprise.
Callum nodded with a grin. “My friend Soren, a Crownguard, confiscated it the night Runaan was... um... captured. But he remembered it the other day, and dug it out of storage.”
Ethari thanked Callum, again and again and again, until the boy was quite red in the face. He meant every single word, and feared that even a thousand more would still not be nearly enough to express his gratitude. He was well aware that Callum’s feelings towards Runaan were less than friendly, and for good reason. But the boy was willing to put that unpleasantness in the past, even if it was only for Rayla.
And now, the bowblade was back.
Runaan wordlessly reached for the weapon, momentarily stunning everybody present. He recognizes it , Ethari realized with elation - elation, mixed with the slightest twinge of jealousy, as ludicrous as it was to be envious of an inanimate object. But of course Runaan would recognize the bowblade, of all things - after all, it had been his most treasured possession for many years, and protected him through countless unknowable dangers when Ethari could not.
For a moment, as Runaan closed his hand firmly around the bowblade’s grip, Ethari imagined that the old Runaan had returned. His heart soared at the thought. “Love,” he said, nearly unable to keep his voice level. “You remember?”
I do , Runaan wanted to say, as he met Ethari’s grin with a small smile of his own. You made this for me .
-----
A third month passed.
Ethari had made a habit of taking Runaan for daily strolls around the Silvergrove. He showed Runaan all the places that were meaningful to them - the tree that witnessed their first kiss, the wisteria forest where they married, and the spot where they shared quiet picnics on birthdays and anniversaries. Runaan no longer stumbled when he walked too fast, but Ethari held his hand tightly anyway, no matter where they journeyed to.
On a particularly starry night, the two of them laid side-by-side in a grassy meadow. Distantly, a few cicadas sang their summer songs.
Ethari’s mind idly wandered back to a certain summer night, nearly two decades ago. That night, in that very meadow, Lain and Tiadrin had celebrated their wedding. And at the wedding of their mutual friends, Ethari met Runaan.
Ethari remembered, quite vividly, how that first meeting had gone.
Around the blushing newlyweds, dozens of rowdier-than-usual Moonshadow elves danced to the festive music. Runaan stood at the side, looking quite uncomfortable with the amount of merriment and joy surrounding him. Ethari noticed him from across the meadow.
Isn’t he that assassin fellow? Ethari wondered to himself. He had seen the quiet stranger before in his shop, when the latter needed arrows or repairs for his blades. More than once, he had wanted to strike up a conversation, but he never dared to do so.
That night, emboldened by a few too many sips of Moonberry Moscato, Ethari finally made a move. He sauntered over with the confidence of a much more confident elf, gazed into those pretty turquoise eyes, and asked, “May I have a dance?”
“I don’t dance,” Runaan replied, rather curtly.
“Ah,” Ethari said. “Then what about a prance on a lance? Might that interest you, perchance?”
“...What?”
“What?”
“...What?”
After a moment of silence, Ethari broke into a fit of giggles at the absurdity of the little rhyme he just spouted. “Apologies,” he chuckled. “Had a bit too much to drink. But if ever you need a lance to prance on, or to dance on, or to use for its intended battle purpose... then Ethari’s the elf for you. He’s a smith, you see. And by ‘he,’ I mean ‘me.’ Ethari’s me. I’m Ethari.” And then, feeling quite proud of that absolute disaster of a drunken self-introduction, Ethari fixed his gaze on Runaan’s face once more.
Moon above , Ethari nearly muttered aloud as he watched Runaan try to hide his laugh behind his hand. Ethari suddenly became very certain that the elf before him was, without a doubt, the most breathtaking creature that he had ever laid eyes on - no other in the entire magical land of Xadia, no spring blossoms nor autumn leaves, could compare. He wondered why he had never noticed before. Probably the wine playing tricks with my eyes , scoffed a tiny voice in the back of his head. But then another tiny voice, a more accurate voice, reminded Ethari that he had always thought Runaan to be beautiful.
Thankfully, Runaan did not seem aware of Ethari’s revelation. He replied, with poorly-concealed amusement, “We’ve met, actually, in your shop. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ethari. I don’t have much use for lances, but I shall pass the word to... well, to whoever it is who might need a lance.”
“Well if not for a lance, you could still come by the shop... erm...”
“My name’s Runaan.”
“Yes, Runaan.” Ethari paused for a moment to memorize the name, not yet knowing how significant it would one day be to him. He continued, “As I was saying, come to the shop, Runaan. There are other things, too, besides lances. Anything you might need. Weapons for stabbing, for slashing, for jabbing, or for bashing. And then there’s also me, who works in the shop where I work, doing... work-related tasks.” Almost as an afterthought, Ethari added, “I also make... erm... certain non-weapon things. What’s the word... what’s the word for... those non-weapon things that I make?”
“...Trinkets?”
“Yes! Trinkets!” Ethari laughed at the word for a moment, because it suddenly sounded quite ridiculous to him. Then he planted a kiss on Runaan’s cheek, and sauntered off to rejoin the crowd, leaving behind a very bewildered elf.
Days later, Ethari encountered Runaan once more, when they (and some others) were invited to supper at the house of their newlywed friends. When the two had a moment alone, Ethari sheepishly apologized for his ludicrous behavior on the night of the wedding. “But please, know that my words came from a genuine place,” Ethari said carefully, since he no longer had liquid courage coursing through his veins. “I would... I would very much like to see you again. At the shop, or elsewhere, wherever you’d like.”
With a slight smile, Runaan gave Ethari an affirmative nod.
The rest was history.
Ethari chuckled lightly as memories of his younger, more absurd self replayed in his head. He had always wondered if Runaan remembered their first meetings the same way, if Ethari had really been that forward, or if time and Moonberry Moscato had combined their powers to warp his memory of the events. He reached for Runaan’s hand, and lightly intertwined their fingers.
“Love,” Ethari said as he gazed at the stars above. “Do you remember? Lain and Tiadrin’s wedding, I mean.” He couldn’t help the hopeful tone of his voice, even though he knew what the answer might be. Surely enough, his question was met with silence. But the silence, Ethari learned when he rolled onto his side, was because Runaan had fallen asleep.
Adorable , Ethari thought fondly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind his husband’s ear, careful to not wake him. He suddenly remembered a time when he had accidentally voiced the thought aloud, in front of Runaan’s team of elite assassins - Runaan had turned quite red, and replied in that stoic tone of his, “Moonshadow assassins are not adorable . We’re deadly .”
“Yes,” Ethari had agreed with a nod. “The deadliest. Deadliest and adorable-est .” He felt no small amount of satisfaction when the team of assassins, usually such a stern and serious lot, fell into a fit of poorly-suppressed giggles.
Adorable , Ethari thought once more, as his mind returned to the present. He propped his head upon his fist, and watched for some time as his husband slept - this, too, was a simple luxury that he had longed for in that time apart. And he would’ve been perfectly content to let this moment of tranquility continue forever, if not for the slight chill in the air.
“Darling,” Ethari called softly, after taking one last moment to memorize the scene. He pressed a kiss on Runaan's temple. “You can sleep when we’re back home.”
A moment later, Runaan blinked blearily at him.
“Love, we should go home,” Ethari repeated.
Runaan blinked once more... and then closed his eyes defiantly, making it perfectly clear that he had absolutely no desire to move.
“Alright then,” Ethari said as he stood up alone. He then leaned down to slide one arm under his husband’s legs and the other under his back. “You brought it upon yourself, this time.”
Half a second later, Runaan leapt up, nearly knocking Ethari over in his rush to avoid a certain fate.
Ethari apologized when he met Runaan’s accusatory glare, though the smug grin on his face revealed that he wasn’t the least bit sorry. He fondly recalled how the old Runaan would react the exact same way to being carried. “Ethari, put me down ,” Runaan would say in exasperation, followed by something along the lines of, “This is undignified!”
It was nice to know that some things never changed.
They began walking home, hand-in-hand.
As they walked, Ethari continued to point out the things he hoped Runaan would recognize. It was tiring and dreadfully repetitive work, but he couldn’t stop. Every time he saw Runaan pause to gaze at a certain place or thing, with the tiniest flicker of recognition in his eyes, he knew his efforts were worth it, that Runaan was remembering pieces of their past.
“That’s the stump of the tree that we cut down, to build Rayla a tiny set of bedroom furniture. Ridiculous idea, really, should have just gone to the carpenter... That’s the ditch where we found that Moonstrider pup that you wanted so badly to keep, but couldn’t, since neither of us had time to care for it... That’s the little pond where we tried to teach Rayla to swim, you remember? You lost your patience eventually and just threw her into the water. Traumatized the poor child, but she did figure out how to swim... That’s the spot where we finally told Lain and Tiadrin that we were together, and Tiadrin clobbered me on the head for not telling her sooner. You managed to duck in time, guess all that training paid off... And that,” Ethari abruptly stopped speaking, as the fountain came into sight. He swallowed with difficulty, because even then, even after all that time with Runaan by his side, he still couldn’t look at the fountain without reliving the world-shattering despair he had felt when a certain lotus flower sank. “Ah, that’s where... that’s where... you promised...”
“To...”
Ethari’s heart nearly came to a stop when he heard the familiar voice, slow and hesitant and slightly raspy because it had been too long, too long, far too long since Runaan had spoken.
“...return... your heart... to you.”