Chapter Text
The unfamiliar ones say that Rafal is not ready yet.
The Fell King’s children have been ground to dust, scales scraped raw and painful by loss and denial. The first chance at the idea of family had sent Alear and Veyle diving in headfirst, not precisely unafraid but all too willing to set aside fear for happiness. Courage has served them well, and the gift of siblings has emboldened them in many ways.
Nel, too, has come to terms with uncertainty and taken the first step toward the concept of having a family that exists beyond a terrified grip on her twin and a vicious rivalry with her other siblings. She had admitted that for a long time, she hardly even considered Sombron’s other children to be her siblings. To be anything other than her twin was to be yet another enemy. Rafal notes now how she had not spoken a name as she confessed this feeling, simply referring to her “twin”. Perhaps it is because she saw the care Rafal held for Nil and for her that she is able to more easily accept Veyle’s request for sisterhood as something without the threat of violence. Regardless, he has no intention of taking any credit for his sister’s choices.
And now, Rafal. Veyle has not approached him regarding the subject, nor has Alear. They regard him warmly, and the hope of calling him brother is so evident on their faces. On his part, Rafal has recognized that he is more protective of Nel since he left their home world. To act as if he is unaffected by his upbringing (or lack thereof) would be foolish; he is just as changed by his father’s influence as the other Fell King’s children are. Still, he finds that where Nel sought to establish new familial bonds, he feels no such pull.
The unfamiliar ones attribute Rafal’s unresponsiveness to hesitation, perhaps even pity him for a fear they imagine rattles his skull and heart. Thankfully, no such idiocy permeates the minds of the Divine Dragon and the Fell Princess, and Rafal cannot be bothered to fix a misunderstanding that he neither cares about nor caused in the first place. Let them believe he is scared; it is not as if they see him as weak for it. And even if they did, having a weakness is endearing to the members of the Divine Dragon’s army, a concept that rattles Rafal’s entire being as the most baffling thing he has ever seen. Even the humans who show no quarter to implications of their weakness dote upon those they deem in need of assistance. Rafal has to admit that this does take some getting used to. Setting aside the magnitude of his sins in his home world, his presence in the Divine Dragon’s army alone is a knife within a patch of windflowers.
Veyle’s idea of one-on-one bonding involves asking Rafal how to get people to understand her desire for atonement. It is thoroughly effective in loosening Rafal’s heart.
“I hurt so many people,” Veyle says. “Everyone says it wasn’t completely my fault, but I can’t accept that. I didn’t want to do any of those horrible things, but it was still me who did that. Even if it was Papa and Zephia behind everything, I still need to do something.”
Rafal does not voice the thought that between the two of them, she has far less responsibility for the damage done. It is not what she needs to hear.
“It may help to remember that forgiveness is for healing, not absolution,” Rafal replies, using a pair of tongs to extract various vegetables from an alarmingly red brining solution. The spice stings his nose even at a distance, and he hurriedly places them in a preparation bowl before handing it to Veyle. She thanks him and scrapes the bowl out over a domed skillet, creating a satisfying sizzle as the liquid evaporates against hot iron while she mixes it with the cooked rice.
“It’s not the same as being forgiven, though. I mean… Ivy and Hortensia forgave me. They said they forgive me and that they want to be friends with me. And Pandreo, he always helps me find a way to help people and he doesn’t say anything about it. But with everyone else, it feels like they’re humoring me when I say that I want to atone. Like I’m a little kid who doesn’t get it. I didn’t just break something. I killed people. I told the Four Hounds to kill people. I probably did other terrible things too, and I just don’t remember.”
“Veyle, the rice,” Rafal reminds her as her hand stalls, and she squeaks and hurriedly stirs the skillet before anything burns beyond safe consumption. “So, you attempt to help as a means of atonement, and you are turned away.”
“I know some people don’t want my help,” she continues, magically dampening some of the stove’s flames to avoid any more unintentionally crisp rice. “Sometimes, I just need to leave people alone. But it’s not like that! They like me, and they won’t let me help because they like me. It’s frustrating. Even my brother does it, and I don’t understand why he’s so okay with me.”
“Why? Because he has many reasons to hate you? I very much doubt that he ever could.” Rafal searches the cabinets for an appropriate serving scoop as he waits for the fried rice to finish. “I believe he has forgiven you for his mother’s death, and simply wishes to move on.”
“But—”
“You don’t feel that you deserve that. I understand.”
He returns and places the large spoon on the counter. Veyle keeps her eyes on the skillet, although her attention is clearly elsewhere.
“Consider the matter on an individual scale. Your brother forgives you, and for him to heal he wishes to leave it in the past. If you are interested in helping him heal, it would be best for you to follow his wishes on the matter,” Rafal says, taking the stirring spoon from Veyle’s hands to take over. The sting of spice pricks his eyes and nose, but it is better that he finish cooking that risk any further potential distracted mishaps. “As for the others, some may never understand your feelings. I understand your frustration, but do not allow it to overshadow your atonement.”
Rafal places a generous scoop of fried rice into a bowl, handing it to Veyle. He tops it with a little handful of rare chilis.
“Undoing the past is not possible. Let us focus on the well-being of the future, in whatever form it may come,” he says, hoping that his words are sufficiently motivational.
Veyle bursts into tears.
“I heard that you made my sister cry,” Alear says good-naturedly, approaching Rafal by the pond dock. If the smile on his face is anything to go by, he is glad about Rafal speaking to Veyle.
“I had not expected such an emotional response,” Rafal admits uncomfortably as he watches the bobber for any nibbles. “I was merely offering my advice.”
“She appreciated it, just so you know. She wouldn’t stop saying how nice you were.”
“Me? Nice?”
“I didn’t believe it either, but you haven’t given her any poisoned sweets so she might not have a full picture of you.”
Alear has learned to tease back at Rafal. It is not quite his area of expertise, but he keeps up well enough. Most of his insults revolve around the prank Rafal pulled on Alear regarding the “usual” and “special” sweets.
“They were not poisoned.”
“They tasted like it.”
“I shall show you how actual poison tastes,” Rafal threatens, and Alear laughs.
They have less to talk about. While Veyle lays out her concerns about good deeds and forgiveness at Rafal’s feet, Alear does not have such a personal matter to discuss. Or, he may not feel comfortable discussing it. It is of no matter to Rafal how Alear approaches their… friendship? Alliance? Loyalty? He has no sufficient word to describe what relation he and Alear hold. Thankfully, Alear does not insist on attaching a label to it. Rafal is a soldier in his army, a fellow dragon, and someone to catch the enchan tunas that Alear keeps letting slip off of his fishing lines. That will have to do.
Speaking of tuna, the bobber sinks under the surface of the water suddenly, nearly taking the whole fishing rod with it. Rafal hurriedly pulls the rod, and nearly tips off of the dock. He is only kept on dry land by Alear grabbing his arm.
“What in the name of the four nations do you keep in this pond, Divine One?!” Rafal demands, digging his heels into the dock’s slats to keep himself from being yanked in. Alear joins in on the struggle, both hands taking hold of the rod and pulling as hard as he can.
“I don’t know how anything lives in this pond!” Alear hisses. Whatever creature he has hooked is powerful, far stronger than any fish Rafal has ever had the misfortune of reeling in. For a brief moment, he fears the rod itself may snap.
Instead, the wire snaps.
The Fell and Divine princes go tumbling, rolling like an overturned basket of fresh harvested apples while both shout in alarm. The fishing rod smacks Alear in the shoulder and Rafal lands on his back with Alear’s arm in his face. The loose fishing line is tangled around the rod and hooked on the chain of Rafal’s necklace. Someone’s shoe has come off and is dangerously close to falling into the pond. Their failed catch is long gone, likely diving to the bottom of the pond and into some hidden cavern with the bobber in tow.
“I am never fishing with you ever again,” Rafal huffs, attempting to disentangle himself from this mess.
Alear bursts into laughter.