Archive of Our Own

the fruit

Opeli has never cared about love.

She devoted herself to Lady Justice young. She saw virtue in her path; value and wisdom in following in the footsteps of the goddess of fairness and morals. There were no young men that interested her, and no young women either. She is the eldest of five, all girls, and while her sisters giggled and tittered and fawned over the concept of romance, responsibility fell to her to take care of everything else. She has always been judge and jury; the mediator of conflicts, the distributor of food and money and her parents' wills, taking little for herself so she might have more to divide between her sisters. 

It is, perhaps, why she's always been selfless. It is, perhaps, why she has difficulty doing things for herself.

That is, until Soren presents himself as an option.

It's ridiculous at first. She is fifteen years his senior. She was already a cleric, already setting a crown against King Harrow's head when he was still learning how to hold a sword. He was one of her wards, the same as Callum and Ezran and Rayla, and in a way, still is, because he might be twenty-four now, but he's still foolish and ridiculous and stupid enough to flirt with her.

It makes her laugh the first time, when Callum and Rayla are celebrating their nuptials and he asks her to dance.

"I beg your pardon?" she says.

But Soren only grins and keeps his hand extended to her. "Don't be so uptight," he chides, tugging her up before she remembers she's supposed to refuse. "It's a party, isn't it? Callum and Rayla didn't spend months getting shitty about planning their own wedding for you to sit there all by yourself."

Opeli is still stunned, and when she finally remembers how to speak, she frowns. "Watch your language," she says, sharp but fond all the same. "Can I ask why?"

Soren shrugs. They're on the dance floor now, the only two not already in a waltz. He pulls her to him and Opeli blinks, realising rather late that he's not a child and hasn't been one in some time. His shoulders are broad, his hands calloused and large and warm, his smile handsome under the candlelight. "You look nice and it'd be a waste not to."

Opeli snorts. She won't admit it, but it's been a long while since anyone's bothered to compliment how she looks. She pretends that the warmth on her face is the wine, and not because of the way Soren's hand rests on her hip. 

It's one dance, she reasons. What the hell?

Soren's relationship with the boys has always been a bit funny. He's older than them, which had never helped, and he certainly hadn't been one of them until Viren had tried to usurp Ezran. When he returned to Katolis with Callum and Ezran after the Battle of the Storm Spire, there were times when he seemed more out of place than even Rayla looked with her horns and her pointed ears and her pinky-less hands.

When Opeli had (informally, sort-of-but-not-really) adopted the boys into her care, Soren had been on the cusp of adulthood: not quite a child, but not quite a man either, and though she had considered him her responsibility, the same as Callum and Ezran and Rayla, the dynamic has never really been the same.

He has never needed her guidance the way the others have. He has been foolish, and a bit ridiculous, but the most she has ever offered him in those terms is her exasperated (but fond) disapproval. It was not the same disapproval his father looked at him with—not the same disappointment and disdain, certainly—no, Opeli's disapproval stemmed from his tendency to allow, and even lead, the others into mischief not so becoming for children of their stations.

He'd taken Callum out to bars to help get his mind off Rayla in her absence. He'd taught Ezran how to cheat in certain card games. He used to cover for Rayla when she skipped the lessons in etiquette she'd needed to take before she married Callum.

And Opeli doesn't fault him for any of it. His heart is in the right place, and she may not approve of the type of fun he gets the others in and out of, but it has always been fun , at least for them. The four of them have been through more than most people twice their age, and she is not so out of touch that she can't understand the need to get up to some mischief.

She should have known better than to think that the mischief wouldn't one day come for her.

The days grow longer. The sun sets later. Summer settles over the Kingdom of Katolis pleasantly with a string of festivals and balls in its wake. There is Callum's birthday, and then Rayla's, and the Summer Solstice celebrations Opeli officiates to thank the goddesses—Justice, Mercy, Virtue, Light, and the Harvest—for peace across their lands and for the fruit on their tables.

She leads the clerics in their ceremonies as she always has, white robes trimmed with red fluttering gracefully over their knees, fires lit with the flames from Temple Hill. 

Opeli is used to being watched during the proceedings. The common folk place their offerings in the temples and look on with fascination while she and the other clerics sweep ashes from the hearths and scatter them through the streets. She is familiar with how their eyes follow her movements, and with how the novices look to her for example. 

She is not used to the way her neck prickles when she knows Soren is near.

Most people are curious, but he has lived in the castle all his life, and he has attended these ceremonies personally since he was old enough to bring offerings to Temple Hill at his mother's side. Opeli remembers it: she was a novice herself in those days, newly minted as a cleric at twenty, and Lissa was more devout than most, perhaps because of Soren's poor health when he was little more than five years old. He is not particularly devout himself, but he visits the temples the most often out of the boys. Opeli suspects it's a way to keep his mother close.

He knows the movements. He knows the intent behind each ritual. His fascination is not because of the ceremony.

She finds him most often standing by the Well of the Fates. He is there again today, braiding flowers in his hands.

"How unorthodox," Opeli comments mildly, joining him with a smile. "Flowers are usually for the Lady of the Harvest."

Soren chuckles quietly and rests his hip against the wall. "Del Bar gives them to the Fates, apparently," he says. "Or at least that's what Mom used to say."

Opeli ducks her head. He does not seem upset. It's an old enough wound that it doesn't bother him, she thinks, but she finds herself wondering, for the first time, if he's lonely here. He has lived in Katolis all his life, but his mother disappeared to Del Bar the moment she could and had left him with a father who hardly cared for him and a sister too enmeshed to realise how dysfunctional all of it had been. 

They're all gone now. Claudia might still be out there somewhere but Soren's family these days is very much one he chose. Opeli can understand why he would wish the one he was born with was different. Was here. 

He loops the chain of flowers together and grins at it, pleased. Opeli only realises when he holds it up that it's a crown of Moon lilies, likely picked from the pond in the castle gardens. "What do you think?" he asks. "Rayla showed me how to make them. The gardens are getting all choked up with them so she and Ez have been making a bunch for everyone. Have you got one yet?"

Opeli's lips twitch, because they might all be grown now, but they haven't really changed, and it's refreshing to know that they've had the time to do something a little childish in amongst all of the politics. "I haven't received one, no."

"Oh," says Soren. He proffers the one in his hand to her. "You can have this one then."

Opeli barks out a laugh, and then presses her hand over her lips like it was something she hadn't meant to do. "I thought it was for the Fates."

"There's plenty more, they won't miss out." Soren grins at her, handsome and easy and lopsided, the sun like gold in his hair. He's been taller than her for years, but it's still a shock sometimes. "Here." He tugs her hood down before she can argue and sets the flowers in her hair, petals soft against the silver of her circlet. "Pretty."

Opeli feels a flush spreading over her skin. It has never mattered, but it's still rare to hear someone call her pretty. It only worsens when she realises how close they're standing, and how Soren's hands linger by the pale copper of her hair.

She swallows and pulls herself back together. He has always had a good heart. This is nothing more than that. "Thank you," she says, wry but appreciative all the same. "That's very sweet."

"Aren't I just?" He winks, his grin growing cheesier and stupider by the second.

Opeli only rolls her eyes. She does not hide her smile.

Art by Tumblr user @it's-leethee

Claudia returns to the city when Soren is twenty-seven.

He takes it well enough. He's certainly happy to see her and glad she's come home, but she had hand in the way his father treated him, and had chosen Viren over him in every instance, even when Viren was ostensibly, objectively wrong. Soren promises that she is forgiven, but Opeli know from the distance he leaves between them that he will never, ever forget.

Callum, on the other hand, is not forgiving at all, and that is unsurprising. For a child—a man, now—who wears his heart on his sleeve and his smile in his eyes, he does not take kindly to people who have tried to hurt his family, and Claudia has come after Rayla and Ezran one too many times.

Rayla, for her part, isn't happy that Claudia has returned, but she accepts it quietly, and keeps one of her blades at her back just in case. Opeli can't say she thinks that carrying weapons around the castle is becoming, but the swell in Rayla's belly grows with every passing day, and she can understand if it makes her and Callum feel safer while Claudia is here.

Ezran surprises her. He has always been the least likely to hold a grudge but Opeli senses something else in his interactions with Claudia. Something heavier than friendship. Something more tentative than even the earliest forms of love.

She doesn't approve. She can't approve. But she doesn't say anything either, because Soren finds his way to her side more and more often, and it is not to seek her advice like the others.

When she asks why, he shrugs. The spring is warm and the gardens are in bloom. She and he are walking together through the vineyards making note of the fruits ready for harvest. There are grapes hanging heavily on the vine, wine-red and tempting against all of the green.

"Is it so bad that I like hanging out with you?"

Opeli purses her lips. "I suppose not," she says. She glances at him from the corner of her eye and notes the way his face has grown sharper since his youth. There is maturity there now, and a seriousness that might have done him well if he'd had the foresight to develop it a little bit earlier. "I can't say the others find the same amusement you seem to have, though."

He snorts at that. "Yeah, well. They're kids."

"Hardly," laughs Opeli. "If they're still children, then you are too."

"How dare you," he gasps, mock-offended. "I'm plenty mature."

"Is that what you call it?"

"That's what it's called," insists Soren loftily, playfully. "I'm pretty sure I've aged well. Don't you think so?" He plucks a grape off the vine and offers it to her.

"In some ways," chuckles Opeli. She doesn't decline.

The spring wears on and Soren grows bolder. He seeks her out after meetings to walk with her. He offers his elbow to her and insists on accompanying her to Temple Hill when she's needed there. He sits next to her at dinners, the distance between them respectable, but shorter than it has been in the past. Opeli can't ignore the effort he's putting into spending time with her, especially when he's actively rejecting everyone else's company for hers. She'd thought it was an extension of the lessons he'd given her, after Ezran and Rayla had all but bullied her into learning self defence. It feels like a lot more than that now.

"What am I gonna do?" he points out. "Be a third wheel around whatever the heck Ez and Claudia have going on? Listen to Callum fret over Rayla and the baby all day? Psh." He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, pleased for his friends but understandably bored by the growing domesticity. 

"I can't understand why you think the temples are more entertaining," says Opeli. "You don't come here to pray."

"No," says Soren, but there's something careful about the way he says it. "I don't."

There's a pause. For all his tactlessness in his youth, Soren has learned the lessons of subtlety well. Opeli glances at him, noting the way he holds himself, the shortness of the distance he keeps between them, the way he leans in slightly trying to bridge it without actually doing so. 

They pause on the path. Lady Justice looms above them, her statue high on Temple Hill, marble blindfold set heavily over her eyes. Opeli looks away from her and towards her feet. "About your sister," she says instead, steering them into waters of a different kind of uncomfortable. "Has Ezran said anything about…?"

"I don't know anymore than you do," says Soren. "There's… I don't know. I don't know what they call it or what either of them intend. They brush it off every time someone brings it up. Ez won't even talk to Callum about it."

Opeli scoffs. "Perhaps Rayla's pregnancy was better timed than we expected," she mutters, continuing on the path once more. "It's giving Callum an excuse not to think about it, at least. I imagine he'd be far more on edge if he wasn't otherwise distracted."

"Don't count him out just yet," says Soren wearily. "He's not happy."

"I don't expect him to be."

Silence settles between them. Opeli pauses again, this time by the Well of the Fates where the Temple of Justice is hidden from view. Soren stops with her but the distance he leaves is noticeably smaller than it was in the open. His face is difficult to read, even as close as it is. Opeli catches the tightness in his jaw and the seriousness in his eyes, and the way his lips press shut like there's something he wants to say and doesn't know how.

She looks away first. 

"It won't end happily," she says after a moment.

Soren shrugs. "It might. We won't know until it happens."

The water ripples in the well.

The tension breaks when the storms do: at the end of Summer, when the humidity hangs in the air and lightning sparks on the horizon. Callum doesn't approve of Claudia's presence by Ezran's side, and he is not tacit about it. Rayla is doing her best to keep them civil, but even her nerves are starting to fray, especially as she grows closer to labour.

It comes to a head at last in the middle of the night, when Rayla wakes half the castle with a scream as her womb contracts in her belly. 

Callum, of course, doesn't leave her, but everyone else is forced to wait in the hall, excited, anticipant, but afraid too, that something is wrong. Ezran and Soren pace the hall with pale faces and white knuckles, wincing every time they hear Rayla cry out in pain. They do not have experience with childbirth, so their worry is understandable but even Opeli, worldly as she is, has never attended the birth of a halfling, and can't assure them. Incredibly, the one who does provide assurance is Claudia, who found herself working in small clinics by the border after her father fell and she was too afraid to come home.

"Halflings are harder to deliver if the woman is human," she says. "The horns, you know? They're not born with them, obviously, but their heads aren't shaped the best for easy delivery. But none of that matters anyway—Rayla's an elf. She's going to be fine."

It's not a lot of comfort, but it's better comfort than none at all. Ezran smiles at her, weak but grateful all the same. On the other side of the door, Rayla's cries grow weaker, and for a moment, it feels like it's all finally over—but then a midwife hurries out and turns to Soren.

"We need help," she says. Her face is pale, and her surcoat is stained with blood. "Another physician. Her Highness is haemorrhaging and we can't get it under control." 

The air in the hall stills. Ezran glances fearfully at Opeli and Soren, and Soren's hands close into fists at his side's, and Opeli almost can't remember how to breathe—

And then Claudia waves them all aside. "Ez," she says. "There are flowers in my room. The white stringy ones in the hanging pot by the window. Bring them and the scrying bowl by the mirror. Hurry." Then she turns to the midwife. "I know something that might help. May I?"

The midwife nods. She leads Claudia into the room and the next scream they hear is from Callum, when he meets her in the doorway.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Callum—Your Highness—I can help her—"

"The hell you can!” snaps Callum. His voice is strangled and already hoarse. “You tried to kill her, and now you expect to believe—"

"Callum." That's Soren, looking just as pale and just as scared as everyone else but obviously more acutely aware of what's at stake. Opeli wonders which part hurts him more: the fact that Callum would hate his biological sister so much, or that his adoptive one might be dying. "Callum, you have to let her—"

" She is not going anywhere near—"

"That's enough," snaps one of the midwives. Opeli knows her name to be Rowena. She is young, but she's clearly the one in charge. "Captain," she says to Soren. "Get him out of here. He can't help her like this."

"What—"

"Callum, come on—"

"Let me go, I'm not—Soren, I'm not leaving her!"

There’s a scuffle. Soren disappears into the room and emerges again with a struggling Callum, swearing and fighting tooth and nail to free himself from his arms. Claudia bows her head to him apologetically as the midwives let her in and close the door, and then they're left in the hall with Callum still fuming, still terrified, still fighting to get to Rayla. 

To a certain extent, Opeli understands. Rayla is everything to him, and she's been everything to him since the day she leapt off the Pinnacle to save Azymondias. He's distressed. He's sleep deprived. He's terrified he's about to lose his wife. He shoves Soren off of him, tears in his eyes, and rounds on Ezran.

"How could you do that?" he seethes.

Ezran, for his part, stands his ground. "Claudia can help."

"With what ?" spits Callum. " Dark magic ? You know Rayla's never been more than an— ingredient to her, and you're letting her—"

"Callum, she's trying to help, you have to stop this!" 

" YOU STOP THIS!" roars Callum. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT. SHE SHOULDN'T EVEN BE HERE, AND YOU'VE LET HER BACK IN LIKE SHE HASN'T TRIED TO HURT US OVER AND OVER AGAIN!"

"Callum, that's enough—"

"I SWORE SHE WOULD NEVER GO NEAR RAYLA AGAIN AFTER WHAT SHE DID TO HER! OR DID YOU FORGET?"

Ezran scowls. He is a patient king most days, but Rayla is precious to all of them, and Opeli can see how the accusation stings in his eyes. "I'll never forget," he says coldly. "I was there. But I care about her too, Callum, and—"

"YOU OBVIOUSLY DON'T!" Callum bellows. "YOU CARE MORE ABOUT YOUR STUPID TRYST APPARENTLY. RAYLA IS MY WIFE , EZRAN, AND—"

"AND I'M YOUR KING ," snaps Ezran. The outburst startles Callum into silence. "I'm your king," he says again, "and I decree that Claudia is allowed to be in there if it means saving Rayla's life . Or do you care more about some stupid grudge than the life of your wife and child?"

“That is enough!” snarls Opeli, stepping between the boys at last. Her voice is sharp and cuts through the air like a whip. Ezran has long been able to rule without her guidance, but she still holds sway over him and Callum both, even now. “ Stop it, both of you . This is inappropriate for a king and high mage, lesser still for a husband and brother-in-law. Rayla is dealing with enough, she doesn't need this too." She glowers at the both of them, daring them to be anything but ashamed. "Ezran," she adds. "You were given a job to do. Go and do it."

Ezran nods, but not without giving his brother the dirtiest glare Opeli has ever seen on his face. He sulks off, leaving Callum alone in the hall with her and Soren.

His anger fails him at last. "Opeli," he chokes. "Opeli, I can't leave her alone, I can't leave her with—"

"I know you're upset," says Opeli shortly. "I remember what happened. I understand why you don't want to leave her with Claudia, but you need to decide what's more important to you right now, Callum. This grudge? Or Rayla?"

"How could you ask that? Rayla, of course—"

"Act like it, then," snaps Opeli. "Claudia may be her only chance. Let her do what she needs to do."

Silence falls over them. Callum sags against Soren's arms at last, and Soren lets out an audible sigh of relief. Opeli takes the opportunity to settle back into her place, a cleric, no longer a guardian, no longer a mediator between two grown brothers who should know better than to treat each other like this. "Find a way to rest," she mutters. "I will be in my office when there's news." She looks meaningfully at Soren, who nods, and eases Callum carefully against the wall.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Claudia won't—Rayla's going to be okay, okay? I promise."

It's a precarious promise and they all know it. Opeli takes her leave before she can doubt it.

There's a bottle of Moonberry cider in the bottom drawer of Opeli's desk that's been there for a couple of months. She had declined it when Rayla had first offered it, but it needs to be drunk and Lady Justice knows she needs it after the evening they've all had. It's only a matter of time (the way it's always only ever a matter of time) before Soren finds her.

"They stopped the bleeding," he reports. Opeli almost finds it funny that he doesn't knock anymore. "Claudia says—Claudia says she'll be okay, but she needs time."

"And the baby?"

At that, Soren smiles. "A little girl. Callum's got her now."

Opeli breathes out. It's good news, and she knows that, but they're all shaken and she'll only really believe it when she sees it herself. Childbirth has never not been dangerous but this is the closest it's hit home in years. She pours herself another glass. "Care for a drink?"

Soren twitches his lips. "It's barely past sunrise, Opeli, I never thought I'd see the day."

"Well, if there was ever a day for it, I daresay it would be today." Opeli pours him a drink too and slides it across the desk. Soren accepts it with a smile. "Is Claudia all right?"

He shrugs. "She's heard worse from Callum."

“Mm.” Opeli wrinkles her nose. "That doesn’t make it okay. Has he apologized to her?"

Soren scoffs at that. "Let him recover first. It's been a morning for all of us, but for him especially. At least Rayla gets to sleep through all this trauma. He's still in their room with her too scared to go to sleep in case something happens."

"Mm." Opeli clucks her tongue. "Sarai would have been furious. To see him talk to Claudia—to anyone —like that. To see him and Ezran fighting with such malice." She takes a long drink of her cider and stifles a groan when she sets it back down again. 

“He was just scared, Opeli,” says Soren, with more patience than Opeli had ever thought he was capable of. “People do stupid things when they’re scared. He’s done worse , even. And that doesn’t make it okay, but you can’t expect him to be on top of it all when something like that happens. Give him some grace. He’ll come around on his own.”

“Hm.” Opeli takes another drink and hides a smile in her glass. “You’ve grown wise, Captain.”

Soren laughs. “It’s all the time I’ve spent hanging out with you.” 

They lapse into a pause. Opeli examines the murkiness of cider, fascinated by the way the bubbles swirl in the drink. Soren watches her, his own cider barely touched. It’s strange how comfortable they are in each other’s presence these days; how easy it is to just be even when she thinks about how much he’s grown. Not for the first time, she wonders how Viren found it so easy to hate him, and how Lissa found it in herself to leave. He deserved better. He deserves better. Opeli is only glad the situation has changed, and that the family he has now is better for him.

“Why are you here, Soren?” she asks him at last. 

“Why not?”

Opeli purses her lips and rephrases the question. “Why aren’t you with the others?” she tries again. “They’ve been through a lot tonight. You should be with them celebrating the birth of your niece. They’re your family.”

“They’re your family too,” Soren says. 

“That’s different.”

“No it’s not. You’re the closest thing Callum and Ez have had to a mom in years. If anything, you’ve got more reason to be with them than I do.”

Opeli shakes her head. “I’m not one of you,” she says. “I’ve just been a guardian.”

Soren chuckles. “Not to me.”

Opeli doesn’t know how to explain what happens after that. Soren grows bolder still. He restrains himself less. He flirts with her more, and he’s obvious about it. It’s only ever when it’s just the two of them, of course, but she can’t pretend now that what he’s doing isn’t flirting. His gaze lingers. His fingers find reasons to find hers.

And Opeli lets him.

It’s harmless, isn’t it? He’s not doing anything wrong. And neither is she, really. Justice is only a consequence if a law has been violated. They have broken no vows, committed no crimes, hurt no others by being around each other. Opeli can allow herself this.

She reminds herself constantly that Soren’s attentions are fickle, and that he will tire of her soon enough. She will not be offended when it happens. He will want someone younger and fresher faced, someone who hasn’t bound themselves to Lady Justice and her sisters, someone who can return his affections physically and emotionally without complication. He deserves those things, but she won’t deny him whatever amusement he gets from her company now. 

The months pass. The others don’t notice. They’re too caught up in their own dramas, and in baby Sarai’s growing personality to notice the subtle changes in Soren’s behaviour. They don’t notice the way he watches her at meetings. They don’t see the light in his eyes at dinner. They don’t catch the smiles she hides behind her goblets of wine.

It’s thrilling sometimes. It feels like a secret: something that’s just hers after a lifetime of serving everyone else. Opeli wonders if this is how she would have felt if she’d allowed herself to meet someone when she was younger, if she hadn’t sworn herself to Lady Justice so early in life.

He does not grow bored. He is patient with her. He is playful. He does not ever expect anything more from her than she is willing to give, and if she asked him to stop, she is certain that he would, in spite of whatever pain it might cause him. 

By the time she realises it has to stop, she's too far gone to want it to.

"This can't continue," she says one day. It takes all of her strength to force it out of her mouth, but she keeps her features carefully in check, her lips thin and pressed together in practised neutrality. They're in her office and it's late. The document she's proofreading for Callum has been untouched for the better part of an hour—or, rather, since Soren invited himself in for a cup of tea.

"What can't?"

"Whatever… this is."

"We're not doing anything."

Technically, this is true. It has always just been a little flirting, a little lingering, a little feeling in the deepest corners of heart that she's been too afraid to face. They have never shared anything more than a drink after a hard day or a pot of tea in the early morning. But they know. Opeli knows.

"Soren…" She sighs and massages tiredly at her temples. "I can't be anything more for you."

Soren tilts his head at her. "Why?"

"I'm—" Opeli huffs. "I'm too old for you."

He shrugs. "Queen Sarai was four years older than King Harrow."

"Four and fifteen are not the same thing."

He shrugs again. "It doesn't bother me."

Opeli purses her lips. "It's not appropriate. What would the others say?"

"Please," he snorts. "Nothing worse than what Callum thinks about Ez and Claudia. I actually think they'd be really happy for you."

Opeli's temper flares. "You're being ridiculous," she says sharply. "Nothing will come of this. I can't be anything for you. You will have needs that I can't fulfil. You're wasting your time."

"The only person who gets to decide if I'm wasting my time is me." Soren levels his gaze at her, the playfulness in his eyes suddenly gone and replaced by something far more serious. "Am I wasting your time, Opeli?"

"I—no—"

"Do you want me to go?"

Opeli scowls and turns her eyes to the floor, furious at him for being so difficult and at herself for letting this get so out of hand. When she doesn't answer, he scowls too and gets up.

"Fine," he mutters. "Okay. I hoped—" He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. I get it. I'll go." He pushes his chair back, legs scraping loudly against the flagstones, and Opeli curses and gets up too.

"Soren—"

"You don't have to explain. I get it."

"No, you don't understand—" Opeli has never been one to panic, but Soren strides towards the door and her reflexes get the better of her. She catches his elbow, her hand impossibly small against his arm, her heart and her excuses clogging her throat. "There are other options for you, Soren, you can't— shouldn't waste your time waiting around for me. I'm old, I have duties to the crown that come even before me. It would be wrong —"

"Wrong to what?" he demands. "Consider that you might be worth more than your responsibilities? To think that you should have the chance to be happy, the same as everyone else?"

"What about your happiness? Don't you deserve to be happy too? How can you possibly think I could be someone who could do that for you?"

"You already are!" bursts Soren. "You're kind and patient and funnier than most people think! You make me feel like a person , like I'm more than just Ez's personal bodyguard. You know I'm ridiculous but you've never once made me feel stupid about it and—Don't you get it?" He kisses her. It's sweet and tender and frustrated, and Opeli forgets everything for a moment and kisses him back, just as fiercely, just as desperately, because it's been decades since she's been kissed or wanted like this, and—

She pulls away, her breath heavy, her lips tingling with the ghost of his. “I swore an oath to Lady Justice,” she mutters.

"Justice is blind," says Soren. "What she can't see won't hurt her."

It's once. Then twice. Then Opeli loses count and it's any and every excuse to be in her office or in his quarters. She pretends it’s a mistake every time it happens, swearing to herself that This will be the last even when she knows it won’t be. It’s sweet and intoxicating, a fruit she has never allowed herself and now it’s as if she can’t get enough.

There’s a part of her that feels guilty for it. She very much has broken a vow now, and Justice may be blind, but she comes for everyone sooner or later. Opeli tries not to spend her nights waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone else to (finally) catch Soren's eye, but he lingers in bed, or in her office, his lips tender against her skin murmuring affirmations that have been true for everyone but her:

“You’re allowed to feel good. You’re allowed to be happy. Haven’t you done enough for the realm to have something for yourself?”

She has, actually. Justice is about the evenness of the scales, the truths hidden behind masks and lies and actions. Hasn’t she spent a lifetime devoted to that cause? Hasn’t she denied herself pleasure and companionship for the sake of others long enough? Isn’t she owed happiness just this once?

Of course not.

She misses a bleed one month. At first, she chalks it up to her age. She had not expected to bleeding so late in life anyway, so she brushes it off and continues about her duties without considering what else it might mean—

Until the nausea begins, and she finds herself curled over a latrine almost every morning. 

She convinces herself she's sick. She prays that's all it is. But she tastes metal in her mouth and can no longer stand the smell of eggs and oh, no, this can’t be happening, Lady Justice help her, she couldn't possibly be—

The bairnweed blooms in the jar and Opeli thinks she might throw up again. 

The truth of it is surreal. Years of devotion and service to the goddesses of the realm, a lifetime of abstinence and virtue, and then suddenly Soren , and suddenly—

She doubles over and heaves, hoping the tears are because her throat is burning, and not because she's scared witless by the concept of the child apparently now growing within her. What will she do ? What will she say ? Where can she go for help where she won't be recognised as Opeli, High Cleric of Katolis? Who can she turn to who won't wonder who the father might be?

She thinks about Rowena the midwife, who is professional but a stranger; of Apollonius, the castle medic, who is kind but knows everybody; of Claudia, whose garden might contain the herbs she needs to remove the problem, but whose brother is the one who put it there to begin with. She wonders how she's even supposed to tell Soren, or if she can at all.

In the end, Opeli buries the knowledge. She cannot deal with it today.

"Are you okay?" Soren asks her, not even a week after she finds out. "Kinda feels like you've been avoiding… well. Me."

In fairness, she has been. Opeli has spent the week carefully choosing different routes around the castle, and leaving earlier than normal for Temple Hill. She'd found herself in the Valley of the Graves at one point, staring up at the statue of Queen Sarai and wondering what she might have done or what she would have said.

"Hey." Soren touches her hand gently, surreptitiously, so that any passerby would think nothing of it. "Did I do something wrong?"

Opeli sucks in a breath. It sounds sharper than she means it to, and she jerks her hand away from his before she remembers to temper herself. "No," she mutters quickly. "I'm fine. I've… just been feeling under the weather."

"That's not fine," says Soren, frowning a little at her. He studies her face. He's much better at reading the room these days, but the way he seems to know what's on her mind is uncanny. "Opeli—"

" Stop ," snaps Opeli. "Stop it. Not—not today. Not right now. I don't—" She breathes in slowly, then out, eyes shut tight in an effort to keep her emotions under control. They've been harder to reign in in recent days, and she can't tell if it's because she's hormonal or terrified. "Leave me be, Soren."

Hurt flashes in his eyes. "I don't understand—"

"You wouldn't," she mutters coldly. "I have duties to attend to. Good day." She turns and hurries away, head bowed, hood hiding the frustration and fear on her face because if he knew—

Opeli doesn't want to think about it. It's so foreign a situation that even she can't predict how he might react. Instead, she leaves him in the gardens and hopes that he might, for once, take the hint.

It's telling that the first person who notices something amiss is Rayla, who is a mother now and learning very quickly how to decipher the moods of her eight month old baby. Sarai is an easy child for the most part, but there are certain times of day when she is fussier or grumpier for no real reason, and it's that anticipation, that ability to read faces and silences and changes in mood that must tip her off. In any case, it wasn't so long ago that it was she who was pacing in Opeli's office, panicking over how unfit she thought she was for motherhood.

She's grown into it rather nicely, actually. Sarai spends a good part of her day napping in a sling over Rayla's shoulder, and provided she's fed and watered and got something to do with her hands, Rayla just brings her along to meetings, and to review security measures with Soren. At first, that's what Opeli thinks happened: that Soren might have mentioned something and that Rayla's come investigating on his behalf.

But Rayla says nothing of the sort when she knocks on Opeli's door that afternoon, Sarai tucked against her chest as always, her eyes curious and concerned in a way that only a mother's eyes are. "You've been skipping breakfast."

Yes, thinks Opeli, because she'd rather not eat at all then throw it back up within an hour. She doesn't say that though. She feigns ignorance. "Have I?"

Rayla narrows her eyes. Opeli does not struggle not to meet them—it's far easier to focus on her work than on Rayla's ever growing suspicion. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," says Opeli quickly. "I don't know where you'd get the idea they weren't, Your Highness."

"Don't call me that."

"You'll have to grow used to it one way or another, Your Highness."

Rayla scowls. "Stop it," she snaps. "You're changing the subject. Don't think we haven't noticed."

Opeli does look up at that. Her gut roils, and at this point, she doesn't know if it's terror or the child. "Noticed what?" she asks levelly.

"You've just been…" Rayla pauses, wondering how to put it. "Moody," she says. "Stand-offish. It's like you don't want to be around us all of a sudden."

"I've just been busy, You're Highness," says Opeli. "There are a number of feast days coming up, and there are things that need to be done."

Rayla raises an eyebrow at her. "I've been on this side of the border for years, Opeli, I know we're in ordinary time." She huffs. Her voice softens. Her eyebrows knit together over her eyes. "We're worried about you," she says gently. "All of us. You've spent all these years worrying over us, you can't possibly think we wouldn't care if something was wrong."

Opeli glances away, the roiling in her stomach worse now out of guilt. "I'm touched," she murmurs. "And I appreciate it, Your Highness, but I'm afraid there's not much you can do."

"Try me," says Rayla. 

Opeli takes a breath. "I'm pregnant."

Rayla stares. It's almost worth it for the way she looks like she's forgotten how to breathe. Opeli doesn't know if it's irony, or if it's genuinely funny, or if she's gone a little crazy these past few weeks, but there's a part of her that wants to laugh. Opeli: High Cleric of Katolis, whose devotion to Lady Justice has never been known to waver, pregnant .

Rayla lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. "I'm sorry," she says. "I thought you just said—"

"I did."

Rayla stares some more. She opens her mouth. Shuts it again, words lost long before they ever even make it to her lips. "Who's—"

"Soren."

Rayla shuts her mouth. Sarai rubs her face sleepily against her collar. A child squeals outside. It's so ridiculous, so surreal that even Opeli can't believe the words managed it out of her mouth. Rayla is not one to gossip, not even to Callum, so she knows that her secret is (somewhat) safe, but she thought it would have been harder. Instead, it tumbles out of her mouth humourlessly, simply, straight to the point.

“Holy shit, Opeli,” breathes Rayla at last. "How far along are you?"

Opeli shrugs. "I don't know. I haven't seen anyone to find out for sure. A few weeks?"

"Does Soren know—?"

" No ," says Opeli sharply. Her breath hisses in, and the reality of it feels like a lead weight knocking the wind out of her stomach. "He can't know."

"Why the hell not—?"

"Rayla." Opeli fixes her with a glare then: the same hard stare she used to give all of them when they were younger and walking on thin ice. The shame feels warm on her face, but she presses on. "I don't intend to keep it," she says quietly. "How can I? This child will never know peace. His or her entire existence is already a scandal. I can't do that to them, or to Soren.”

Rayla sags in the opposite chair, the wheels in her mind obviously struggling to turn. Opeli can’t blame her. She’s been something of a maternal figure to her and the boys since they were teenagers, and the idea that she’s been fooling around with Soren of all people, someone who might as well be their brother —

If Rayla was disgusted by the idea, it wouldn’t be surprising, but instead, she sets her jaw. “Okay,” she says, shaking herself out of her stupor. “Um. We can figure this out. What can I do to help?”

For all her surety, Opeli takes her turn to stare. “You’re not angry?”

“What?” Rayla frowns at her. “Why would I be?”

Opeli ducks her head. “I thought you’d be—” Mortified? Repulsed? Disapproving? Her face grows warmer. She shakes her head. “Thank you,” she murmurs instead. “The offer is touching, but you shouldn’t concern yourself with me. I’ll find a way to manage on my own.”

“Yes, but—” Rayla presses her lips shut. “You don’t have to deal with it on your own. You know that, don’t you? I—we can help. You can let us. It’s okay.”

“It’s not your job to fix my problems.” 

“You’ve been fixing everyone else’s for years!” protests Rayla. “You’re allowed to need help! You're allowed—”

You’re allowed to be happy. Haven’t you done enough for the realm to have something for yourself?

She snorts ruefully. “I’ve allowed myself enough,” she says. “Look where it’s got me.”

“Opeli.”

“ Rayla.” She looks up then, her face set, her lips twitching in spite of herself. “I appreciate the offer. I do. But if you want to help, then don’t tell the others. Soren, especially. That’s all I ask.”

“You can’t keep this a secret from him.”

“I can, and I will. Don’t tell him. Please.”

"Then you tell him. Or let me help. Pick one."

Opeli purses her lips. She should have known better. Rayla, Callum, Ezran, Soren—they love each other fiercely because they've all lost so much, and Opeli has been their friend and counsel and guardian for too long. She'd been a fool to think they would care about her any less. She sighs. "What do you propose?"

Rayla sighs too—in relief, Opeli thinks. "Let me talk to Claudia for you. She's got to have something that can help. I'll tell her it's for a friend in town or something."

Opeli hesitates. It isn't that she doesn't trust Rayla. It's that Claudia is perceptive, and if Rayla isn't careful, then it's out of her hands. But what choice does she have? Here is a solution, presenting itself in someone who won't gossip, who refuses to judge her, whose offer to help is genuine and comes from a place of friendship. "Promise me you'll be discreet," she says, resigned.

"Cross my heart," says Rayla. Her eyes are resolute. "Leave it with me."

It takes her a few days. Opeli spends them feeling even more on edge because every day Rayla hasn't returned with the appropriate herbs from Claudia's garden is another day the information is loose and still true. Every now and then, Rayla catches Opeli's eye over dinner and then nods her head imperceptibly towards Soren who seats himself noticeably further away than usual. Opeli only ever responds with a stony, stubborn stare, which is enough for Rayla to sigh into her food and glance away.

Finally, at the end of the week, Rayla returns with a jar of dried herbs balanced carefully on a tray with a teapot and a plate of jelly tarts. "Thought I'd bring you some tea," she says, which Opeli takes to mean tea specific for her problem, cleverly disguised as an opportunity for two friends to catch up.

Opeli smiles gratefully and lets her into her office. Rayla waits until the door is closed before she sets the tray on her desk. 

"Claudia said two cups," Rayla says. "The first when you're ready, the second three hours later. Should work within twenty-four hours, but if nothing happens, you can try again in three days."

"What did you tell her?"

Rayla shrugs her shoulders. "That I had a friend who needed it. She didn't ask for anything more than that."

Opeli breathes out. "Thank you," she says. 

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"What other choice do I have?"

"You could tell Soren."

A beat. Opeli grimaces and puts a spoonful of herbs into her mug. 

"He'd step up," says Rayla. "He'd marry you, if you wanted him to. How could he do anything less?"

Still, Opeli says nothing. The handle of the teapot warms beneath her fingers, but she doesn't pour any of it into her mug. Her intentions haven't changed, but the truth is that they are beginning to waver: the solution to all of it is right there , and yet…

"Opeli."

"This is for the best," Opeli says at last, shaking her head. "Thank you for bringing it."

"Of course," says Rayla. She pauses. "Remember when it was me?"

Opeli's lips twitch at that. "Doesn't feel like it was that long ago, does it?"

"No," chuckles Rayla. "Do you remember what you told me?"

Opeli knits her eyebrows together. "No?"

Rayla offers her a smile. "You told me it was okay to be scared," she says. "That whatever happened, I had family here, and whatever choice I made, I would be loved. I hope you know that goes for you too. And… for what it's worth… I think you would be a great mum."

Opeli's resolve wavers once more, her eyes stinging a little over the steam escaping from the spout of the teapot. "That's kind of you to say."

"It's true, isn't it?" says Rayla. "Isn't that what you've been to me and Callum and Ez all these years?"

"I only ever intended to guide you until you were confident enough to make your decisions for yourselves."

"Make this one for you, then," says Rayla. "Whatever you decide to do… don't do it because you're worried about a scandal, or because you're worried about how Soren might react. Whatever happens, make sure it's for you. We'll be here for you. All of us."

Opeli breathes in. She blinks and bows her head over the teapot to hide the way her eyes have begun to water. "I appreciate the sentiment," she murmurs. "Thank you, Rayla."

Rayla smiles and reaches between them for her hand. "Any time."

The cup of dried herb sits on Opeli's desk for the rest of the afternoon. The water in the teapot cools. Twice, Opeli puts it over the fire again, but when it boils and she brings it back to her desk, she hesitates.

Two days later, she tosses the herbs into the fire and steeps her own. Ginger for the nausea. Lemon for the vitamins. Chamomile to help loosen the knot of nerves in her stomach.

She will have to resign from her post as High Cleric. She will have to speak to Apollonius, the castle doctor, about appropriate care for pregnancy at her age. 

She will have to tell Soren.

Opeli glances at her belly, not even slightest bit swollen yet, and thinks of the life there, and of Rayla's words, still ringing in her ears:

Whatever happens, make sure it's for you.

Isn’t she owed something for herself just this once?

(Of course not).

Ezran convenes a council meeting as the spring of that year comes to a close. A delegation from Lux Aurea will be visiting in the summer; a delegation that includes Queens Janai and Amaya who want to visit their nephews and spend some time with their grand-neice. Of course, that means certain precautions have to be taken, and there's rooms that have to be prepared, not just for the queens, but for any Sunfire nobles they might bring with them, and it's a lot to discuss, but Opeli's nausea seems to be getting the better if her today, and it's hard to concentrate.

She still hasn't spoken to Soren. It's been weeks since Rayla gave her the herbs, since she tossed them into the hearth in her office, and longer still since she all but commanded Soren to leave her be. He has been professional about it, and has certainly shown more maturity than many men his age, but the distance makes her nervous, and the longer she puts it off, the more daunting it is.

When the meeting draws to a close and everyone else gets to their feet, Opeli hesitates in her seat and tries not to whimper at the dull ache in her hips. Apparently, it's to be expected—hormones loosening the joints or something—but combined with the nausea, it's getting a bit much.

"Hey, are you okay?"

That's Ezran. The dark skin of his hand appears in her vision, at rest against the table. The other touches gently at her shoulder.

"Opeli?"

The others pause at the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rayla frowning and starting forward, and behind her, Soren is frowning too, the concern more obvious on his face than anyone else's. 

"I'm fine, Your Majesty, thank you," she says. She takes a shaky breath and pushes herself onto her feet, but her knees buckle beneath her and pain flares so sharply in her abdomen that she can't help the scream that tears from her lips.

"Opeli!"

"Get Apollonius," says Rayla sharply. “Claudia too. Now. Soren, help me.”

There’s a flurry of movement. There’s Soren’s voice, demanding to know what’s happening and how Rayla seems to know what’s going on. They lift her from the floor, and Rayla swears, and Soren pales, and there’s something warm and wet and bright, bright red against the white of her robes. The last thing she remembers before her vision goes dark is Soren, scooping her into his arms and whispering a promise that she doesn’t hear.

When Opeli comes to, the room is dark. Her body aches and her head spins, but the cramping in her belly is unbearable and she knows with a hollow certainty that the child is gone, whether she wanted it or not. She stifles a whimper and curls beneath the covers, her body raw with pain and empty in more ways than one. Then the darkness shifts, and someone presses something warm into her hands and seats themselves at the edge of the bed.

“You should have told me,” mumbles Soren. The warmth, Opeli realises, is a heat pack, which he guides to her belly to ease the cramps in her womb. 

Opeli’s breath shudders out. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I was going to. I just… didn’t know how.”

“Is that why you didn’t want me around?”

Slowly, numbly, Opeli nods. Her throat hurts. Her eyes sting. And underneath it all, under the pain and the nausea and the exhaustion, guilt roils like the sea in the middle of a storm. “It’s my fault,” she says at last. “I broke a vow. I wanted it gone. And I was going to—but I couldn’t —”

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” Soren shifts. The mattress creaks under his weight, and in the darkness, Opeli watches as he leans over her until his forehead meets his hers. His breath mingles lightly with hers, his hand against her cheek, and Opeli breaks, a sob that racks her body escaping from her lips. “It wasn’t your fault,” he promises. “Opeli. You didn’t do anything wrong—”

“Didn’t I?” snaps Opeli. “Didn’t I let myself lie with you? Didn’t I defy Justice and the vows I made when I became High Cleric? Didn’t I do it all knowingly?”

“That’s not how these things work—”

“It’s exactly how these things work!” cries Opeli. “There is a balance to everything. There is a price to pay for every lie, every unrighteous deed, but I let myself love you knowing that I would pay for it one way or another, and here I am! And if it wasn’t this, it would have been you, finally tiring of whatever we were doing. Or—or a scandal bad enough to ruin your reputation and mine. It would have been something, Soren, because I devoted myself to Lady Justice, and then I defied her. She may be blind, but she always, always sees the truth.”

“Opeli. Opeli. ” Soren silences her with a kiss against her brow, firm and unwavering, even as she tries weakly to push him away. “That’s not how these things work,” he says. “Look at me. Look. ” He cups her face with hands and holds her to him, her tears rolling silently over his thumbs. “If it’s about balance, then Justice can’t hold you responsible for this. You have spent your entire life giving—to the crown, to other people, to the whole fucking realm, and if it’s about the truth and the scales or whatever—Justice owes you. Justice owes you. Do you understand?”

In her hysteria, Opeli doesn’t respond. She only lets him hold her, his arms strong and secure around the fragile husk of her body. “You can’t still want me after this,” she manages.

Soren snorts against her hair. “It’ll take more than that to be rid of me.” It’s half a joke, half a promise, but his resolve doesn’t falter once. “Rayla was right,” he adds. “I would have married you, if you wanted me to. I’d marry you now.”

“ How?”

“Because you’re more than this. You are Light, and Virtue, and Mercy, and Justice. The Harvest and the Fates mean nothing to me without you. And you might have devoted yourself to them, to Justice, but you have to know by now, Opeli, that I’ve devoted myself to you. And I’ll be yours as long as you’ll have me.” He brings her face to his again and this time kisses her so fiercely that she can’t find it in herself to doubt him. 

It’s still dark when he pulls away. Opeli doesn’t know what time it is or how long she’s been out, but there is light on the horizon and in his eyes. 

She lets herself believe in it.

Opeli resigns from her post as High Cleric when the summer comes once again. Clio, her second, ascends in her place, raven hair dark against the pale silver of the circlet she sets upon her head. The air is strange without her robes, but it feels lighter, the weight of her hood and circlet truly gone for the first time in years.

Clio attends to the other ceremonies. She leads the clerics down the street with ashes in their hands and their red-trimmed robes fluttering in the breeze.

Opeli watches them. Her breath is easy. Her hand fits neatly within Soren’s.