Work Text:
The hot sun was beating down on her from its place in the apex of the sky, and Doxley wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand as she loaded the last of the heavy wooden crates onto the back of the cart, the innards rattling and clanking around inside at the movement. Transport to the next town only cost them in manual labour, and Doxley was more than willing to accept the deal before Illien cost them more gold than they had to spare in some well-meaning yet stupid new practice of generosity that she was finding increasingly irritating every time his fingers inched towards his coin purse.
Speaking of Illien, she had spent the last twenty minutes loading crates onto the cart under the watchful eye of the uniformed guard standing nearby and the squashed-nosed dwarf who was tending to the horses and overseeing her under his bushy brows. The task probably would have taken her less than ten if her fucking brother hadn't wandered off somewhere instead of helping her like he was supposed to-!
"Right," Doxley turned to the dwarf who wasn't even trying to hide his eyes on her. He jerked upright, seemingly surprised at being addressed by her. That made sense- between the two of them, Illien had done most of the negotiation and Doxley had just glowered over his shoulder. "That all?"
Squinting, the dwarf gave the cargo a once-over and nodded. She had no doubt that he'd do a more thorough inspection once she was out of eyesight- the people in this town were a distrusting sort. Not that she could blame them. "Looks fine to me. We leave in a quarter of an hour."
Nodding, she turned and made her way through the town, resting her hands on her belts to give them something to do other than twirling her javelins between her fingers. The last thing she wanted to do was provide the guards with more reason to watch her. The scrutiny was making her shoulders itch and the hair on the back of her neck rise without also worrying about causing a ruckus.
She stuck her head into the tavern, but it was practically empty at this hour of the day, with most of the town's inhabitants busy at work. Illien wasn't chatting up the bartender with that stupidly charming smile of his or drinking with a gathering of people in the corner, so she moved on. The smithy and the armoury were equally as fruitless, as was the second-hand store that sold old nicknacks and the bakery that made those delicious black moss and green tea muffins that she and her brother had almost eaten their entire stock of on their first day in town. But when she stuck her head into the rickety-looking bookstore, frustration roiling in her gut like a riptide, she paused. Over the top of one of the shelves packed full of books, she could see the polished hilt of Illien's greatsword slung over his back, too large for such a small space. She sighed. Off course he'd be in the fucking bookshop instead of helping her load the fucking cart.
Crossing her arms, she leaned against one of the bookshelves to watch him. He hadn't noticed her yet, too engrossed in the book he was flicking through, and she would have chided him for letting his guard down if he didn't just look so damn contented. His shoulders were hunched, head bowed, calloused hands holding the book like it was some kind of fragile antique, as if he was worried he was going to fuck up somehow and tear the yellowed pages. His hair- his stupid fucking hair that was way too long and that made her want to take his greatsword off his back and chop it off herself if it meant getting it out of his eyes- was falling into his face, and it prevented him from seeing her as she stood there and watched him, bored out of her brains. Bookstores and libraries always felt stuffy and constricting to her, with bookshelves that reached nearly to the roof and stocked with tomes of different sizes and thicknesses and ages, making it hard to maneuver around, always way too quiet, as if speaking was forbidden.
"Ill," she said. He didn't flinch, not exactly, but he did intake a sharp, startled breath before his tense shoulders slumped and he turned to look over at her, realising his instinctual breath. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"
"Looking for a new book to take with me on our journey," he waved the book at her as if it was obvious. The cover was black and white and mentioned something about the constellations and star charts. "I finished the last one."
"I thought you hated the other ones?" she asked. "The one about the plants? And the... the rocks? Did you seriously read a book about rocks or am I remembering wrong? I really hope I'm remembering wrong."
"I didn't hate them, they just weren't for me," Illien shrugged. He wrinkled his nose at the book and shut it, the covers colliding with a soft yet satisfactory sound. He slid it back onto the shelf, in the empty space between two other books. "Are you here to get some books for yourself?"
Doxley couldn't help but sigh. She was glad that Illien was finding a hobby he enjoyed, but ever since they left home to go on this journey he had become almost obsessed with reading, always carrying at least one book on his person and scouting around every town they arrived in for another bookshop. Couldn't he have picked up a more useful hobby to learn, like hunting or potion making or a language? Dwarvish or gnomish could have helped them plenty of times on their travels. "No, I'm not here for reading. I'm here because we were supposed to load the cart to pay for our transport this afternoon."
Gasping through his teeth, Illien spun around to face her so fast that the hilt of his sword collided with one of the upper shelves and the bookcase rocked dangerously before they both snapped out a hand to grasp it, one on either side, until it stilled. "Fuck," he swore, wide-eyed and so distressed that Doxley almost felt bad. "Did we miss it? Has it left without us? Dox, I'm so-"
"No, we've got fifteen minutes left," Doxley sighed. "You were supposed to help me, Ill."
"I thought I had more time," He said in way of apology, body unwinding now that the anxiety had lessened. "There aren't any windows in here. Did you know that too much direct sunlight can damage the books? That's why libraries are so dark."
"We'll have to see if we can get you a timepiece then," she said fondly. It was always hard for her to stay mad at Illien. "Especially if you plan on spending all your days inside stuffy bookstores."
He brushed a hand through his hair, shoving the unruly strands away from his face. He never got frustrated by it, and it drove her crazy. If their mother could see it, he would never hear the end of it, but young men were meant to be rebellious from time to time, weren't they? "I like it in here," he gestured vaguely at the bookcases and their paper cargo. "It's so different than anything we ever had back home. I like learning."
"You think you can learn something useful then?" she asked, not unkindly. She was a lot of things, but the last thing she wanted was to come across as unkind, not to Illien. "Rocks and plants haven't exactly done us any favours. I thought that at least the plant book would help you identify healing herbs and poisonous forage but it just taught you about gardening and stuff."
"That was useful," Illien objected. "Now I know that there are certain kinds of plants that only grow at a certain time of the year."
"I meant useful to us," Doxley replied. "We're not exactly going to be doing any kind of planting any time soon, are we?"
"I guess not," he grumbled. "What if I found you a book about fighting? Would you like that?"
"I already know how to fight,"
"Sure, but you might learn something new."
Doxley began to feel that familiar irritation prickling at the back of her neck, a regular occurrence when trapped in a closed space with her brother for too long, but at the mischievous glint in his eye, the cheeky upward tilt to his lips, she felt herself deflating, the irritation leaving her as quickly as it had arrived. Nobody knew how to get a rise out of her as Illien did, and she knew he was getting plenty of joy out of taking the piss. "Maybe you can find a book in here that can teach you how to cut your hair. You look stupid. How's anybody supposed to take us seriously when you look like a stunned mullet?"
Scoffing, Illien shifted away and rolled his eyes. "I like it," he said, unbothered by her admittedly feeble attempt at an insult. She didn't mean it. "I know you don't care about this stuff-" he gestured vaguely with a hand that towered over them like unending cliffs. "- but do you have any idea what you want me to learn? Considering you've got so many opinions on the books I've read so far, and all."
This was the last thing Doxley wanted to be doing. She glanced around and scanned the closest bookshelves before randomly pulling down a book. It had a pastel green, yellow and pink cover with a halfling woman in a frilly apron holding a pie with a feast spread out on a table before her. "Here," she shoved it against his chest, partially because the colours made her sick but also because the clock was ticking down with every minute they lingered in here and she wanted to get out and on their way as soon as possible. "What about this one?"
When Illien grinned, she knew, deep down, that she had either made a grave mistake or had a stroke of genius. "A cookbook? You want me to learn how to cook?"
"Sure," Doxley shrugged, already turning away. Not long now, and the cart would leave without us, and Doxley would have done all that work for nothing, and they'd have to secure new transport, which was bound to take forever, and this town was already starting to make her antsy. "Can we get out of here now, please? How much is that book going to cost, anyway?"
"Nothing," Illien said- thankfully- following behind. "I sold the shopkeep the other books and got a deal on this one."
"So you're saying the rock book and the plant book were actually good for something?" Doxley couldn't help but throw the tease over her shoulder, pausing to grin at her brother, who was affectionately rolling her eyes as he tried not to smile and failed miserably. "Colour me surprised."
"I don't know, I think the geology book could have been pretty helpful if we ever met some dwarves or something," Illien replied. He smiled at the elderly human woman behind the counter, with greying hair tied into braids and a severely wrinkled face, and Doxley left him to say his farewells and offer his gratitudes as she exited the suffocating shop to the fresh air of the market square. Immediately, the eyes of the guards were back on her, but she didn't care, not when they were so close to getting out of this place. She reclined up against the side of the shop with a knee bent and foot pressed against the wall, arms crossed over her chest and head down, as she waited for Illien to join her and continue his conversation as if that little interlude with the elderly shopkeep never happened. "What are you going to do on the ride, Dox? It's only a couple of days, I don't know how much trouble we're going to find to keep us occupied."
"I think I'll be fine," Doxley said as she pushed away from the wall. "Can we get the fuck out of here now? I'm sick of this godforsaken town."
"They certainly don't seem to like newcomers," Illien agreed as he tucked his new book into his pack, the colourful cover starkly out of place compared to his other belongings. "Let's go."
"Thank fuck," Doxley swore as she began to lead Illien back through the town the way she had come, towards where that greasy, squashed-nosed dwarf was most likely- hopefully- still impatiently waiting for them. "Now that you've got that fancy fucking cookbook I expect you to make us something so delicious that even warlords would weep."
Illien laughed amusedly, throwing his head back to get his hair out of his face again, and bumped into her without stopping his pace, keeping his stride perfectly even with hers just like they'd always done since the beginning of time and will until the end. "Sure, Dox. I'll do my best."
That was one of the few things that Doxley knew for certain. He might get on her nerves at times, but Illien always did his best.