Work Text:
Runaan knew to expect the unexpected. It was something required in his line of work. Well, former line of work, he supposed. He highly doubted there’d be much need for assassins in coming times, and even if there was a demand…
His team was gone, Rayla no doubt uninterested in returning to such a thing, and… Honestly, he wasn’t either.
Too much had happened. Too much had changed.
That said, he knew better than to not keep in mind even the least likely possibilities.
Callum had still surprised him when he’d invited Runaan along to look for fresh water and firewood for their makeshift camp, as they prepared to head back to Katolis to honor the sacrifice of the Archdragons against Aaravos.
And by the Moon… Just thinking about the events of only hours ago was enough to make Runaan feel exhausted.
“Hey, Runaan…”
Runaan turned his head to where Callum was crouched by the river they’d found, rising from where he’d been gathering fallen sticks and small branches to make his way over to the boy. “Yes?”
Callum was quiet for a long moment, gaze flicking over his reflection in the water. “Do, um…” He fidgeted for a moment, picking at the water canteen in his hands. “Do you think I should… find some way to hide it?” he asked softly.
Oh.
Runaan blinked, his own gaze finding the reflection of the new white streak in Callum’s hair.
A sign of his brush with Dark Magic, of the power in the spell he’d almost wielded…
The elf’s eyes moved back to his own reflection, to the asymmetry of his horns, one half gone after that night in Katolis…
“We all have our scars, Callum,” he started softly. “Some are invisible, the kind that will drag you down in your most vulnerable moments.” He sighed softly, crouching down beside the young mage. “And others are plain for all the world to see, a shout of what you’ve been through. Where you’ve been.”
Callum’s hand raised towards his hair before dropping halfway, shoulders curling in on himself. “Or what you’ve done,” he murmured.
“What you did, you did for the world. You were ready to sacrifice your life to save us all, to save your family.” Runaan tilted his head, gentle eyes regarding the human beside him. “There is no one I know, least of all those who know you, who will hold that against you. And any that do mind aren’t worth your time, I’m afraid.”
Callum’s expression seemed to soften, nervous eyes glancing up at Runaan. “You think so?”
“Callum… A scar may be a permanent mark but… The way I see it…” The former assassin’s gaze fell back to the water, the quiet weight of Callum’s gaze still resting on him, hopeful, absorbing his words much the same way Rayla did.
“Scars are not something to be ashamed of, regardless of their origin. Behind their appearance, there is a story. Perhaps we made mistakes, or decisions we wish we could change, or circumstances we loathe… But at the end of the day, the story is one of what we have survived. A mark that declares to the world that we are still here.”
He looked up to meet Callum’s gaze once more. “Your scars do not define you. They’re only one part of your story, and only you decide where it goes from here.”
Callum blinked, before his lips twitched into a smile, glancing at his reflection once more. “I think… I like looking at it like that,” he decided. “Thanks, Runaan.”
Runaan chuckled, rising back to his full height. “No need to thank me. Now, I imagine if we delay much longer, Rayla and Ethari will come looking.”
Callum laughed, and the sound soothed something in Runaan’s chest that had been jagged since the boy first came up with the plan to use the Cursed Coin to imprison Aaravos.
Perhaps they were all a little scarred, but they’d survived. And they had the rest of their lives to heal.