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There is a moment, long and drawn out as the cliffside shrinks and the wind cradles his back, that Killian wonders if becoming a Steward makes gravity optional.
His heart, his lungs, his mind. His guts and his blood and his spirit and his soul, all of it feels suspended in the shell of his mortal frame for longer than seems possible. Perhaps it is not gravity that has been paused, but time. There is simply too much to still be done and Killian cannot rest until his work is complete so does he have the power to make it all…stop? The bows of the trees do not creak, the elk do not scream and stampede, and Killian does not fall. It is all…captured. Charcoal on the page.
Except it can’t be, can it? Because even as Killian keeps his position in space, there is change. Time unsticks itself from the skin of the world and it must move because…there.
Like a blade. Like the flash of a coin mid-spin, something catches Killian’s eye. His head doesn’t turn but his eyes can still roll and he sees what it is that cracks him from his mould.
It’s the sun.
A memory.
Only a few years old, perhaps one or two. Blackrest is as Blackrest has always been. Cold, wet. Persistent. Clinging to the edge of a rock that the world cares nothing for. Two men; red of hair and stout of heart, one of them older and exasperated, the other younger and untroubled. The exasperation is a fabrication, of course; in what world does Killian of Blackrest not take to brotherhood like a moth to the flame? In the two-and-twenty years of his life, Niall of Blackrest has had a light to follow as much as he has been one. A friend to chase, a hero to look up to, as much as the statement would be denied. Niall believed it, though. Of all the things he had been taught and learned and been forced to put a brave face on over, his belief that his big brother would always see him through never faltered.
Did he ever know how much his smile helped, on bad days? How his laugh could lift even the weariest of hearts, lighten the heaviest of loads? How could one smile convey so much past mischief, even when Killian tried his best to be the role model?
He doesn’t know it now, as he continues to lead Killian out of town and along the cliffline, close enough to the edge to keep his brother on his feet, but far enough for it to feel like freedom. He doesn’t know that Killian watches with a mixture of warmth and trepidation. He doesn’t know that Killian wants him to stay behind, to deter from his need to be the shadow stitched to Killian’s heels. The forest is dark, and Niall’s brightness will attract that which Killian would give his life to hide him from.
Instead of voicing these thoughts, however, Killian just huffs. “We almost there? You know our mother will raise hell if we’re not back before our dinner goes cold.”
“Give over, Lee. You know she’ll forgive me anythin’.” The annoying thing is that he’s right and he knows it. “We’re almost there, anyhow. Hurry it up, I want to show you something.”
Killian prefers not to come to this spot, for the simple reason of it feeling like a taunt. The ocean extends before them, rolling like a simmering pot and just as likely to burn. A straight line wider than their arms can stretch as the horizon and it’s grey. So, so grey. Niall sits with a grunt and taps the ground beside him with a fist, his legs dangling over the cliffedge and granting Killian yet another grey hair to fret over.
“Y’brought me out here, right at last bells, to look at the ocean?” If Niall hears how unimpressed his brother is, he keeps it to himself and instead just gestures once more. The sigh of a brother long used to bending to his siblings' whims. “Fine, fine.”
“It’ll be worth it. Just give it a sec.” One settled, silence sits with them like a friend. Never have they felt the need to chase it from their hearth. However, like most baby brothers, Niall has a habit of breaking things. “What d’you reckon’s out there?”
“Huh?”
“Out there.” Feet kick. A hand sweeps. “Past the ocean and the clouds and the rain.”
“I dunno.” It’s true; he doesn’t. “Could be anything. As long as it’s something, I don’t care what it is.”
“No?” Niall nudges his brother’s shoulder, imprinting his joy into the bare skin of Killian’s arm. “Nothing at all?”
“Forgive me for having things to worry about here, where I can deal with them.” Niall rolls his eyes, and Killian fights with the urge to push him into the nearby bush. “Go on then, smart-arse. What do you think’s out there?”
“Mmm….” Niall is quiet. Killian watches his brother and waits. And waits. Eventually, Niall moves, his hand flying up and pointing, out across the water and towards the skyline. “There we are. Just like every night. Look, Lee.”
Killian looks. For a moment, there’s nothing. Nothing but rain and the cold and the water.
But there…a crack in the cloud cover, a glimpse past the wall. Light. Warm and small and fleeting but there, and it touches Killian’s face like the warm hand of his mother, his shoulder like his father’s pride. Niall grins, his eyes catching that sunshine and turning their moss green into that of something more like new growth.
“Every night, just as the sun’s goin’ down, there’s a break in the clouds enough to see it.” Niall’s voice goes soft, as if the sun is something that could be chased away. In the Veil, he isn’t far off. “Whatever’s out there, that’s what I wanna see most. I wanna see the sun go down proper, without rain. Clear skies, you know?”
Clear skies, the boy says.
Clear skies, Killian.
Niall will not see the sunsets he dreamt of, Killian. Through no fault of your own, granted, but those dreams of his died when he did. They will die with you, too.
I told you that you had to make a choice, Killian of Blackrest.