oops i meant to post this on friday, better late than never
see below the cut for preview and links 👍
summary
It’s the morning after the night before, and as the three recover from their poor life choices, they figure their next plan of action.
The rest of the morning came and went with – thankfully – no unfortunate incidents. The sun had already passed its highest point in the sky before anyone felt physically or mentally ready to train again, but after a slow, tentative start, they did as well as could be expected while horrendously hungover. Surprisingly, working himself into a sweat and generous amounts of water soon had him feeling relatively normal.
But he couldn’t help noticing that Julan was quiet, much quieter than usual, and he wasn’t certain it was just a result of his dreadful hangover. He got his answer as the pair approached the Fighters Guild, wooden training swords clutched loosely in hand, and a tug at his arm halted him in his tracks.
“Fahjoth?” Julan started, as Fahjoth turned to face him. “Can I talk to you?”
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hellooo long time no see! after a year of being on hiatus we will be going back to a regular-ish posting schedule, ideally every other Friday!
additionally, from now on, the full chapters will only be posted on AO3, and only a chapter preview here. as i have made NR private (hiding from that damn kudos bot), if anyone doesn’t have an account and still wants to read, shoot me a message and i can send an alternative link :)
see below the cut for preview and links 👍
summary
After a hard day of training, Fahjoth and Julan head for a well-deserved drink at the cornerclub, but the evening doesn't quite pan out the way Fahjoth expects.
“Agh—!”
Fahjoth staggered back, clutching his hand as a searing ache shot through his knuckles, his wooden sword falling with a thud to the dusty ground.
“Shit!” Julan stood down, lowering his own sword as his brows furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, mate.” Fahjoth flashed Julan a pained smile, peering at his hand to evaluate the damage. The skin on his knuckles had been grazed severely enough to draw blood, welling up in glistening red droplets from the deeper abrasions, and his fingers trembled something fierce of their own accord.
It wasn’t the first bump he had sustained during his and Julan’s latest training session. The angry red bruises forming over his whole body attested to his lack of focus; his mind was not on training, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, and he was suffering for it. Even with the wooden weapons Fahjoth had borrowed from the Fighters Guild, Julan was leaving more than a few marks.
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hey just a PSA that since i’ve fallen behind (this chapter is ridiculously late) i’m going to take a short break from posting for a while to work on building up a buffer! (join our discord and bug me to write pls)
summary
Fahjoth is hopeful that tensions between Julan and Ribyna will settle, but their animosity risks a guild assignment going pear-shaped.
content warnings
violence, blood, minor character death
read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍
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He stood quietly awaiting a response after rapping his knuckles on the door, but only a heavy silence greeted him. Frowning, Fahjoth tried again, a little more forcefully this time. This was the right room, wasn’t it?
The third knock finally yielded a result. From within the room came a low, long groan, and Fahjoth took that as his cue to open the door a sliver and peer inside.
“Rise and shine,” he called, trying to hold back a grin at the state his friend was in. Julan was slouched on the bed, fully clothed and burying his face in his hands. “How are you feeling?”
“Ugh… fantastic,” came Julan’s gruff response. “Why did you let me drink so much?”
“You’re the one who kept asking for more! Want me to stop you next time?”
“Yes.” Julan paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. Sheogorath, it feels like my head’s about to explode…”
Fahjoth chuckled, pushing the door open a little more to step inside. “Are you up for training today? Or d’you need some time to, uh… recover?”
“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Julan insisted, hauling himself to his feet and staggering slightly on the spot as he fought to balance himself. “So how come you’re looking so fresh this early?”
“It has?” Julan squinted at Fahjoth as he rubbed his head. “Gods… alright, there’s no time to waste then. What’s the plan?”
“Well, I thought maybe we could do something a bit more practical today,” Fahjoth started. “How d’you fancy taking out a bandit leader?”
“Bandits? Sure.”
With no sign of Cosades to be seen that morning, Fahjoth had stopped by the Fighters Guild to find something, anything to keep him busy and to keep the gold coming in. While the prospect of facing an entire gang of bandits by himself was daunting, he was a little more confident that he and Julan would be able to deal with it together. And having Ribyna tag along couldn’t hurt, although he hoped that she and Julan would be able to put their differences aside for the time being.
Julan continued to chatter as he sat back down again to pull on his boots. “D’you do this sort of thing regularly?”
“Sort of.” Fahjoth leaned against the doorframe, waiting and watching idly. “I’ve done a few jobs for the Fighters Guild to earn a bit more gold. Nothing this big before, mind.”
“The Fighters Guild? You’ve never mentioned that. Fighters… they’re alright, I guess.” Julan suddenly looked up, eyes wide. “Hey, have you ever seen a Nord hit himself in the face with his own hammer?”
“No?”
Julan sighed, a grin growing on his face. “Well, me neither, but I live in hope.” He stood up and approached the doorway, patting Fahjoth on the shoulder as he reached him. “After you.”
Fahjoth laughed as he headed out of the cornerclub, feeling an odd excitement begin to quiver somewhere in his gut. Or was that nervousness? Whatever it was, the feeling intensified as he stepped outside and came face-to-face with his twin, who was leaning against the wall and looking bored stiff as she waited for them.
“About fucking time,” Ribyna muttered, and as Julan stepped out after him, Fahjoth heard him falter. His good mood instantly took a nosedive; he had been hopeful for a few more moments of peace at least before the hostilities began again.
“Are you still up for coming with us to Suran, Beebs?” Fahjoth asked, in an attempt to ease the tension.
“Why the fuck else d’you think I’d be stood here like a lemon waiting for you?” She jerked her head towards Julan. “The question is whether drunk tank here can cope with it.”
Julan frowned. “I’ll be fine.”
“You sure about that? You got pretty hammered last night.” Ribyna’s voice was casual, but the glare she fixed Julan with was hard and cold. “You almost drank a hole in Fahji’s coin purse.”
“What does that even—”
“Guys!” Fahjoth said abruptly, rubbing his temple as he spoke. Better to nip this in the bud before it became blown out of proportion. “Let’s get going, shall we? It’s a fair way to Suran. It’d be nice to get there before it gets dark.”
Neither Ribyna nor Julan continued to bicker, but the scathing looks they shot at each other instead left Fahjoth’s nerves shot. Julan’s eyes eventually met Fahjoth’s own and he began to look quite guilty.
“Sorry, Fahjoth,” Julan said. “Go ahead.”
Fahjoth flashed Julan a small smile of appreciation before setting off out of town. The balmy afternoon sun warming the top of his head offered little comfort as he dreaded having to break up fight after fight between his two companions, an outcome that was looking more likely by the minute.
——————————————
The journey to Suran passed mostly in a very strained silence. Fahjoth would make conversation with Julan or with Ribyna, but never both at the same time, as they seemed to be doing their best to ignore each other. Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether he preferred that over the snide comments and defensive retorts.
His contact in Suran, Serjo Avon Oran, resided in what was possibly the grandest house Fahjoth had ever set foot in. Delicate steps and care to avoid breaking or dirtying anything led the three to Oran; on speaking to him, Fahjoth learned that the bandits were occupying a cave among the hills to the northeast.
“Be careful,” Oran had cautioned. “Nasty piece of work, those bandits. But take out their leader, Daldur Sarys, and the rest should scatter. Good luck.”
With this advice in mind, Fahjoth was thoughtful as they exited Oran Manor and stepped out into the cool Suran evening.
“I felt so weird being in a house like that,” Julan remarked. “I was expecting someone to yell at me for trailing muck all over their floor…”
“You know, you were trailing a lot more than muck in there,” Ribyna replied. She sniffed, looking down at Julan’s boots. “Is that guar shit?”
A momentary flash of alarm crossed Julan’s face and he hastily lifted up his foot to check the underside of his shoe, only to scowl as Ribyna in turn cackled like a hyena.
“Don’t listen to her, she’s winding you up,” Fahjoth said with a sigh. “Right, well, if you’re done, shall we get going? We’re losing daylight. Unless we got a room for the night and headed out first thing.”
“Oh no, I’m not hanging around any longer than I need to!” Ribyna insisted, already turning on her heel and strolling out under the town’s entrance archway. “We’re going. What are you? Men or scribs?”
“You know that shit doesn’t work on me!” Fahjoth called, but nonetheless he followed suit, glancing back to ensure that Julan was following.
“Well, come on then! You and Guar-Boy better get a move on, or those bandits will have died of old age by the time we get there.”
Fahjoth said nothing, merely trotted along in Ribyna’s wake with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Likewise, Julan was quiet, but when Fahjoth risked a peek back at him, he caught him furiously mouthing “Guar-Boy?!” under his breath.
The road to Saturan was pleasantly empty. With the shadows cast by the sun growing as it sank behind the hills, plunging them into the bitterly chilly shade, Fahjoth was grateful that they encountered no trouble along the way.
By the time they located Saturan, dusk had come and gone, leaving only clear dark skies glittering with distant stars overhead. Fahjoth shivered as he stared at the cave entrance, the dilapidated wooden door concealing the unknown that lay within. He took a few cautious steps closer and gently pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges emitted a slight, shrill creak. The inside of the cave stretched further in than Fahjoth could see, its earthy tunnels lit by bracketed torches propped up on long iron poles jutting up from the ground.
The entrance cave meandered on for a short distance, descending deeper into the hill until opening up into a much larger cavern. The path was supplemented by a rough wooden boardwalk, its far end strewn with crates and candles and a ladder leading down to the lower levels. Fahjoth scuttled along, taking care not to hit his head on the low-hanging stalactites until he reached the crates, and beckoned Julan and Ribyna along behind him as he tucked himself behind one. Here, they looked down upon the lower boardwalk, where a few others paced back and forth, carrying boxes and sacks of loot back and forth. Fahjoth’s gaze was fixed down below, but he heard Ribyna and Julan settling down and crouching on either side.
“So, these must be the bandits,” Julan whispered. “Have you got a plan?”
“Sort of,” Fahjoth answered. “We need to get to the leader, somehow. Daldur Sarys. If we can take him out with a sneak attack, the rest should scatter like Oran said.”
“Right! So… how do we get to Sarys? Which one is Sarys, anyway?”
Fahjoth paused, frowning as he stared down at the bandit activity below. Truthfully, it was impossible to know exactly who their target was; all they could do was hope to hear his name brought up in conversation and go from there. But how long could they stay put, before someone discovered them and raised the alarm?
As Fahjoth pondered this rather pressing dilemma, he became aware of a soft rustling and clinking coming from his left. He glanced over, his heart beginning to hammer as he watched Ribyna idly rummaging through one of the crates.
“Oh hey, look!” She held up what seemed to be a bottle of sujamma, admiring it in the soft orange light of a nearby candle. “There’s loads of this shit in here! We won’t have to buy drinks for like, a week with this lot.”
Like Fahjoth, Julan’s agitation was evident.
“Put that down, they’ll hear you!” he hissed, lunging for the bottle. Though he made contact, Ribyna refused to relinquish it, keeping a firm grip on it herself.
“Piss off, Guar-Boy, get your own!”
“I’m not trying to steal it, you s’wit!”
“Oh yeah, right-o! I bet you’d be happy to guzzle this whole crate by yourself, you fucking alchie!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?! Let go—!”
With one sharp tug from Julan, the bottle was wrenched from Ribyna’s grip. But Julan, not expecting Ribyna to let go, toppled back and hit the boardwalk with a dull thud. His elbow struck the wood and the bottle was flung from his grasp, sailing over the side of the boardwalk and crashing against the wooden deck below, shattering on impact and splattering its sweet, frothy innards in a graceful explosion of liquor.
“Shit—!”
Fahjoth ducked back behind the crates, keeping himself as low to the ground as possible as he reached out towards Julan and hauled him back to safety as soon as he felt their hands meet. As the three huddled together, their breathing laboured with the effort of remaining as silent as possible, Fahjoth strained his ears to listen.
It was quiet. Far too quiet. The sounds of activity below ceased entirely as all bandits froze in their tracks.
“What the hell?”
Over the sound of Fahjoth’s own rapid heartbeat reverberating in his head, he listened to the soft creaking of the wooden planks beneath the bandits’ cautious feet becoming louder as the seconds ticked by. They couldn’t remain there for much longer.
“Fahjoth,” Julan whispered, “we have to do something.” He paused to listen for a moment before continuing with the same hushed urgency, “If we all rush out at the same time, maybe we can catch them off-guard.”
Julan led the assault. He vaulted down the steps and engaged with the first bandit, an Orc who was unlucky enough to be standing closest. As Fahjoth followed suit, from his periphery he saw Ribyna leap over the crates and land on the lower boardwalk where she lunged at the closest bandit. The force from her collision knocked them both clean off the edge, causing a loud squelch as they landed in the muck beneath.
Fahjoth drew his weapon as he charged forward and the Redguard bandit in front of him scrambled back for distance, reaching for his own axe. But Fahjoth was faster, and the Redguard hollered as his hand was struck with Fahjoth’s sword, leaving an angry, weeping welt across his knuckles. With the blade sailing ever closer, the Redguard threw up both hands in an act of surrender.
“I yield!” he cried, and Fahjoth ceased his attack. There was no way he could kill a surrendering man... But his sword hand did not waver, and after a second he spoke the first thing that came to mind.
“I’ll give you one chance,” he said, his voice heavy with threat. “Your group’s done. Get out.”
The Redguard needed no encouragement. Edging around Fahjoth’s sword, he broke into a sprint up the steps and fled, his footsteps echoing down the cavern until the creaking of the door in the distance announced his departure.
As he caught his breath, Fahjoth glanced around to see how his companions were faring. His eyes fell on Julan; his sword was slick with blood and his opponent had dropped twitching to the ground, and a surge of admiration welled up in Fahjoth’s chest. He opened his mouth to call over to him, but the air froze in his chest as a shadow caught his eye.
A hunched figure crept closer to Julan, the glint of a blade flashing in the candlelight as it was drawn from its sheath.
“Julan!” Fahjoth yelled, kicking off into a mad dash back up the boardwalk to his friend. The figure, a Dunmer, recognising that his cover had been blown, fully brandished his weapon and rushed towards Julan as well. As Julan raised his own sword, Fahjoth caught up with the bandit and threw himself legs-first at the bandit’s ankles.
A burning pain radiated out from his shin as the bandit’s foot collided with it. Fahjoth skidded to the ground, but his effort had been enough. The Dunmer, tripped up by Fahjoth’s sliding tackle, stumbled forward — and directly into range of Julan’s shortsword. Julan lunged, impaling the bandit clean through the neck. With blood dribbling from his gurgling mouth, the bandit crumpled to his knees, and after a hard kick to the chest from Julan, he dropped to the ground and fell still.
With his leg throbbing, Fahjoth struggled to get his feet, but Julan was quick to approach and offer a hand which he gladly accepted. But before he could say his thanks, footsteps at the end of the cavern alerted them to the arrival of two more Dunmer.
One of them, donning thick chitin armour, stared at the scene in shock before his angular features twisted with rage.
“You’ll regret killing my people, you n’wah!” he hissed, drawing a glimmering sword as he stepped closer. Behind him, the second Dunmer — donning the elegant robes of a mage — raised his hands as he prepared a blistering fiery spell. Julan prepared his own spell in retaliation, but before the mage could attack, a dark figure on the ground beneath the boardwalk suddenly lunged at his legs.
The mage howled as Ribyna plunged her dagger into his knee, and as he was rendered lame and unbalanced, she grabbed his robes and dragged him down to the ground with her. The head bandit — Daldur Sarys — snapped his head around in alarm, and Fahjoth took his opportunity.
He struck at Sarys with his sword, but Sarys faced him in time to block it with his own, the hilt vibrating in Fahjoth’s hand and the blades screeching as they clashed. As Fahjoth jumped back to avoid Sarys’ retaliation, Julan’s voice rang out from behind.
“Fahjoth, get down!”
Without hesitation, Fahjoth ducked.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as a crackling energy sailed overhead. He risked peering up in time to witness a bolt of electricity crashing down on Sarys. As the magic jolted through his body, he gave a choked gasp and stumbled back, and Fahjoth took his chance. He whacked at Sarys’ sword arm, and — as he drew a deep breath and steeled himself — slashed his blade across the bandit’s throat.
With a deep laceration in his neck now gushing blood, Sarys began to stagger on the spot. A weak glow illuminated his hand as he tried desperately to heal himself, but the damage had already been done. Unable to breathe, and with his own blood generously painting both himself and the wooden planks beneath his feet, Sarys could only remain standing for a few seconds more before his legs gave way beneath him and, like the rest of his comrades, he collapsed.
With the silence in the cavern now punctuated only by the sound of their ragged panting, Fahjoth turned to face Julan, taking deep breaths in an attempt to force his heart rate back to normal. The pain in his leg now pulsed much more noticeably than before.
“I think that’s all of them,” he said, limping to meet Julan and weakly wiggling his sword to shake off the blood. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Julan answered. “What about you? Is your leg okay? That fall looked nasty.”
“It will be,” Fahjoth replied, but before he could continue, a noise behind them caused them both to whirl around in alarm. Fahjoth’s heart hammered again, but it calmed as soon as he realised it was just Ribyna, wearily clambering back up onto the boardwalk from the muddy cave floor beneath, splattered from head to foot with a grim combination of muck and blood. Fahjoth started towards her and offered a hand to help her up — which she ignored entirely.
“Beebs! Are you alright—“
“No thanks to you.”
Fahjoth paused. “What d’you mean?“ She had since got to her feet, but as Fahjoth tried to reach out to her again, he faltered as she smacked his hand away. “Ribyna, what’s the matter?”
Ribyna didn’t answer. Instead she gave a derisive scoff, turning away from Fahjoth and making a half-hearted attempt to clean the grime off her leathers. Confusion gave way to a prickling anger as Fahjoth’s blood began to boil.
Before he could stop himself, he had snapped back.
“What exactly is your problem? I mean if it wasn’t for you fighting with Julan, none of this would have happened in the first place! What the hell were you thinking?!”
Ribyna let out a humourless laugh. “Oh yeah, that’s right! Go on, blame me instead of your new best mate who can do no wrong!”
“What?” Fahjoth’s mouth dropped open as he stumbled over his words. “W— where’s this coming from?”
“As if you need to ask! It’s like he’s the only one who matters now!”
From beside him, Fahjoth noticed Julan bristle and take a breath as he prepared his retort. Fahjoth held up a hand and shot him a pleading glance — a silent request to let him handle this situation, which Julan thankfully obliged.
“Beebs, you’re being ridiculous—”
“Am I, though?! Ever since he joined us, you’ve been siding with him and defending him all the time!”
Fahjoth frowned, his frustration from Ribyna’s behaviour over the past few days finally bubbling over and spilling out. “Because you’ve been treating him like shit!”
“He treated us like shit, Fahjoth! Or have you forgotten already?!”
“I apologised for that,” Julan interjected with a frown.
Glancing between Julan and Ribyna, Fahjoth nodded. “He did apologise for that, Beebs.”
Ribyna cackled again, a rough, unpleasant sound devoid of any mirth. “There, you’re doing it again! Well, d’you know what, I’m done. I’m fed up of you picking this random guar-fucker over your own fucking family.”
Fahjoth stepped back, Ribyna’s words hitting him like a punch to the face as a wave of unease washed over him. “But... I’m not—”
“Save it!”
She turned away, and Fahjoth’s stomach churned as he noticed an unmistakable dark red stain oozing from her hairline, just before her temple.
“Ribyna? Did you— are you hurt?”
He stepped closer again and cautiously touched her shoulder, but another hard strike from Ribyna sent him recoiling instantly.
“Ribyna—!”
“Fuck you both. See you ‘round.”
Ignoring Fahjoth’s cries, Ribyna wheeled around and stormed off with a distinct unsteadiness in her steps. His gut twisting and a cold sweat settling on his skin, Fahjoth continued to shout after his twin long after her angry footsteps had receded into silence.
“Ribyna!”
With nothing answering him but the gentle dripping of water from the cave roof, Fahjoth dropped his head into his hand and sighed. Things had been tense with Ribyna lately, but he hadn’t anticipated such a blow-out. He hadn’t realised she still held such a grudge for Julan’s attitude on their first encounter. Why couldn’t she have just talked to him about this? He was used to her stubborn reticence, but it was still incredibly frustrating.
“I’m sorry.”
Fahjoth turned around. Julan was standing there, looking almost as wretched as Fahjoth felt.
“What are you apologising for, mate?”
Julan wrung his hands, dropping his gaze. “I just… I feel like this is all my fault.”
“Hey, don’t be daft!” Fahjoth took a few hasty steps forward until he was close enough to rest his hands on Julan’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. Ribyna is just…” He grimaced, shrugging as he wondered how best to explain. “She isn’t the easiest person in the world to get on with. She doesn’t really… make friends very easily.”
“But my point still stands!” Julan protested. “Me being here is just causing you problems. You wouldn’t be fighting with your twin if it wasn’t for me.”
Fahjoth scoffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure. We always squabble over… pretty much everything. But— look…” He gave Julan’s shoulders a squeeze and crouched the few inches necessary until they were at eye-level with each other, trying to convey his sincerity with a small smile. “I promised I’d help you train, and I’m sticking to that. Whether that’s with or without Ribyna. Okay?”
Julan managed a weak smile in return. “Okay.”
“Anyway, you’re not just causing me problems!” Fahjoth continued. “Look at what we did today! I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, mate.”
“You probably would have. But thanks.” Julan’s smile gradually became a grin. “We do make a pretty good team, don’t we?”
Fahjoth’s smile widened. “Damn right we do!” Without thinking, he pulled Julan into an enthusiastic one-armed hug — only to panic as he realised what he’d done. Had he crossed a line? He didn’t know what Julan’s stance on physical contact was; what if he was offended?
“Sorry, I just—” he began babbling as he backed off, but Julan simply laughed and patted Fahjoth on the shoulder in return.
“It’s fine,” he said. “So… shall we get going? I could kill for a mazte right now!”
Fahjoth raised a brow, glancing around at the bloodied heaps of bodies dotted around the cave. “I think we already did, mate.” He flashed Julan another grin and set off, limping out of the cave while frequently looking back to ensure that Julan was following. “I think we’ve more than earned that mazte.”
“Hah, you’re right.” He glanced down at Fahjoth’s leg, noticing his awkward gait. “Are you sure your leg’s alright?”
“Oh, it’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Fahjoth replied, waving Julan’s concern aside with an airy flick of his wrist. “It’s just a bit bruised, I think.”
“As long as you’re sure. You know, that was an impressive tackle.” Julan paused, a thoughtful look on his face as he trotted along beside Fahjoth. “I heard you letting one of them go.”
Fahjoth faltered, his grin slipping away to a wry smile. “Yeah… he was yielding. I couldn’t bring myself to kill someone after they’d surrendered.”
“You’ve got better morals than half of Morrowind then. At least.” For a moment, Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be taken as a compliment or an insult, but Julan continued, “Oh, I’m not criticising! I think it’s nice. Just… be careful, okay? I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”
A curious feeling settled in Fahjoth’s stomach. He glanced at Julan, the earnesty on his face clear to see even in the low light of the nearby torch flames, and instantly Fahjoth felt a rush of gratitude and affection for his new friend. The idea that another person cared that much about him warmed him from the inside out, even as they stepped out into the chilly night air.
“Cheers, mate,” he said, clapping Julan on the shoulder as another smile lifted his cheeks. “Let’s go tell Oran the good news, then go get those drinks.”
Julan grinned back, lightly bumping Fahjoth’s shoulder with his own.
summary
As the party grows from two to three, Fahjoth tries his best to smooth over tensions.
content warnings
strong warning for nausea/emetophobia about halfway down
read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍
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The shock reverberated up Fahjoth’s shins as his feet found solid ground with a jolt. Gasping, he staggered back, desperately trying to regain his balance. Once his brain caught up with the messages his eyes were receiving, he realised that the three of them were back in Ald’ruhn; a nearby guard stared at them from behind his impassive helm, but otherwise he didn’t seem to care too much for three Dunmer suddenly materialising out of thin air.
While Fahjoth remained on his feet, Ribyna was not so lucky, and she groaned from her landing position face-down on the dusty ground. “Ugh… what the fuck was that?!” she spat, rubbing smudges of dirt from her face as she dragged herself upright again.
“Almsivi Intervention,” Julan answered, discomfort clear on his face. “It teleports you to the nearest Tribunal temple.” There was a pause before he continued, “I’m sorry, I— I don’t know what happened back there… You must think I’m such a coward. I swear I’m not. I swear I am a warrior, and I’ve never run from a fight, nor do I fear death.”
“Look, don’t be daft,” Fahjoth replied, raising his voice to speak over Ribyna’s loud scoffing as he tried to reassure Julan. “We don’t think you’re a coward—”
“Speak for yourself...” Ribyna muttered, but Fahjoth ignored her to reassure Julan.
“I wasn’t exactly having a good time up there either,” he continued, trying to inject a bit of humour into the situation. Judging by Julan’s expression, it hadn’t worked.
“I’m not afraid of Red Mountain, or any of its monsters,” Julan said. “It’s... something else. It’s to do with these… weird dreams I’ve been having.”
Fahjoth’s curiosity was piqued as he thought back to his own night terrors. He hadn’t experienced them for a while, and for that he was thankful, but recollections of fiery landscapes and dark figures with blazing red eyes still lingered in the back of his mind. “Oh yeah?”
Julan took a deep breath. “I dream that I’m climbing Red Mountain. It’s just like what we saw — it’s dark, the air is filled with ash that gets into my eyes and mouth, but the further I go up, the harder it is to keep going. And then there’s all these voices, whispering things to me.”
“What sort of things?”
“That’s the thing, I don’t even know. I can’t understand what they’re saying, it’s too hard to make out. But it sounds, uh… well, not good, y’know?” Julan looked between Fahjoth and Ribyna apprehensively. “You’ve heard of Dagoth Ur, right? I mean, I’m guessing you have, but...”
Their silence said more than enough; Ribyna’s face looked as blank as Fahjoth’s brain felt, and Julan was visibly stunned.
“Oh come on, even outlanders must know about him! Dagoth Ur? The devil who lives beneath Red Mountain?”
“Sorry, mate.” Fahjoth shrugged. “I don’t—” Then he stopped, as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, does he have anything to do with the Sixth House Cult?”
“Yeah…” Julan frowned, and Fahjoth began to feel as if he’d done something wrong. “What do you know about the Sixth House Cult?”
“Honestly, not much.” At least that was truthful. There was no point bringing up Cosades and his work, as Fahjoth knew very little about it himself. “I just heard there’s been attacks from sleeper agents. I saw one of them myself.” He couldn’t suppress a shudder at the memory, remembering the vacant expression on the Dunmer’s face and his iron grip as hot as ashes on his wrist. “He said something like… Dagoth Ur is risen, something something Sixth House glory… I don’t know.”
Even Ribyna looked surprised by Fahjoth’s anecdote, while Julan’s tone became one of understanding instead. “Ah, I see. Yeah. Dagoth Ur is a powerful figure in our history and legends. Supposedly, he causes people to go insane by sending them dreams.”
Ribyna raised a brow at that. “What, so you reckon you’re going insane?”
“What— no!” Julan replied defensively. “I am not insane and I’m not planning to be, either! Lots of people dream about him. It’s nothing.”
For a moment, Fahjoth wondered if it was worth bringing up his own dreams. But if what Julan said was right, then perhaps it was more common than he had thought. He didn’t feel like he was going insane, and as long as it stayed that way, then he surely ought to be alright.
On realising that he had tuned out of the conversation, Fahjoth jolted and made an effort to concentrate again.
“Then why are you so bothered by them that you can’t even climb a mountain?” Ribyna was saying.
“I’m not! I mean—” Julan blew out, his frustration evident. “Look, I know it doesn’t make any sense, okay? I just need time. Anyway…” He looked between the twins, vying for a change of subject. “Never mind that. How about getting on with some training? I could do with taking my mind off things.”
“Yeah, alright. Good idea,” Fahjoth agreed. He gestured between himself and Ribyna. “Me and Beebs are both used to working with short blades and light armour.” Then he gave a dry laugh. “I don’t think either of us will be able to help with your magic, though. We can’t cast spells for shit.”
“Hah! That’s alright.” Julan grinned. “I don’t need any help with archery, either, I’ve been practising since I was small. I prefer fighting with blades anyway, so I’m up for that.”
“Right!”
Fahjoth turned to face Ribyna, alarmed by the sight of her drawing her dagger.
“Sparring match, then? Let’s see how we do,” she suggested. Fahjoth was nervous; Ribyna’s attitude so far hadn’t sat well with him at all, and neither was the look on her face as she eyed Julan. Such a sudden turnaround, going from being openly hostile to Julan to wanting to spar with him, didn’t exactly bode well.
Whether Julan himself shared Fahjoth’s apprehension wasn’t apparent. On the contrary, he drew his own shortsword and nodded.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?” Fahjoth asked. “With real weapons? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”
“It’ll be fine, Fahji,” Ribyna said dismissively.
“Don’t worry, we won’t go too hard,” Julan added. Fahjoth wasn’t at all optimistic about that, but he held his tongue and decided to lean against a nearby wall to observe.
Ribyna brandished her dagger and stalked a circle around Julan, who stood ready with his chitin sword. Without warning she lunged, hard and fast. Julan brought his sword up to deflect the blow, the blades screeching on impact. A retaliation from Julan, deliberately slow and cautious, forced Ribyna back and kept her at arm’s length for the time being. Overall, it seemed to be going well, and Fahjoth began to relax.
That was until one particularly close call from the tip of Julan’s blade threw Ribyna off her rhythm. Although the strike hit the tough leather of her armour, the force and angle still caused the dagger to get flung from her grip. With a grin, Julan pointed his sword up to her chest, puffing from the brief yet intense exercise.
“Got you! Maybe don’t drop your weapon next time.”
Ribyna only scowled in response. Then with a flash of steel, she pivoted herself against Julan’s chest, a second dagger poised against his throat.
“Maybe make sure your opponent is actually unarmed next time.”
There was a moment of stiff silence; Ribyna glared at Julan, her face less than an inch from his own, while Julan stared back defiantly. Then the tension broke, and she backed up and resumed pacing, looking for the next opportunity to strike.
The remainder of the sparring session continued much in the same manner, with Ribyna and Julan flitting around each other in a vicious dance, both trying to get the upper hand over the other. A short while and a few close calls later and they agreed to call it a day, having been reasonably evenly matched. It seemed that training together would be as beneficial for Fahjoth and Ribyna as it would be for Julan himself.
“How about a drink?” Fahjoth suggested to his somewhat bruised companions. “I think we could all do with chilling out for a bit.”
“Fine by me,” Ribyna said, while Julan looked awkward.
“Oh, I… don’t think I have enough to—” Julan started, but he stopped as Fahjoth waved a hand genially.
“Don’t worry about it,” he chirped, offering Julan a friendly smile. “I’ll get them. I owe Ribyna a round, anyway.”
Julan’s unease melted away and was replaced with a grin, which Fahjoth found quite contagious. He purposefully ignored Ribyna’s dull glare in his periphery, focusing instead on Julan.
“Well, I wouldn’t say no to a mazte, if you’re offering.”
“Sorted!” Fahjoth declared, ambling further into Ald’ruhn while Ribyna and Julan limped along with him. He was subjected to the uncomfortable feeling of someone staring at him, and he didn’t need to look around to know that it was coming from Ribyna.
Once they reached the cool shade of the Ald Skar Inn, Fahjoth suggested that Julan find them a table while he went to retrieve the drinks, to which he happily obliged. However, Fahjoth was not all surprised when Ribyna offered to help him carry them over, despite knowing full well that he could handle them himself, and prepared himself for the ear bashing he knew was imminent.
“He’s taking the piss,” Ribyna hissed, once they were at the bar and out of earshot of Julan. “You know what’s gonna happen, don’t you?”
Fahjoth heaved a sigh as he leaned against the bar, deciding to just let her rant. “Go on then, enlighten me.”
“He’s gonna mooch off you every chance he gets! He’s always gonna be all, ‘oh no, I don’t have any money’, and then you’ll have to pay for every-bloody-thing.”
“I don’t mind. It’s not like I don’t have the gold for a few drinks here and there. I’d do the same for any friend!”
Ribyna’s mouth fell open. “Friend?” she spat, outraged. “You barely even know the bastard! Honestly Fahjoth, you see a pretty boy and I swear your whole fucking brain just shuts down!”
Trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks, Fahjoth was quick to see a lifeline and he clung to it like a drowning man. “Oh, so you think he’s pretty, do you?”
This time, it was Ribyna whose cheeks flushed a dull red. “I— no, I never— don’t put words in my mouth!” she retorted, fuming. “You know exactly what I’m saying, and you know I’m right!”
“Well, just do me a favour and keep it to yourself if you can,” Fahjoth requested flatly. “I don’t want Julan to feel uncomfortable. More than he already is...”
Ribyna looked as though she was going to continue to argue, but a moment of respite came when the drinks arrived. Fahjoth hastily took them over to the table before Ribyna could say another word, leaving her to traipse after him clutching her own. Once he placed the drinks down on the table, Julan gratefully took his, shuffling his stool along to make plenty of room for the twins to join him.
“So, whereabouts do you two live?” he asked. “It’s not here in Ald’ruhn, is it?”
“Nah, we’re staying in Balmora.”
“Probably a good thing. It’s like the dusty armpit of Vvardenfell here. And so Redoran, it’s illegal to even joke about it!” Julan swigged his mazte, looking to Fahjoth curiously. “What’s Balmora like?”
“Bit bigger than Ald’ruhn. And less dusty. You’ll see it for yourself soon!” Fahjoth paused. “Well, that’s if you still want to come with us. I’ve got to go check in with my boss soon.”
“Course I do. As long as we can still continue to train, then I don’t mind where we go.”
Fahjoth grinned. “Don’t worry about that. If I’m not around, you’ll be able to spar with Ribyna again!”
“Oh yeah, ‘cause it’s not like I’ve got a life outside you or anything,” Ribyna grumbled, staring at Julan with heavy mistrust — and even dislike. Julan seemed to notice as well, for his smile slipped somewhat and an awkward silence fell over the table.
“Anyway…” Julan attempted a wary change of subject. “What is it that you do for a living? Apart from rescuing people from clannfears, of course.”
“To be honest, mate…” Fahjoth shrugged. “I don’t really know. I know that sounds daft, but mostly I just run errands. Gather information. Sometimes nearly get myself killed in Dwemer ruins or haunted tombs. That sort of thing.”
“Sounds… interesting.”
Both he and Julan both then turned to Ribyna, but she remained silent, glowering back at them while she sipped her drink. Fahjoth’s stomach sank. With Ribyna’s stubborn refusal to socialise, the relatively upbeat mood had been well and truly quashed.
A heavy weight began to settle in Fahjoth's chest. Though he was looking forward to working with Julan, the excitement was spoiled by Ribyna's behaviour and incessant hostility towards him. He knew Ribyna was prickly at the best of times, but he hadn't anticipated this much resistance to gaining a new companion. If Julan was going to stay with them for the foreseeable, Fahjoth dreaded the idea of trying to persuade her to play nice. How much more grief were they going to get from her?
But more importantly, how far did Julan's tolerance extend? How long would he put up with her animosity and foul mood before deciding that he'd had enough?
——————————————
“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s up with your hair?”
Blinking, Fahjoth slowly turned to face Julan, trying to concentrate over the rough jerking of the silt strider’s teetering steps and the shrill grinding of its chitinous joints ringing in his ears. He wasn’t normally prone to motion sickness, but being so high above ground level coupled with the vigorous swaying of his seat was not a good combination, and Fahjoth had spent much of the journey from Ald’ruhn to Balmora trying to hold down the urge to vomit. After spending another day in and around Ald’ruhn for training and shopping, Fahjoth could no longer put off returning to Balmora and the silt strider was the fastest way to get there. Even if it did make him want to throw up.
His first time riding one, and he dearly wished for it to be his last.
Julan perhaps mistook his silence for offence, for he held up a hand apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“Eh? No, it’s fine. Sorry for being quiet, I’m just not feeling great,” Fahjoth explained, squinting as the low sun on the horizon shone into his eyes. At least the weather had been good for their trip. “Well, it used to be totally black. But a few years ago, it started to go white in the front here.” He held up a strand by means of demonstration. “I dunno why.”
“That really is weird.”
“I still reckon it was stress,” Ribyna added, looking over her shoulder with a smirk. With her arm hanging loosely over the silt strider’s side, she seemed to be having no issues with the bumpy ride. “Obviously not everyone is cut out for life in prison.”
Julan did a double-take, looking from Ribyna to Fahjoth with shock. “You’ve been arrested?”
Fahjoth turned to Ribyna, scowling. Ribyna simply smiled back at him with false pleasantry and turned away to gaze at their surroundings as the silt strider tottered along. With a sigh, he turned back to Julan, feeling somehow even more queasy at the thought of telling the truth and wondering how Julan would take it.
Damn Ribyna and her big mouth!
“Yeah. Me and Ribyna both came here on a prison ship,” Fahjoth admitted. Instantly, Julan looked leery.
“You’re both convicts? You’re not on the run, are you?”
“No! No, nothing like that. We were released.”
“Released? On Vvardenfell?” Julan scoffed. “That’s just typical of the Empire. As if they haven’t done us enough damage, now they’re offloading their unwanted criminals onto us!”
Admittedly, that comment stung. But before Fahjoth could answer, Ribyna had whipped around in her seat again, looking none too pleased with Julan’s remark herself.
“Yeah, that’s no good, is it? It’s not like those unwanted criminals saved your sorry arse from getting eaten alive by clannfears or anything!”
Julan blanched, biting his lip as he realised what he had said. “Oh— gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it personally. Look, I didn’t mean— well…” As he took a deep breath, Fahjoth noted his hesitation to continue. “You do seem like a good person… people. Good people. Um... were you... y’know... guilty? Of... whatever it was you did to get arrested.”
Fahjoth, for a moment, was silent. He risked a glance over at Ribyna, feeling his stomach clench when he saw that she had turned her back to them again. She said nothing, but Fahjoth could see the tension in her shoulders, and he knew his twin well enough to know that if he spoke the truth, it would hurt her. So he looked back to Julan, thinking about his words carefully.
“It’s... a bit of a long story, mate,” he said. “It was...” — he paused, waving his hands vaguely — “an accident.”
Julan stared at him with a mild frown, and Fahjoth felt himself break into a nervous sweat, not knowing what he was thinking. After a silence that was far too long for his liking, Julan spoke up at last.
“I believe you,” he said simply. “I’m not sure why, but I do. Like I said, you seem like a good person, and either way, I’m willing to judge you on your actions here and now, rather than in the past. Whatever they were.”
A wave of relief crashed over Fahjoth, but before he could respond, a particularly vigorous judder in the silt strider’s pace hit him like a punch to the gut. His stomach, already churning from nausea and anxiety, convulsed violently and a thick, wet sourness hit the back of his throat. Spinning around, he bolted up from his seat, leaning over the side and letting his head hang as he fought to swallow the sickness down again.
Through watering eyes Fahjoth watched as the ground went rushing by with the strider’s uneven pace, stopping and starting with every bumpy step, the leaves on the trees and bushes below blurring into one as his eyes struggled to focus. How far up was he, anyway? Twenty-five feet? Thirty?
His knuckles whitened as he clenched his trembling hands, his skin becoming hot and clammy and damp with sweat while his heart fluttered an uncomfortable half-rhythm in his chest. After seconds which lasted a lifetime, during which the contents of his stomach barely managed to settle, Fahjoth hauled himself back into the relative safety of his seat. It was still as choppy as ever, but at least he didn’t have to look at the ground this way. When he was able to focus again, he found Julan’s perturbed face fixed rapt upon his own.
“Fahjoth, are you alright?”
“Yeah Fahji, you look pale as fuck,” Ribyna added, finally turning her gaze back around, brows furrowed with concern. “Here you are, have some of this.”
She rummaged in her backpack and fished out a bottle of mazte, reaching back to offer it to Fahjoth. Fahjoth, however, shook his head with his mouth clamped tightly shut. If he opened it, there would likely be more than just words coming out.
Julan reached over and patted Fahjoth’s shoulder, albeit seeming reluctant to get too close. “It’s okay, I think we’re nearly there. Just... hold onto your lunch a bit longer, alright?”
The silt strider finally drawing to a halt could not have been a bigger relief. Except now that they had reached Balmora, Fahjoth faced the prospect of having to disembark from the silt strider and onto that precarious platform awaiting them. It had been bad enough ascending the narrow ramp to board the strider, how on Nirn was he going to get back down again?
Fortunately, Ribyna was on hand to lend him hers. Once she had clambered up out of the strider's hollowed-out carapace, she offered her hand to Fahjoth as he hesitantly followed suit. The simple boon of having something firm to grip onto while he stumbled out of the silt strider made all the difference, and without a word, Ribyna let Fahjoth continue holding her hand as they made their way down the slope, Fahjoth's pace hindered significantly by his shaking legs.
It took all his effort not to collapse to his knees the moment he stepped on solid ground at last. He doubled over, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths as he tried to encourage his stomach to settle, paying no heed to anything else going on around him. Once his nausea had subsided enough, he straightened back up again, preparing to face the mocking and jeering he predicted from his travelling companions.
However, there was nothing of the sort. Both Ribyna and Julan were watching him, their faces showing nothing but concern and sympathy.
“Not good with heights?” Julan asked, his tone one of pity.
“I— I dunno,” Fahjoth admitted. “I never realised... but I suppose, yeah. Obviously…”
“Either that or the turbulence,” Julan suggested. He fell silent, turning his gaze away to survey Balmora instead. "So, this is Balmora? It’s so grand." There was clear hesitation in his voice as he continued, “Um... tell me honestly, do I look like a complete savage?”
Fahjoth blinked. “What?”
Julan chewed his lip, his eyes darting from left to right apprehensively, as if searching for anyone who would look at him with disdain. “I know how people view Ashlanders. They think we’re violent, uncivilised barbarians who live in filth and poverty. They don’t even try to understand us, or our culture, or why we choose to live as we do. But we’re proud of our culture. We don’t need these tacky displays of wealth to be happy — we have more valuable things of our own.”
Before Fahjoth could even open his mouth, Ribyna cut across him. “Oh, don’t worry. Me and Fahjoth grew up stinking savages ourselves.”
Unsurprisingly Julan bristled, glaring at Ribyna and quietly seething. Sensing an altercation brewing, Fahjoth hastily spoke up, cringing over Ribyna’s lack of sensitivity. “What she means is that... well, we grew up on the streets,” he explained. “People saw us as nothing more than dirty, uncivilised thieves, as well.”
Thankfully, Julan seemed to calm down. “Well. Then maybe you’ll understand. My people are viewed with suspicion here in the cities. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of my heritage, but I feel like I might be too conspicuous. I don’t want to go drawing any attention. What d’you think?”
Fahjoth shrugged. “I mean... you look fine to me, Julan. But if you like, we can look into getting you some new clothes.”
“At least get him something that smells less of guar,” Ribyna interjected, and once again, Fahjoth wanted to throttle her. Fortunately, Julan didn’t take offence.
“Maybe that would be a good idea, actually. But!” He jabbed Fahjoth in the chest with a finger. “If you make me look ridiculous, I swear I’ll never forgive you!”
Fahjoth held his hands up innocently, a grin curling at the corners of his lips. “I would never! I’ve got a good eye for fashion, me. Can’t you tell? Anyway…” He looked between Julan and Ribyna with an apologetic gaze. “Do you two wanna go get us a table in the South Wall Cornerclub? I need to go speak to Cosades, but I’ll join you straight after. He gets grumpy if I call on him too late in the day.”
Both Ribyna and Julan looked as apprehensive as Fahjoth felt to be sending off by themselves, but for the moment, it was unavoidable.
“Alright, well... don’t be long!” Ribyna said with a frown.
“I won’t!” Fahjoth called back as he began heading off, jogging away between the long shadows cast by the setting sun.
——————————————
Given the lateness of the hour, Fahjoth had assumed that Cosades would be home, perhaps settling down for the night with a few bottles of booze as he was wont to do. To his surprise, that was not the case. He lingered around for five minutes, just on the off-chance that Cosades would turn up, but he was reluctant to leave Julan and Ribyna alone for much longer. So he hurried on to the South Wall Cornerclub, hoping that the two had not bitten chunks out of each other in his absence.
However, he needn't have worried. When Fahjoth arrived and descended the steps into the bar, he spotted Ribyna and Julan sitting in complete stony silence at their usual corner table. Quite frankly, he had seen funerals looking more lively.
His arrival seemed to come as a relief, as Julan glanced up and waved Fahjoth over. Fahjoth obliged, joining them at the table with haste as he accepted the bottle that Ribyna pushed towards him. He was both unsurprised and disappointed to see that Julan had nothing.
“Sorry about this,” he murmured, casually pushing his own mazte over to Julan instead.
“It's fine,” Julan replied. “Not like either of you are obligated to buy me a drink.”
“Yeah, but it's polite, isn't it?” he said, directing this particular comment over to Ribyna, who curled her lip but said nothing on the matter.
“So did you see Cosades?” she asked instead. “What's he got lined up for you this time?”
“He wasn't in,” Fahjoth answered. “I'll see him tomorrow, I'm sure.” He paused, before sliding a handful of coins over the table towards Ribyna. “Could you go get me a mazte? I still feel a bit dodgy.”
“I already got you a mazte.”
“Ribyna, come on,” Fahjoth groaned, desperate for one night of peace. “Please.”
A moment of irate silence later and Ribyna got to her feet, striding off towards the bar with a distinctly sour demeanour.
Fahjoth sighed, burying his face behind his hands with dismay. “I'm so sorry about her,” he apologised, lowering his hands and resting his chin on his fist.
Julan shrugged. Fahjoth had to admire his fortitude. “Don't worry about it. It's hardly your fault. And I've dealt with much worse, believe me.” He peered over his shoulder, jerking his head in Ribyna's direction before turning back to Fahjoth. “I don't suppose you know what her problem is?”
“I wouldn't take it personally, mate,” Fahjoth said. “She's just... like that. To everyone, pretty much.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his mouth continuing to move as his frustrations began to seep out. “Has been for years, now. I knew she was... difficult, but I swear she's gotten so much worse since we got here. Like, I know you need gold to survive, that's obvious, but there's gotta be better ways of going about that than joining the Thieves Guild or the Morag bloody Tong—”
“Hold on,” Julan interrupted, cutting Fahjoth off mid-rant. “She's in the Morag Tong?!”
Fahjoth froze, realising his slip-up.
“Uh…” he began, but he was spared the need to respond by Ribyna's return.
“There's your bloody mazte,” she said grumpily, putting the drink down in front of Fahjoth with enough force that, for a moment, he thought the bottle might shatter. Before he could say anything, Julan was on the attack.
“So you're in the Morag Tong.” He glared at Ribyna, his grip on his own bottle hard. “The Morag Tong! You'd better have a damn good reason for this!”
Ribyna paused, slowly turning her gaze to Fahjoth as she sat down again. Fahjoth could merely offer her an apologetic grimace, and with a loud huff, she rolled her eyes and turned back to Julan.
“Come on then, I want to hear this!” Julan went on. “How can you possibly justify joining a murder cult?!”
“It's a job,” Ribyna said bluntly. “I get paid to do it. That's all. And keep your bloody voice down, will you?”
After glancing around to ensure that they hadn't drawn any undue attention already, Julan continued in a low hiss. “So that's all this is to you? Money? There's lots of ways to make gold that don't involve killing people you don't even know!”
“Listen, save the lectures. If someone's got to die, they're gonna get killed either way. At least this way, I can get paid for it!”
Julan sighed, eyeing Ribyna with distrust. “Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I have to like it. You're still walking up to a stranger and putting a dagger in their back. I don't know if I could live like that. And if you can, well…”
“Yeah? Well if you don't like it, you know where the door is,” Ribyna spat. “In fact, why don't you do us both a favour and piss off back to the Ashlands alread—”
“Alright, that's enough!” Fahjoth snapped, holding his hands up towards the bickering pair. “Both of you, pack it in! You're doing my head in. Let's all just calm down, okay? Thank you…”
Fahjoth hung his head after his outburst, going back to nursing his mazte in silence and deliberately avoiding both Ribyna and Julan's eyes. Already he felt guilty about losing his temper, but he was still feeling rough from the silt strider ride and the vicious squabble wasn’t helping. He was beginning to wonder if they would ever get along; the prospect of having to put up with their constant quarrelling was a grim one. Was this going to be his existence for the foreseeable future? Playing referee between his twin and his new friend?
He despaired at the thought. But he could always live in hope, no matter how exhausting it was.
————————————————————————
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