He presses the back of his other hand against Fidorance’s forehead, leans in close, and murmurs, “For us, in here, the war’s never going to end. You should make your peace with it now.”
“How?” Fidorance asks, hating how broken he sounds.
He’s tried pushing Zius away. He’s tried reintegrating into a society that can no longer accept him. He’s tried returning to his old ways within the knights, and none of it has brought him any closer to peace. But maybe Zius, brilliant as he is, knows the secret he has been seeking for so long. Maybe it is better to leave this kind of thing to the people who always end up being proven right.
And the secret wisdom Zius imparts on him about accepting his reality is this: “You stay with people who already have.”
What he isn’t saying: stay with me.
But Fidorance can hear it anyway, and he stares at Zius, slack-jawed, for just a moment.
And then he smiles, sad and slow. “You’ve been lonely too, huh.”
The green necklace hanging around Zius’s neck glitters softly in the sunlight.
There are two ghosts that haunt Nagyunn. One is Najin, and that is his penance; for killing his little brother, Nagyunn will carry the weight of his aspirations for the rest of his life.
But he left someone else behind in the burnt remains of his old home too.
(snippet from a fic that i am never going to finish.)
----
For a terrible moment, his sleep-addled brain can’t remember who is supposed to be dead. Najin is both simultaneously gone and alive, and in the meantime no one mourned the person he was, and no one will mourn him for the person he has become. He’s already as good as dead, living out his dead brother’s life with his dead brother’s name.
He sits up suddenly, startling Pymel, and starts to tie his hair.
“Rested well kids?” the Wild Dog calls, far too energetic for the early morning.
They stand at attention and give him the spirited response he’s looking for. He grins and rattles off their next set of drills. Nagyunn settles into rhythm with the others before long.
Even under this close scrutiny, no one sees who he is—not even Tyr, someone who has known him for most of his life. In these strenuous days of training, he is finally beginning to understand what it means to have taken the name of his dead twin.
To live as Najin is to live as a ghost. He knew that, going into this, that no one would ever acknowledge him again. He was banking on it, in fact. Being invisible is its own kind of protection, and loneliness is a familiar friend after all those years in Woodion.
It is still painful, of course, but in some ways that makes his tasks easier. Use the apprentices, use the knights; put his own life at risk, time and time again. He’d rather not die before he sees his revenge out. But it’s just him, at the end of the day—Nagyunn, not Najin, a ghost who is long past mourning—so what does it really matter anyway?
There are two ghosts that haunt Nagyunn. One is Najin, and that is his penance; for killing his little brother, Nagyunn will carry the weight of his aspirations for the rest of his life.
But he left someone else behind in the burnt remains of his old home too.
(snippet from a fic that i am never going to finish.)
----
For a terrible moment, his sleep-addled brain can’t remember who is supposed to be dead. Najin is both simultaneously gone and alive, and in the meantime no one mourned the person he was, and no one will mourn him for the person he has become. He’s already as good as dead, living out his dead brother’s life with his dead brother’s name.
He sits up suddenly, startling Pymel, and starts to tie his hair.
“Rested well kids?” the Wild Dog calls, far too energetic for the early morning.
They stand at attention and give him the spirited response he’s looking for. He grins and rattles off their next set of drills. Nagyunn settles into rhythm with the others before long.
Even under this close scrutiny, no one sees who he is—not even Tyr, someone who has known him for most of his life. In these strenuous days of training, he is finally beginning to understand what it means to have taken the name of his dead twin.
To live as Najin is to live as a ghost. He knew that, going into this, that no one would ever acknowledge him again. He was banking on it, in fact. Being invisible is its own kind of protection, and loneliness is a familiar friend after all those years in Woodion.
It is still painful, of course, but in some ways that makes his tasks easier. Use the apprentices, use the knights; put his own life at risk, time and time again. He’d rather not die before he sees his revenge out. But it’s just him, at the end of the day—Nagyunn, not Najin, a ghost who is long past mourning—so what does it really matter anyway?
There are two ghosts that haunt Nagyunn. One is Najin, and that is his penance; for killing his little brother, Nagyunn will carry the weight of his aspirations for the rest of his life.
But he left someone else behind in the burnt remains of his old home too.
(snippet from a fic that i am never going to finish.)
----
For a terrible moment, his sleep-addled brain can’t remember who is supposed to be dead. Najin is both simultaneously gone and alive, and in the meantime no one mourned the person he was, and no one will mourn him for the person he has become. He’s already as good as dead, living out his dead brother’s life with his dead brother’s name.
He sits up suddenly, startling Pymel, and starts to tie his hair.
“Rested well kids?” the Wild Dog calls, far too energetic for the early morning.
They stand at attention and give him the spirited response he’s looking for. He grins and rattles off their next set of drills. Nagyunn settles into rhythm with the others before long.
Even under this close scrutiny, no one sees who he is—not even Tyr, someone who has known him for most of his life. In these strenuous days of training, he is finally beginning to understand what it means to have taken the name of his dead twin.
To live as Najin is to live as a ghost. He knew that, going into this, that no one would ever acknowledge him again. He was banking on it, in fact. Being invisible is its own kind of protection, and loneliness is a familiar friend after all those years in Woodion.
It is still painful, of course, but in some ways that makes his tasks easier. Use the apprentices, use the knights; put his own life at risk, time and time again. He’d rather not die before he sees his revenge out. But it’s just him, at the end of the day—Nagyunn, not Najin, a ghost who is long past mourning—so what does it really matter anyway?
There are two ghosts that haunt Nagyunn. One is Najin, and that is his penance; for killing his little brother, Nagyunn will carry the weight of his aspirations for the rest of his life.
But he left someone else behind in the burnt remains of his old home too.
(snippet from a fic that i am never going to finish.)
----
For a terrible moment, his sleep-addled brain can’t remember who is supposed to be dead. Najin is both simultaneously gone and alive, and in the meantime no one mourned the person he was, and no one will mourn him for the person he has become. He’s already as good as dead, living out his dead brother’s life with his dead brother’s name.
He sits up suddenly, startling Pymel, and starts to tie his hair.
“Rested well kids?” the Wild Dog calls, far too energetic for the early morning.
They stand at attention and give him the spirited response he’s looking for. He grins and rattles off their next set of drills. Nagyunn settles into rhythm with the others before long.
Even under this close scrutiny, no one sees who he is—not even Tyr, someone who has known him for most of his life. In these strenuous days of training, he is finally beginning to understand what it means to have taken the name of his dead twin.
To live as Najin is to live as a ghost. He knew that, going into this, that no one would ever acknowledge him again. He was banking on it, in fact. Being invisible is its own kind of protection, and loneliness is a familiar friend after all those years in Woodion.
It is still painful, of course, but in some ways that makes his tasks easier. Use the apprentices, use the knights; put his own life at risk, time and time again. He’d rather not die before he sees his revenge out. But it’s just him, at the end of the day—Nagyunn, not Najin, a ghost who is long past mourning—so what does it really matter anyway?
romaincrisis
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2087
