You Are My Constant || Lalorne
Rye was used to quiet. The Wildlands were always quiet. Quiet was calm and peaceful. It was familiar and comforting. But silence was a whole other beast. Silence was angry and resentful. Oppressive and smothering. Silence was a loud scream into nothingness, deafening Rye even as his eyes were set resolutely on the path ahead.
He sat still, movements only minimal and necessary. Hands adjusting just so on the reins, legs pressing lightly into one side of the horse or the other to steer them as they followed the path. If he leaned back a little, his back would likely brush against Robin’s chest or arms—well, probably not. Robin had been so stubborn since they left Briar’s Manor on a borrowed horse. He hadn’t accepted Rye’s offered hand when he climbed onto the back of the horse, and Rye had glanced back briefly more than once to check that Robin was still there, as resolute in keeping as much distance between them as possible. It was quite a feat in itself, actually; the horse wasn’t that big.
Rye pressed his heels into the horse’s sides, pressing him into a faster trot. He didn’t want to tire the horse out; it was a long journey through the Wildlands, but traveling with Robin had never been so…. daunting, as it was now. Rye should’ve expected it, should’ve seen it coming. Harland had suggested something was wrong, or at least that Rye had done something wrong or to piss off Robin. Even Keelin had pulled Rye aside when they arrived at Thornhill and asked if he and Robin were okay. Keelin had a habit of noticing everything, and his questions more than anything made Rye wonder if maybe they weren’t.
It was stupid, really, if Robin was upset with him. Why? Just because Rye didn’t want him to be caught by Oberon? Any of them would’ve faced punishment for being caught in this kind of endeavor, but nothing the other three would’ve faced would’ve been anywhere close to what would’ve happened to Robin. So Robin could remain silent as long as he wanted. Rye wasn’t sorry for wanting him to stay safe.
He could’ve broken the silence. He was tempted to, but some part of him didn’t want to hear Robin’s response. Or more likely, he didn’t want to acknowledge Robin openly ignoring him. They’d never done that—outright ignored each other out of anger. They’d argued, disagreed and gotten into fights—anyone that had been friends for as long as they’d been had to have gotten into at least a few. But the silence—that had never been part of their friendship, even in the fights.
So the silence remained until they got closer to Roheim, to the Devil’s Garden. Rye glamoured them both and the horse, invisible as they approached the hidden entrance to the Nighthawks base. He raised his palm, a small, glamoured bird forming in his hand, that particular spark of magic Damira had taught him caught inside, before the bird flew forward, disappearing against the door, the lock clicking open. The muffled sounds of the Nighthawks gathered in the headquarters was a welcome reprieve from the deafening silence of the trip.
Even going to speak with Jacia, one of the higher ranked Nighthawks, to deliver their report was almost comforting. It hadn’t been an official Nighthawks mission, but they’d been aware, and now requested a report so they could know what to expect from Oberon, and attempt to mitigate any damage.
“I thought you were going to be the only Nighthawk going along on this…endeavor,” Jacia said, curious eyes finally shifting to Robin. Rye’s jaw tightened.
“Robin insisted on joining us,” he said tightly, adamantly refusing to turn to look at Robin.
She looked back at him and quirked an eyebrow in disapproval. “So, who are these people you worked with? They weren’t Nighthawks. They seem to have learned several secrets because of your little adventure.”
“Robin’s identity is safe with the Briars, and they know nothing of the Nighthawks. I trust them both, to keep his presence in Wisteria a secret from their nobles and ours. I trust them, and believe the mission was worth the risk.”
