Archive of Our Own ^beta

Obrin didn’t want to go to the lunch, but his father was adamant: Obrin had to do a better job of representing their family, and the family they were visiting was highly connected in society, and had done business with theirs for many years. Obrin could spare an afternoon from his studies.

Obrin reminded himself that Mithrun was risking his life somewhere for the Dungeon Investigation Unit and living away from home, with basically all contact cut off. That was far worse than going to a fancy lunch.

So Obrin went with his parents. Because that’s what the eldest son of the House of Kerensil did.

Sultha and her parents and siblings were high class elves, and incredibly polite to Obrin and his parents. Sultha was nearest Obrin in age, but still a bit younger than him, so outside polite pleasantries, they didn’t speak much.

Obrin was eventually ignored, while his parents took up conversation handily, ready, seemingly, to divert from their son’s “issues”. It didn’t matter that Obrin had been polite and upbeat, or that he dressed well, after his mother had criticized his clothing before they left.

What mattered was that he came into the gathering using a crutch, and needed to sit more than anyone else because he was tired easily. What mattered was that he wasn’t strong with magic, unlike many other elves. He heard his parents talking up his studies on business and accounting, and how his father had started involving him more in important matters, and they even mentioned some of the improvements Obrin had been at least vaguely involved in.

They didn’t ask for Obrin’s opinion on them, though.

Obrin sat on his side of the table on the family’s fancy patio, feeling the light breeze in his hair, and rotated his glass of wine, thinking about what things would have been like if Mithrun was here. Mithrun, who was handsome, charming, and strong. Who could have people at any party laughing. Who could dance and carry good conversation. Who got attention.

Mithrun, who didn’t answer any of Obrin’s letters and had been angry the last time they’d spoken. It was the day Mithrun left for the Canaries -literally, he was walking out the door with his pack and glared fiercely at Obrin before storming out.

Obrin – who hadn’t been able to catch Mithrun before then after hearing Mithrun was leaving – had only said he wished Mithrun well. And when he’d asked their parents more about what was going on, they just said Mithrun was in one of his moods, whatever that meant.

I’d probably be in a mood if I had to go the Dungeon Investigation Unit, Obrin thought, for what felt like the hundredth time.

“You’re very quiet,” Sultha said, making Obrin look up. She sat nearby, her plate half-empty, watching him with a cool expression. She was beautiful, of course, and dressed in fine clothes.

Obrin studied her and then glanced at their parents, happily chatting away, before saying, quietly, “I just… don’t have a lot to say. Though I did want to ask if you’ve spoken to Mithrun recently?”

Sultha’s expression grew less friendly. “No. We haven’t spoken since before he went to the Canaries.”

Obrin frowned, confused. “But… you’re together.” There was nothing barring anyone from visiting the barracks where the Canaries were stationed. Of course, the Canaries were often away on assignments, but when they were home, they could visit their families or friends, or people could visit them. Or they could receive letters. Even if Mithrun wasn’t answering Obrin’s letters, surely he was answering Sultha’s?

Sultha looked down at her half-empty plate, her expression somewhat empty. “I’m not sure that’s true anymore.”

“Did something happen?” Obrin asked, surprised. He’d though Mithrun and Sultha were happy, based on what he’d seen of them. “Sorry if that’s too personal. He hasn’t responded to my letters and I wanted to know if he’s okay.”

Sultha gave him an odd look then, but finally said, “Nothing happened, exactly.” She glanced at their parents as well before looking back to Obrin and continuing, “He hasn’t sent me any letters. And my parents told me not to send letters to him.” She had a frustrated look on her face, now.

“Why?” Obrin asked, confused. Sure, Obrin’s parents didn’t talk to him much and so avoided talking about Mithrun, but what cause would Sultha’s parents have? And why would Mithrun avoid sending Sultha letters?

“I’m not entirely sure why Mithrun hasn’t written, though it’s probably assured at this point since I haven’t been writing,” she replied, “but my parents think maintaining a relationship with someone in the Canaries is bad for my reputation.” There was a hint of sarcasm and clear disagreement in her words.

Obrin frowned. “It’s honorable work!”

Sultha shrugged. “It’s where people go to work with criminals and often die. It’s exile without exile.”

“But they protect us,” Obrin insisted, trying to imagine all the horrible scenarios he sometimes thought of for Mithrun’s fate. “They’re heroes.”

“Try convincing my parents of that,” Sultha said with a sharp smirk. Then her eyes lowered. “Try convincing Mithrun of that. He hated the decision.”

Obrin’s eyes widened in surprise. “He did? I… I thought he might have, but he won’t talk to me.” When Mithrun was younger, he used to follow Obrin around sometimes, and even beg for Obrin to read to him. That had changed, a long, long time ago. Part of it was that Mithrun was always busy with his studies and friends, but the rest of it, well…

There was a distance between them. And Obrin, for all his attempts at crossing it, never managed.

Sultha’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Yes, he hated it. He thought it was an insult. Like…” She frowned. “Well, it’s complicated. He just hated it. I think that’s the main reason he’s not talking to me. He’s frustrated and ashamed.”

Obrin felt bad for Mithrun, but wondered what was so complicated that Sultha couldn’t explain. But he didn’t want to probe a stranger any more than he had. “I see.” If she didn’t want to talk to him, then she didn’t want to talk to him.

They were quiet for a while.

Eventually, Sultha asked, “Do you really not know why he hated it?” Her tone was gently curious.

“I really don’t,” Obrin said, thinking back again on his life with his brother. How hard it was just to talk to him. How Obrin tried to be supportive, and how Mithrun was polite enough, but often went to do his own thing. When he was younger, he’d loved the gardens, and sometimes, Obrin would have to go fetch him for meals. And Mithrun, when he was especially young, would hold Obrin’s hand.

Obrin missed that.

Sultha glared at him now. “But it’s your fault he went.”

Obrin’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

Sultha glared at him for a while, but then her expression melted away. “You… didn’t know?”

“I didn’t know what?” Obrin asked in some alarm. “Why is it my fault?” His heart was racing now.

Sultha glanced back at their parents, who were still ignoring them. Then she looked at Obrin’s face again, her expression worried. “He went because you can’t. Because it’s too dangerous for… for someone like you. So your parents made him go.”

Obrin blinked at her in confusion, but eventually he realized what it was. Someone like him. Someone who wasn’t good with magic. Who wasn’t as strong. Maybe he’d have managed, but people wouldn’t have expected him to.

It was strange, learning his parents had tried to protect him.

Or perhaps they didn’t want the embarrassment, he thought, distantly.

Sultha looked away, annoyed. “Now, do you get it?”

“No one ever talked to me about it,” Obrin said, quietly. “I didn’t know about it at all.” His gaze sank to the table. “I’ve been avoiding my duties as heir and I guess… if I hadn’t, I’d have known.” Maybe he could have even stopped it somehow. But it was too late for that.

Or at least he thought it was. He wasn’t sure if he could perhaps call Mithrun back. Free him of duties he hated, even if Obrin had never heard of such a thing. Dungeon Investigation Unit members tended to only come back for good when they retired, and Mithrun hadn’t been there long enough and was too young.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible.

Sultha shrugged. “It’s not like it changes things.”

Obrin grimaced, realizing she knew too. So he looked up and said, “We could change it, if we wanted.”

She looked up at him with a frown full of wariness. “What do you mean?”

“I’m heir,” Obrin said, leaning in a bit. “I could try taking on more responsibilities… seeing if I could get him back for good.” It wasn’t like the barracks was all that far. He could get there, talk to people. And if they wouldn’t help, then he’d talk to someone else and then someone else still until someone talked to him.

If nothing else, he’d get the story out of Mithrun properly this time.

“That’s…” Sultha frowned. “I’m not sure that’s something you could do.”

“Does that mean it’s not worth trying?” Obrin asked. “He’s my brother, and I already failed him. I owe it to him to try.” He’d let Mithrun down once. He didn’t want to do it again. Even if it all ended in failure… it was worth it. He could face Mithrun again with something of a high head, at least.

Sultha just stared at him for a while, before smiling in a way that was genuinely warm. “You remind me of him. You really are brothers.”

Obrin’s eyes widened briefly in surprise before he smiled. “Thank you.” People always remarked on how different they looked, particularly Obrin, who didn’t quite fit with their family, while Mithrun did. Few people ever said they were similar.

“You’re a lot politer than he is, too,” Sultha said with a laugh.

“No,” Obrin said, shaking his head. “I mean maybe to you, I don’t know. But he was always polite. Well… maybe not always. But he had more patience than I did.” Mithrun could handle more diverse personalities than Obrin. He pushed forward, regardless of the circumstances. Obrin ran away, and hated himself for his cowardice. But he was tired of the stares, the comments… the way people gossiped when they thought he couldn’t hear because they assumed having a limp meant he was deaf and blind as well. And regardless, not someone worth respecting.

How had Obrin failed him when Mithrun needed him most? Obrin still remembered how Mithrun’s hand felt in his, all those years ago. So small. Obrin knew his brother was an adult now, well capable of taking care of himself. But Obrin was the older brother. He had a job to do.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Sultha said with a soft smile. “But he was pretty patient, I suppose. And he could be polite. He tried to be anyway.” She sighed. “I don’t know that I’ll ever meet anyone else like him…”

“You’re acting like he’s dead already,” Obrin said, a bit disturbed.

Sultha grimaced. “Well… I…” She clenched her hands on the table. “I just… It’s hard, okay? It’s hard to know I might not see him again. That he’s avoiding me. That he has a right to, because I’ve been ignoring him. That… That he could die without me talking to him…”

Obrin could only imagine having someone you loved like that forever shorn from you. It was already hard, with his brother being absent.

“We’ll go see him, then,” Obrin said, making Sultha’s eyebrows widen. “The barracks are nearby. I think he’s off for a mission, but we could go, together, and see him. Maybe he’ll talk to us that way. Or we can at least leave word we want to see him. There’s nothing forbidding them from seeing people, after all.” When Sultha continued to look worried, Obrin added, “And I’m sure he’d be happy to see you. He cares deeply about you.”

There was a mix of awe and almost hope on Sultha’s face. Eventually she smiled, and said, “Yes. I’ll do that. Let’s do that.”

Obrin grinned at her. It was nice, after so long with silence, to have someone to talk to about his brother.

He looked forward to seeing Mithrun again.