As Nerluce had predicted, it took an unbearably long amount of time to return home.

For nearly seven weeks Nerluce, Coam, and the disciples of the Hebikoti Clan traveled back home. They stopped at the estate of every important aristocrat, merchant, Magickian, or scholar in Itoroh on their way back. And then they were delayed another week by road blockage due to the snow.

Nerluce was beyond annoyed when they finally made it back to the Hebikoti Palace. He was sick of traveling. He was sick of formalities and visiting with people whose names he didn't know. He was sick of bowing and of playing the responsible son. He was sick of everything.

Yet even when he was home, he had to use all the formalities he'd used abroad. He had to dine with people whose names he did not know but who wished to celebrate his return. He still had to bow to everyone. He still had to be the responsible and noble son of Lord Father so he wouldn't be an embarrassment. So he would be treated like he had been before. It was exhausting and frustrating and Nerluce was sick of it!

He locked himself in his room that night.

After sleeping in until an embarrassingly late hour, missing both breakfast and lunch in the process, Nerluce half-heartedly dressed and went to the kitchens. They were empty as they usually were between meals. Nerluce made himself some tea and took it back to his room where he drank it while watching the snowfall.

No servants disturbed him, no nobles tried to gain his favor. Nerluce was alone and he had never been more grateful for it. In his room, no one could expect anything from him. He could wear his plainest or most extravagant robes. He could make his own tea or have ten servants prepare him a banquet. Nerluce would not be judged either way. He was free to do as he pleased and he would, even if he had to live in his room forever.

Nerluce's finger traced the rim of his cup. The pad grew damp with the condensation. The wind changed directions - carrying the snow with it - as an air spirit danced by.

This wasn't a bad life. Perhaps a little dull, but even the best lives could get dull at times. Even the heroes of Nerluce's greatest stories still had moments of dullness. They still slept. Ate. Went to the bathroom. Perhaps even drank tea and watched the snow. Nerluce wondered why all the stories cut those parts out. Nerluce wished there were more stories about dull, little things.

He decided to make up a new story about all the dull, little things. He made himself the protagonist. He told himself about a day where he cooked his own breakfast. He told himself about a day where he fell asleep in the stables and had to spend an hour picking the hay from his hair. He told himself about a day when he sat in the garden and tried to count all the petals on the daylilies and then tried to count all the stars on the night sky.

Perhaps he'd make all of these stories into reality. Perhaps he'd live his life full of dull, little things. And he would be happy for each of these dull, little moments. He would be grateful. He would love them. He would not waste away.

Not as his mother had.

There was a knock on Nerluce's door.

"Leave me be," Nerluce said, glaring at the door. "I do not feel well and wish to rest for at least one day." Lest the court drive him into insanity too. "Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow."

Coam opened the door. In her hand was a bundle of letters, tied by a string. "Just me."

"Oh," Nerluce said.

Coam came and sat down next to Nerluce, looking out the window. "Sorry. I wanted to leave you alone today but I'm heading back to the border tomorrow." She offered him a small smile. "I'm leaving Eden to your care."

"You should take him with you," Nerluce said. "He might get bored if it's just me and the walls of his stall."

"I think Eden deserves his rest. I've put that poor stallion through too much." She sighed and looked down before handing the bundle of letters to Nerluce. "These are for you. Lady Mother was intercepting them. She thought... it would not be good for you to hear from Ethera. She thought it would only make your heartache stronger."

"Oh," Nerluce said. "Lyana did say she wrote..."

"Yes, the little one," Coam said, thinning her lips. "She's a bit... intense. She asked if I knew anything about the missing letters."

"Did you?" Nerluce asked.

"I didn't... but I had a feeling that Lady Mother was the culprit," Coam said. "Anyway, they're yours now. Read them, throw them into the fire, whatever you want."

"Thank you," Nerluce said.

"Of course," Coam said. "Will you be at dinner tonight?"

"I don't know yet," Nerluce said.

"If not, I won't bother you," Coam said. "This can be our goodbye."

Nerluce nodded. He preferred goodbyes like this. Ones that weren't actual goodbyes. Saying goodbye always made the parting hurt more. So he didn't say goodbye to Coam, just sat with her for a while more, exchanging soft words until she had to leave again. She shut the door and Nerluce was left with his now cold tea and a now clear sky.

He looked down at the letters in his lap and untied them. Reading them wouldn't hurt, he supposed. He opened the first one, from Lyana, and something else fell out of it. Nerluce picked up the paper and saw that it was one of Lyana's drawings. A drawing of Aristide.

Like all of Lyana's drawings, it was done with amazing accuracy. Nerluce felt almost as though he was looking at a moment frozen in time, made up of ink. He ran his finger, straightening the paper Aristide had been drawn on. He looked sad. It was amazing that Lyana had seen him sad. It was even more amazing that Lyana had seen him sad long enough to draw this. Nerluce unfolded the letter the drawing had slipped out of.

...

Dear Nerluce,

I can only assume you have died because I can think of no other reason for you not to be answering my letters. I will come and weep at your grave as soon as the Hebikoti Clan lets me know where it is.

Things in Ethera are boring without you. Tormenting the first years isn't nearly as exciting without you here. Catching the second years after they snuck out wasn't either. I wish you would write. Or come and visit. I don't think you can, but I'd sneak you in. Eko would probably report me but they won't kick me out.

If you are horribly injured and on your death bed, I suppose I can make the trip to see you. You will still have to buy the alcohol because you promised me that we'd go drinking and that you would pay. I bet you have plenty in your Palace. I bet you're probably drunk right now.

Aristide is still moping. I've included a portrait this time in case you didn't believe me in my last letter. I swear, he acts like a widow half the time. I imagine he'd be dressed in all black if Ethera let him. Is that a thing for you? I remember wearing black mourning clothes in Riedith.

There's still so much I don't know. So much you don't know too. I wish we were learning things together again. If you aren't dead or injured or hate us, please write. It would cure my boredom and probably help remind Aristide that he isn't a widow. Eko will be happy to hear from you too but they will never admit it.

With rage and animosity,

Lyana

...

Nerluce smiled to himself as he read the letter's ending. She'd gotten a lot better at writing in Itorohian. Enough to even mimic a formal letter ending - though not one that Nerluce was used to seeing. He opened another letter and then another. He read every letter in the pile. Most were from Lyana. A couple were from Eko, though they were all short and to the point.

There was only one from Aristide. It was shorter than even Eko's letters and not even signed. Nerluce knew Aristide's handwriting, though. He would never be able to forget it.

...

N.

You are the single most, worst thing that has ever happened to me.

And I miss you terribly.

...

A drop fell onto the paper, right onto one of the words.

"Shit," Nerluce said, scrambling to pat the paper dry with his sleeve but he just ended up smudging the ink more. "Shit."

Another drop fell but Nerluce saved the words this time. He used his other sleeve to try and dry his eyes but the tears wouldn't stop now that they had started. Nerluce cried into his own sleeve. He muffled his own sobs. He dried his own tears. He cried by himself, alone. Nerluce didn't think he'd be able to cry like this if there was anyone else around. He cried as though he were a child. He mourned as though he were a widow.

He ached in a way no mortal ought to.

"Shit," Nerluce choked out.

New context flitted over every one of Aristide's actions. A man who had grieved being confronted by the creature he had mourned so fiercely and it didn't even bother to say hello. Gods. Nerluce moved his hand to his mouth as a new wave of tears started. A man who had sent a letter brimming with ache and vulnerability and never received a reply. A creature who just sneered and corrected Aristide's grammar.

"Shit, shit!" Nerluce screamed

Had Aristide been trying to kill him? Or was he just lashing out because he was pissed because he thought Nerluce had never responded to his letter? Shit. The memory blurred and Nerluce couldn't tell what was real and what was wishful thinking anymore.

"Shit," Nerluce sobbed.

He couldn't tell, he couldn't tell, he couldn't tell. Was it some sick combination of the two? Did Aristide hate him, not because of his Magick, but because he thought Nerluce was cruel? But he wasn't. He wasn't cruel. He had never received the letters. He hadn't known. And- and it wasn't his fault he hadn't said goodbye. He hated them. He hated them so much and Coam was there and he needed to go. It wasn't... it wasn't his fault.

Nerluce shook his head, half frantic and vision still blurred by tears. He needed- he needed to go outside. He needed some fresh air. He was- he was sure it would help. It had to help. Everything was so, so wrong. Nerluce- Nerluce needed to fix it. He needed to write back and explain. He needed to make Aristide understand that what happened wasn't his fault.

He had no idea how he was going to do that. He half thought about getting on Eden and riding to Ethera right now but... in this state, he'd never make it. He needed to calm down first. He needed to be able to breathe and see and hear again. He felt like a toddler all over again, waddling around the halls with no idea where he was going but crying all the way there.

Somehow, Nerluce managed to stagger into a garden. The cold air set his lungs on fire. He gasped and clutched his throat and his tears burned so much worse. He wiped them away as quickly as he could. It was cold enough that his eyes would freeze shut if he let his tears sit for too long. He used that as motivation to stop crying. To even his breaths. To become calm again. He wasn't a little kid lost in the snow. He was a grown man and he needed... to calm... down...

And then something grabbed him.

Nerluce jerked and struck. Fear and panic and instincts he'd learned on the battlefield came rushing back in. Danger, his heart screamed. Kill or be killed, his mind scolded. If something grabs you, you need to get away or you will die, his body reacted.

It was too late for Nerluce to realize what had happened. To realize where he was. He hadn't heard the annoying squawking of the birds until now. Nor had he heard the caretaker's call. Nerluce hadn't noticed the familiar layout of the gardens. Nor had he noticed the approach of the completely harmless woman who had seen someone crying and wanted to help. She was always so soft-hearted.

Mother staggered. She was fragile. In more ways than one. Nerluce's eyes widened. His hand moved to his mouth. Mother fell. The snow beneath her turned red. Her caretaker was screaming. Blood dripped, dripped, dripped, ever so slowly from the vine that had come to Nerluce's aid.

The snow just kept getting redder and redder.

"What did you do?" the caretaker screamed.

"Nothing!" Nerluce shouted back, finally able to hear. "It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault! She snuck up on me!" He kept shaking his head, horrified. "I didn't do it. I didn't do it. It's not my fault, it's not my fault, it's not my fault!"

It wasn't his fault. It wasn't. It- it wasn't.

None of this was his fault.