(no subject)
This has nothing at all to do with DoP, but through a circuitous, rather convoluted set of thoughts and circumstances, I remembered that after I posted these two snippets following the end of Learning to See's serial run, mechante_fille made some wise observations about Orin and Micah, and I promised her a little bit of them. So here it is, a few months later than I meant to write it. You can pretend I did that on purpose to, umm, celebrate the release of the ebook. Sure. *sheepish grin*
Micah smiled at his sister as she sat down in her chair at the center of the long table, flushed and laughing at the cheers and whistles surrounding her and her new husband. She looked happy, which made Micah happy in turn. Ariel was a good girl, and she deserved a good marriage. Annar watched her as adoringly as any bridegroom Micah had ever seen, and Ariel seemed to like him. Their father could have done worse. Almost had done worse, he remembered, frown flickering across his face.
“My brother is completely besotted,” came a low murmur beside him. Micah turned to see Orin grinning at him. What better reminder that their close call with separation had fallen through than to see Ariel surrounded by guests at her own wedding reception while Orin’s arm stretched across Micah’s chair, his fingertips lightly brushing Micah’s arm? “I hope he appreciates how difficult it is not to tease him for it.”
“Even if he doesn’t, I do. And you’d better keep refraining from embarrassing him until the celebration is over. That’s my sister he’s besotted over.” He cocked a warning eyebrow at Orin, whose grin softened a little into a slight smirk.
“Yes, dear.” He leaned in to kiss Micah lightly.
Erion snorted over on Orin’s other side. “Speaking of besotted…”
Orin laughed. “Touche, Your Highness. Though I’ve seen the way you and Brennin look at each other, so don’t think that you have got any room to be casting aspersions on us besotted folk.”
Predictably, Brennin’s cheeks instantly flamed red, his eyes darting uncomfortably around the room while he shifted slightly in his chair. There were plenty of people staring openly at him and Erion, undoubtedly wondering how such a dazzlingly stunning, obviously high-born man had come to be married to the merchant’s son they had all mocked, reviled, or ignored. Micah wondered what it was like for Brennin to be back among the townsfolk who had treated him so poorly; he knew Orin had been trying to make amends, but he did not know if there were any others who had apologized for the things they had done or the things they had failed to do.
Micah had done his best to make up for his own inaction, but Brennin just smiled his crooked smile and told him to stop fussing, that Micah had hardly been in a position to help him in school and they had rarely crossed paths afterwards. Micah couldn’t help wondering, though, if there were something, even just a little greeting or a smile, he could have offered the miserable boy three grades ahead of him that no one would speak to or even look at. Mostly, he just remembered staring, wide-eyed, wondering whether he would look that awful if he wasn’t careful at his father’s forge and if his classmates would suddenly treat him like a monster too. Burns were nothing new to him; despite the heavy gloves and leather apron he wore while working, his father came home from work with a burn somewhere on his hands or arms nearly every week. But the extent of the burns, the visibility of them, the crushed bones beneath… They were like nothing Micah had ever seen.
Yet Micah had spent more time staring at the older brothers who walked well ahead of Brennin each morning on their way to school. Annar walked as though he had forgotten Brennin existed, while Orin glanced nervously at him from time to time as though Brennin made him uncomfortable. Annar was the more handsome brother, but less interesting to Micah. Orin, on the other hand, made Micah’s heart race long before Micah had understood why it did so. Orin had always been popular, able to make his classmates laugh, charming everyone with a smile; Micah had never dreamed that Orin would ever look his way and see more than a blushing little kid. And if that were what he saw, who would blame him? Micah practically hid behind his father and grabbed onto his apron strings like a child every time Orin accompanied his father to the forge.
Then Brennin had disappeared. Mr. Markum had informed the village his son had been lost in the woods, that he had been torn apart by wild beasts before they had been able to find him again. He had seemed almost relieved to be rid of his youngest son. Orin and Annar had exchanged glances while their father spoke, and then Orin’s gaze had fixed on his feet, where it stayed for the next several weeks. His ready smile had nearly disappeared that month, and he spoke only when spoken to.
Micah had screwed up his courage, with the help of more than one mug of ale at the Solstice Celebration, to approach Orin and offer his sympathy for the loss of his brother. Orin had looked so startled that Micah had taken an involuntary step backward when their eyes met.
“Thank you,” Orin replied, sounding as shocked as he looked. “You are the first person to say so.”
“Oh.” Micah had continued to stare, wishing he’d had perhaps a little less ale and a little more of a plan. “Umm, I’m sorry for that too, then?”
That had brought Orin’s smile back. “No need to apologize for everyone else. You can’t take responsibility for other people’s failure to be you, only for your own mistakes.” His smile had faltered at that. “Did you know him? My brother, that is?”
Micah had shaken his head. “Not really. We were in school together, but too far apart in age to have really met.”
Orin nodded. “I don’t think I really knew him either. He was my own brother, but I can hardly remember a single conversation with him beyond, ‘Hurry up, we’re late for school!’” He sipped from his tankard, staring into the bonfire in the square as though its flickering flames held all of life’s answers.
Micah had hesitantly taken a seat beside him on the bench. “Was he really… torn apart?” He whispered the last two words.
For a second, Orin’s lip trembled. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “I think he was.”
“You didn’t see the… after?”
“No.”
They had lapsed into silence. Micah wondered whether he had made things better or worse for Orin by dredging up his brother’s death in the midst of the festival and was contemplating just getting up and walking away when Orin spoke again.
“My father never spoke to him either.” He glanced at Micah, and then looked away. “After the fire, he… He was never quite the same, you know? He’d lost his wife and eldest son, not to mention a sizeable portion of his business, in one day, leaving him alone with a rambunctious pair of five year old twins and a toddler so horribly broken he couldn’t be cured. I don’t remember much before the fire-I was so young-but I do remember how confident he used to be, how self-assured and proud. The way he is now is just… bluster.” He took another sip from his mostly empty tankard.
“It must have been horrible for him,” Micah ventured. “I’m sure he had no time to grieve, not while worrying about his business and learning how to take care of his children, and he must have felt horribly guilty about what happened to Brennin. I imagine the sight of those scars made it difficult for him to forget and let go.”
Orin’s lips tipped up wryly. “I think he felt like a failure. He couldn’t save his wife; he couldn’t save his heir; he couldn’t protect his son from pain and disfigurement. He buried himself in work so deeply I think he must have feared that he would lose that as well. But he saved the business; he still had an heir and a spare. It was just Brennin he didn’t know what to do with. So he did nothing. And Annar and I did the same.” He sighed heavily.
Hesitantly, Micah put his hand on Orin’s shoulder. “You cannot change the past. But it is good that you are recognizing your shortcomings, and that you are grieving. I think everyone has regrets, and it is inevitable that some of them will be tied to people we lose before we have a chance to make amends. Make your apologies in your heart, and trust that he will hear them, wherever he is now.”
Closing his eyes, Orin breathed deeply. “Thank you, Micah.” Micah flushed with pleasure; he had not realized Orin remembered his name. Orin lifted his tankard in his direction. “To letting go of the past, and to taking the opportunities that come our way before they slip through our fingers.” He drained his glass in one long swallow.
Watching his throat contract, Micah swallowed too and thought of Orin’s toast. “I know it’s probably not the best time, given our conversation, but would you like to dance?” Heat blazed across his ears and face before he had even finished speaking.
Orin smiled, looking pleasantly surprised. “I would. But only if you stop looking at me with those big frightened doe eyes and smile.” Then he had given Micah his old grin, looked him up and down, and said, “A man with a body like yours doesn’t have any reason to be afraid.”
Then he had grabbed Micah’s hand and led him to the edge of the throng of dancers, where they had whirled and swayed and laughed until Orin’s father had gone home. When Mr. Markum was well out of sight, Orin had pulled Micah close and kissed him, right there in the middle of town, and followed Micah back to his house, where they had spent the rest of the night in Micah’s bedroom doing everything but sleeping, giggling as they tried to stay quiet enough that they wouldn’t wake Micah’s family.
Orin had snuck home just before dawn, assuring Micah that Annar would help him get inside without waking their father and getting in trouble. Micah hadn’t really expected to see him again after that, but Orin had been back in the forge that afternoon, chatting with Micah’s father until a delivery needed to be made, and then taking advantage of their privacy to kiss Micah senseless enough to agree to another secret night in his bedroom. And then another. And then an afternoon. And soon Orin was spending as much time with Micah as he could without their fathers finding out. Then the engagement had been announced…
At least the secrecy was ended now, Micah thought, reaching up to touch Orin’s face, just because he could, even though they were right there in the front of the room where everyone-fathers included-could see them. Orin’s father was doing his best to pretend they didn’t exist, but Micah’s father was content simply to see Micah happy as long as Ariel was married to a man who loved her and could provide well for her.
Orin smiled at him, and it wasn’t the carelessly confident, teasing grin he’d worn back in school, but it was honest and true and full of love. Micah liked this smile better. The arm Orin had draped along the back of Micah’s chair tightened around Micah’s shoulders for a moment, and then he asked, “Would you like another drink, love? I’m getting thirsty.” When Micah nodded, Orin pressed a kiss to his forehead and departed.
“Micah?” Brennin’s quiet voice broke into his thoughts, still sounding as though he weren’t quite sure Micah would pay attention to him. Micah turned to face him and smiled. “Thank you for being so kind to me.”
Micah blinked. “Why, of course. I’m sorry I wasn’t kinder when we were younger.”
Brennin gave a little shrug, smiling slightly. “It’s all right. I’m learning to move on.” He looked at Erion, who nodded and brushed Brennin’s hair tenderly back from his forehead, his thumb lightly caressing the scars there. “You were too young to have helped me much, anyway.”
“Is he all right?” Erion asked, gesturing with his head to Orin. “Really all right, that is? Your father hasn’t acknowledged him even once all evening.”
Micah studied Orin for a moment, the broad strength of his shoulders, the dark curl of his hair, the length of his legs. “Yes,” he answered after a moment’s reflection. “His life has become, in some ways, much more difficult than it has ever been before, but I think that he is better now, and more deeply content, than he has ever been before. His father’s behavior hurts him, but it also frees him from the responsibilities that came with pleasing his father at the cost of his own happiness.”
Orin turned back over his shoulder where he stood in line for refreshments, winked, and blew Micah a kiss. Shaking his head and smiling, Micah looked away when he felt Brennin’s gaze on him. “It’s obvious that he loves you,” Brennin said, “and that you love him, so there must be something in him worth loving.” He sighed heavily. “I wish I had gotten to see it sooner.”
Micah nodded. “As does he. But he was not much older than you, remember, and he learned from your father how to treat you. To his shame, he did not realize how wrong that was until you were gone. If you give him a chance, I think he will prove that he can be a much better brother than he used to be.”
“I would like that,” Brennin agreed.
“Come for dinner again,” Erion urged.
While they chatted over possible times, Micah’s gaze returned to Orin, who was returning at last with two brimming glasses and a plate of something edible. The grin on his face was much more the cocky expression Micah remembered from before Brennin’s disappearance when Orin presented Micah’s refreshments with a flourish.
“Sorry for the wait, but I charmed some hors d’oeuvres from the girl at the bar to make up for it.”
“My hero,” Micah responded dryly. Orin laughed and kissed him.
“Open up!” he ordered, grinning, and popped in something that tasted of fish and cream.
Brennin’s hissed, “Don’t you dare!” drew his attention back to the end of the table where he and Erion were arguing about something.
“But I could do so much better than that!” Erion whined, pointing at the plate of hors d’oeuvres. “I could probably get you the whole top tier of the cake if you wanted, Beauty.”
“I know,” Brennin scowled. “I’m quite certain you could get anything you want, but I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“All right,” Erion sighed gustily. A smile played about the corners of his mouth as he looked at Brennin through his lashes. “I’ve already got it anyway.”
Orin met Micah’s eyes and pretended to gag. “They’re so sweet I may be ill,” he murmured, leaning in to feed Micah another bite and chase it with a kiss. “Who says things like that in public?”
Micah chuckled against Orin’s lips. “Yes, you’re so much better, love.” He rolled his eyes. Behind Orin, Erion was saying something to Brennin that made him flush bright red and smack Erion’s shoulder.
Orin snickered at whatever it had been. Raising an eyebrow suggestively, he commented to Micah, “At least I was going to wait until we were alone to tell you all my plans for the rest of the night.”
Heat rushed to Micah’s cheeks, but his eyes were already traveling to the back of the room. “I think there’s a coat room somewhere around here where you could start…”
Micah smiled at his sister as she sat down in her chair at the center of the long table, flushed and laughing at the cheers and whistles surrounding her and her new husband. She looked happy, which made Micah happy in turn. Ariel was a good girl, and she deserved a good marriage. Annar watched her as adoringly as any bridegroom Micah had ever seen, and Ariel seemed to like him. Their father could have done worse. Almost had done worse, he remembered, frown flickering across his face.
“My brother is completely besotted,” came a low murmur beside him. Micah turned to see Orin grinning at him. What better reminder that their close call with separation had fallen through than to see Ariel surrounded by guests at her own wedding reception while Orin’s arm stretched across Micah’s chair, his fingertips lightly brushing Micah’s arm? “I hope he appreciates how difficult it is not to tease him for it.”
“Even if he doesn’t, I do. And you’d better keep refraining from embarrassing him until the celebration is over. That’s my sister he’s besotted over.” He cocked a warning eyebrow at Orin, whose grin softened a little into a slight smirk.
“Yes, dear.” He leaned in to kiss Micah lightly.
Erion snorted over on Orin’s other side. “Speaking of besotted…”
Orin laughed. “Touche, Your Highness. Though I’ve seen the way you and Brennin look at each other, so don’t think that you have got any room to be casting aspersions on us besotted folk.”
Predictably, Brennin’s cheeks instantly flamed red, his eyes darting uncomfortably around the room while he shifted slightly in his chair. There were plenty of people staring openly at him and Erion, undoubtedly wondering how such a dazzlingly stunning, obviously high-born man had come to be married to the merchant’s son they had all mocked, reviled, or ignored. Micah wondered what it was like for Brennin to be back among the townsfolk who had treated him so poorly; he knew Orin had been trying to make amends, but he did not know if there were any others who had apologized for the things they had done or the things they had failed to do.
Micah had done his best to make up for his own inaction, but Brennin just smiled his crooked smile and told him to stop fussing, that Micah had hardly been in a position to help him in school and they had rarely crossed paths afterwards. Micah couldn’t help wondering, though, if there were something, even just a little greeting or a smile, he could have offered the miserable boy three grades ahead of him that no one would speak to or even look at. Mostly, he just remembered staring, wide-eyed, wondering whether he would look that awful if he wasn’t careful at his father’s forge and if his classmates would suddenly treat him like a monster too. Burns were nothing new to him; despite the heavy gloves and leather apron he wore while working, his father came home from work with a burn somewhere on his hands or arms nearly every week. But the extent of the burns, the visibility of them, the crushed bones beneath… They were like nothing Micah had ever seen.
Yet Micah had spent more time staring at the older brothers who walked well ahead of Brennin each morning on their way to school. Annar walked as though he had forgotten Brennin existed, while Orin glanced nervously at him from time to time as though Brennin made him uncomfortable. Annar was the more handsome brother, but less interesting to Micah. Orin, on the other hand, made Micah’s heart race long before Micah had understood why it did so. Orin had always been popular, able to make his classmates laugh, charming everyone with a smile; Micah had never dreamed that Orin would ever look his way and see more than a blushing little kid. And if that were what he saw, who would blame him? Micah practically hid behind his father and grabbed onto his apron strings like a child every time Orin accompanied his father to the forge.
Then Brennin had disappeared. Mr. Markum had informed the village his son had been lost in the woods, that he had been torn apart by wild beasts before they had been able to find him again. He had seemed almost relieved to be rid of his youngest son. Orin and Annar had exchanged glances while their father spoke, and then Orin’s gaze had fixed on his feet, where it stayed for the next several weeks. His ready smile had nearly disappeared that month, and he spoke only when spoken to.
Micah had screwed up his courage, with the help of more than one mug of ale at the Solstice Celebration, to approach Orin and offer his sympathy for the loss of his brother. Orin had looked so startled that Micah had taken an involuntary step backward when their eyes met.
“Thank you,” Orin replied, sounding as shocked as he looked. “You are the first person to say so.”
“Oh.” Micah had continued to stare, wishing he’d had perhaps a little less ale and a little more of a plan. “Umm, I’m sorry for that too, then?”
That had brought Orin’s smile back. “No need to apologize for everyone else. You can’t take responsibility for other people’s failure to be you, only for your own mistakes.” His smile had faltered at that. “Did you know him? My brother, that is?”
Micah had shaken his head. “Not really. We were in school together, but too far apart in age to have really met.”
Orin nodded. “I don’t think I really knew him either. He was my own brother, but I can hardly remember a single conversation with him beyond, ‘Hurry up, we’re late for school!’” He sipped from his tankard, staring into the bonfire in the square as though its flickering flames held all of life’s answers.
Micah had hesitantly taken a seat beside him on the bench. “Was he really… torn apart?” He whispered the last two words.
For a second, Orin’s lip trembled. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “I think he was.”
“You didn’t see the… after?”
“No.”
They had lapsed into silence. Micah wondered whether he had made things better or worse for Orin by dredging up his brother’s death in the midst of the festival and was contemplating just getting up and walking away when Orin spoke again.
“My father never spoke to him either.” He glanced at Micah, and then looked away. “After the fire, he… He was never quite the same, you know? He’d lost his wife and eldest son, not to mention a sizeable portion of his business, in one day, leaving him alone with a rambunctious pair of five year old twins and a toddler so horribly broken he couldn’t be cured. I don’t remember much before the fire-I was so young-but I do remember how confident he used to be, how self-assured and proud. The way he is now is just… bluster.” He took another sip from his mostly empty tankard.
“It must have been horrible for him,” Micah ventured. “I’m sure he had no time to grieve, not while worrying about his business and learning how to take care of his children, and he must have felt horribly guilty about what happened to Brennin. I imagine the sight of those scars made it difficult for him to forget and let go.”
Orin’s lips tipped up wryly. “I think he felt like a failure. He couldn’t save his wife; he couldn’t save his heir; he couldn’t protect his son from pain and disfigurement. He buried himself in work so deeply I think he must have feared that he would lose that as well. But he saved the business; he still had an heir and a spare. It was just Brennin he didn’t know what to do with. So he did nothing. And Annar and I did the same.” He sighed heavily.
Hesitantly, Micah put his hand on Orin’s shoulder. “You cannot change the past. But it is good that you are recognizing your shortcomings, and that you are grieving. I think everyone has regrets, and it is inevitable that some of them will be tied to people we lose before we have a chance to make amends. Make your apologies in your heart, and trust that he will hear them, wherever he is now.”
Closing his eyes, Orin breathed deeply. “Thank you, Micah.” Micah flushed with pleasure; he had not realized Orin remembered his name. Orin lifted his tankard in his direction. “To letting go of the past, and to taking the opportunities that come our way before they slip through our fingers.” He drained his glass in one long swallow.
Watching his throat contract, Micah swallowed too and thought of Orin’s toast. “I know it’s probably not the best time, given our conversation, but would you like to dance?” Heat blazed across his ears and face before he had even finished speaking.
Orin smiled, looking pleasantly surprised. “I would. But only if you stop looking at me with those big frightened doe eyes and smile.” Then he had given Micah his old grin, looked him up and down, and said, “A man with a body like yours doesn’t have any reason to be afraid.”
Then he had grabbed Micah’s hand and led him to the edge of the throng of dancers, where they had whirled and swayed and laughed until Orin’s father had gone home. When Mr. Markum was well out of sight, Orin had pulled Micah close and kissed him, right there in the middle of town, and followed Micah back to his house, where they had spent the rest of the night in Micah’s bedroom doing everything but sleeping, giggling as they tried to stay quiet enough that they wouldn’t wake Micah’s family.
Orin had snuck home just before dawn, assuring Micah that Annar would help him get inside without waking their father and getting in trouble. Micah hadn’t really expected to see him again after that, but Orin had been back in the forge that afternoon, chatting with Micah’s father until a delivery needed to be made, and then taking advantage of their privacy to kiss Micah senseless enough to agree to another secret night in his bedroom. And then another. And then an afternoon. And soon Orin was spending as much time with Micah as he could without their fathers finding out. Then the engagement had been announced…
At least the secrecy was ended now, Micah thought, reaching up to touch Orin’s face, just because he could, even though they were right there in the front of the room where everyone-fathers included-could see them. Orin’s father was doing his best to pretend they didn’t exist, but Micah’s father was content simply to see Micah happy as long as Ariel was married to a man who loved her and could provide well for her.
Orin smiled at him, and it wasn’t the carelessly confident, teasing grin he’d worn back in school, but it was honest and true and full of love. Micah liked this smile better. The arm Orin had draped along the back of Micah’s chair tightened around Micah’s shoulders for a moment, and then he asked, “Would you like another drink, love? I’m getting thirsty.” When Micah nodded, Orin pressed a kiss to his forehead and departed.
“Micah?” Brennin’s quiet voice broke into his thoughts, still sounding as though he weren’t quite sure Micah would pay attention to him. Micah turned to face him and smiled. “Thank you for being so kind to me.”
Micah blinked. “Why, of course. I’m sorry I wasn’t kinder when we were younger.”
Brennin gave a little shrug, smiling slightly. “It’s all right. I’m learning to move on.” He looked at Erion, who nodded and brushed Brennin’s hair tenderly back from his forehead, his thumb lightly caressing the scars there. “You were too young to have helped me much, anyway.”
“Is he all right?” Erion asked, gesturing with his head to Orin. “Really all right, that is? Your father hasn’t acknowledged him even once all evening.”
Micah studied Orin for a moment, the broad strength of his shoulders, the dark curl of his hair, the length of his legs. “Yes,” he answered after a moment’s reflection. “His life has become, in some ways, much more difficult than it has ever been before, but I think that he is better now, and more deeply content, than he has ever been before. His father’s behavior hurts him, but it also frees him from the responsibilities that came with pleasing his father at the cost of his own happiness.”
Orin turned back over his shoulder where he stood in line for refreshments, winked, and blew Micah a kiss. Shaking his head and smiling, Micah looked away when he felt Brennin’s gaze on him. “It’s obvious that he loves you,” Brennin said, “and that you love him, so there must be something in him worth loving.” He sighed heavily. “I wish I had gotten to see it sooner.”
Micah nodded. “As does he. But he was not much older than you, remember, and he learned from your father how to treat you. To his shame, he did not realize how wrong that was until you were gone. If you give him a chance, I think he will prove that he can be a much better brother than he used to be.”
“I would like that,” Brennin agreed.
“Come for dinner again,” Erion urged.
While they chatted over possible times, Micah’s gaze returned to Orin, who was returning at last with two brimming glasses and a plate of something edible. The grin on his face was much more the cocky expression Micah remembered from before Brennin’s disappearance when Orin presented Micah’s refreshments with a flourish.
“Sorry for the wait, but I charmed some hors d’oeuvres from the girl at the bar to make up for it.”
“My hero,” Micah responded dryly. Orin laughed and kissed him.
“Open up!” he ordered, grinning, and popped in something that tasted of fish and cream.
Brennin’s hissed, “Don’t you dare!” drew his attention back to the end of the table where he and Erion were arguing about something.
“But I could do so much better than that!” Erion whined, pointing at the plate of hors d’oeuvres. “I could probably get you the whole top tier of the cake if you wanted, Beauty.”
“I know,” Brennin scowled. “I’m quite certain you could get anything you want, but I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“All right,” Erion sighed gustily. A smile played about the corners of his mouth as he looked at Brennin through his lashes. “I’ve already got it anyway.”
Orin met Micah’s eyes and pretended to gag. “They’re so sweet I may be ill,” he murmured, leaning in to feed Micah another bite and chase it with a kiss. “Who says things like that in public?”
Micah chuckled against Orin’s lips. “Yes, you’re so much better, love.” He rolled his eyes. Behind Orin, Erion was saying something to Brennin that made him flush bright red and smack Erion’s shoulder.
Orin snickered at whatever it had been. Raising an eyebrow suggestively, he commented to Micah, “At least I was going to wait until we were alone to tell you all my plans for the rest of the night.”
Heat rushed to Micah’s cheeks, but his eyes were already traveling to the back of the room. “I think there’s a coat room somewhere around here where you could start…”