Fic: The Grief of Knives

[beatrice_otter]

This was my yuletide assignment and I enjoyed writing it. dira wanted something with Thara/Iäna hurt/comfort, and that was easy to write because so do I! Thara deserves all the hugs and warm blankets and cups of tea and bowls of soup. But of course he's so prickly and self-reliant and traumatized into aloneness that he has trouble accepting it.

Title: The Grief of Knives
Fandom: The Goblin Emperor
Pairing: Thara Celehar/Iäna Pel-Thenhior
Author: Beatrice_Otter
Characters: Thara Celehar/Iäna Pel-Thenhior
Written for: Dira Sudis in Yuletide 2022
Betaed by: Isis
Summary: The moment of catharsis in the Orshaneisei maze had lightened the pain Thara carried. It did not eliminate it. But this time, Iäna is there.

At AO3. On tumblr. On Pillowfort.


I did not know how long it would take for the Archprelate to send a more formal message with details of the assignment he had for me. He was a very busy man with many concerns, and if his initial letter had implied that it was a matter of some urgency, or at least delicacy, there were surely many other urgent matters requiring the personal attention of the Archprelate of the Ethuveraz.

Still, I was curious, and beyond that I would have preferred to have my status in Amalo clarified.

"I would prefer that the Archprelate's new assignment for you be delayed," Tomasaran said. She held up the book she had been reading from, one of several which the Amal'othala had had sent over for her from the Amalomeire library. "These are very densely written, and I do not know how well I would understand them if you were not here to explain them to me."

"Of course," I said, chagrined. I had been wondering aloud about it, as it had been a week since the first message by courier had come. The intervening week had been very quiet indeed; only one petitioner had come to us, with a very simple request, and they had even brought the ashes with them for Tomasaran to enquire of. The peace had been refreshing, but it had also given me time to fret. About what would happen, and about what had happened, and of the two I preferred to dwell on the future. The moment of catharsis in the Orshaneisei maze had lightened the pain I carried, but not eliminated it.

I felt fragile, though, and soft, in its aftermath, and while I did feel better, that was not saying much. Odd thoughts and memories long buried kept floating to the surface; by contrast, the practical problems ahead of me were simple and reassuring in their straightforward nature. "It is only that I am surprised that the Amal'othala has not yet ended my stipend," I said, "considering I cannot perform the duties of my office. And if he does, and the Archprelate's new assignment for me has not yet arrived, I do not what I shall do."

"Perhaps the Archprelate wrote to the Amal'othala as well as to you, requesting you be kept on in the interim," Tomasaran said. "Or perhaps the Amal'othala believes that training me is a worthwhile use of your time and talents. Or perhaps he has forgotten. But even if he does stop your stipend, you will hardly be out on the streets. Ulzhavar has rooms at the Sanctuary of Csaivo, and he will certainly let you stay in one for as long as you need; as for food, you have friends—myself included—who will gladly assist you. It will not last forever, but it will certainly last long enough for a message to be sent explaining things to the Archprelate."

She was right; and yet that knowledge brought me no comfort. Living on my kinswoman's charity had given me a deep distaste for the very idea, even though I knew none of my friends would treat me as she had. "I know," I said. "Have you any questions about your reading?"

Tomasaran asked a question which showed some fundamental misunderstandings about Ulis's powers and character that it took time to unravel. I should not have been surprised, for the god of death was very often misconstrued in the popular imagination, and that was all Tomasaran had known before her gift came upon her. I had always known Ulis well, thanks to my grandparents' teachings, and so I always found such misconceptions slightly baffling. Still, I appreciated the distraction; while I was finding ways to explain what I knew of Ulis in ways Tomasaran would understand, I had no attention to spare for anything else.

By the time we were both satisfied that her understanding was correct, the morning was over and, with no active petitions, we were both free to do whatever we wished. Tomasaran headed out to the Ulvanensee, for practical instruction under Anora.

I had no errands to run nor obligations to fulfill, so my wandering took me—as it often did these days—to the Vermillion Opera.

As there was no performance that evening, they had started earlier than usual; Iäna was working with the orchestra in the pit, and I could hear, faintly, the sound of the chorus practicing in some backstage room. The music was pleasant, the seats were comfortable, so I sat back and tried to appreciate the experience.

My thoughts turned, not to the question of the Archprelate's new assignment for me, but rather to that moment in the foundling school when the girls had gathered with their knives and I had realized the danger. It caught in my mind, and I could not shake away the distraction. The feeble winter light glinting off the blades. The hopeless determination in their eyes.

A hand clasped my shoulder and I startled.

"I'm sorry, 'tis only me," Iäna said. In the pit, the orchestra was packing up their instruments. The chorus could still be heard.

"Oh," I said, heart pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath and let it out, as if I were beginning a meditation. I was safe, here; there were people around. If I did not know them by name, they were friendly, and worked for Iäna, who I trusted. The opera house was unlike the foundling school in every way—the colors, the lights, the sound, the people, the comfortable seats. That helped. I dug my fingers into the upholstery of the chair I was sitting in, felt the nap of the velvet rub along my fingers.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," Iäna said. "Were you dreaming?"

"No," I said. "Or, not really. I was lost in a memory."

"A bad one?"

"The foundling school," I said. "When we were trapped, Tomasaran and I, and Temin had set the girls on us with their knives." I shook my head. "Why that one and not—I don't blame the girls, I didn't even then. They were almost as trapped as Tomasaran and I, and certainly as scared; they had even less hope of rescue than we did. It wasn't their fault. And I've been through worse. But that moment—my mind keeps circling it, in my dreams and waking moments."

"The revethavar, and the ghouls, and the night's pilgrimage on the Hill of Werewolves," Iäna said.

I nodded. Those, yes, and the endless Witnessing for the dead of the Excellence of Umvino, and other moments in my life had each left me with nightmares and bad dreams. But … as horrifying as each of them had been, the ghastly moment when I had Witnessed for Evru's wife and known what he had done was worse. "I have never been afraid of death," I said. "Priests of Ulis generally aren't."

"That doesn't mean you should want to go to him before your time!" Iäna's ears flattened back to the sides of his head.

"I don't," I assured him, though that had not always been true. "But it means that when there is some dire circumstance, it requires more than mere death to be truly … disturbing."

I do not know if he believed me, but he considered it, at least. "But it wasn't just the possibility of your own death, was it? It was Tomasaran's death, too; and you care for her, are responsible for her, and you led her there. And what would it have done to those girls, if Temin had made them hurt you, or you had been murdered?"

"Nothing good," I said. "The death or disappearance of a Witness in the midst of a petition is a very serious thing. People knew about the school, knew of our suspicions; the secrecy would not have lasted long. Tomin might have been able to slip out of the city, in the interim, but the girls would have been left behind—and they would have been accomplices, not victims."

"Not just your death, and not just Tomasaran's." Iäna's eyes were warm and shining. "The condemnation of those you were trying to save."

"Oh," I said, faintly. "Yes. That would … that would be why." I looked aside, as Evru's face presented itself to my mind's eye, more forcefully than it had in recent weeks. That last despairing moment when he wouldn't look at me as he walked to his death. I looked down, for I could not control my expression, and knew not what my ears were doing. My hands clenched on the arm rests.

Iäna's hand covered one of mine, gently; I could not believe I deserved the comfort, but it was welcome all the same. I held on, tightly, and he matched my grip.

"You're not alone," Thara said. "You don't have to turn away and hide. I am here."

I could not answer, could not speak, could not look at him; but I clung to his hand.

After a while, Thara began to hum, a soft, lilting, repetitive tune I did not recognize.

Gradually, I began to feel more in control of myself. And with that came the shame at being so overcome where someone else could see. And yet, I clung to his hand as if it were a lifeline. I did not want him to see, but I was so grateful not to have been alone.

I realized he was holding my hand in one of his, and stroking it gently with the other.

I loosened my grip—surely he would have bruises for this, which was not how I would have chosen to repay his kindness—but could not bring myself to let go.

Iäna fell into silence at the next logical stopping point, though he did not stop stroking my hand.

"All the things you have been through," Iäna said at last. "The ghouls. The night with the ghosts of the Werewolves. The revethavar. It is more like an opera than real life. A particularly melodramatic and unbelievable one."

A stab of panic ran through me, though I knew it was unwarranted. "You'll not write one?"

"Oh, gods and goddesses, no!" Iäna said. "Even were that my style—and it is not—I would never do that to you, Thara. It is only, I like ridiculous coincidences and ghouls and ghosts and horrifying evil out of legends much better when they are safely fictional."

"Me, too," I said, thinking of my collection of cheap purple-backed Barizheise novels.

We lapsed into silence again. I concentrated on my breathing, not quite to the point of falling into meditation, but not far from it. Through it all, I remained intensely conscious of his hands on mine.

"Well!" Iäna said, breaking the silence. "Have you eaten lunch?"

I shook my head.

"Neither have I, and I am famished. Let's go to my mother's restaurant and remedy that, shall we?"

"Yes," I said, and stood.

I did not let go of his hand until we left the theater.