The Wall They'll Break Against

He had told himself it was temporary. Travel with them until it was safe, stay long enough for their scent to mask theirs, lose whatever trail still snapped at their heels, and then leave silently, unnoticed. He hadn’t meant for them to linger. Hadn’t meant for them to grow closer.

“Again,” Nasir said.

He heard a burst of laughter at his left, where Sereya had settled into the high grass beside the riverbank to watch the sparring. 

“Serri,” she had corrected that morning as they packed up camp, a hint of mock offense in her voice. “You’ve been with us long enough to have it stick.” 

The man facing him grinned, wide and easy, sweat already beading at his brow. His eyes flicked over to her, just a glance, but enough. Nasir clicked his tongue at the lapse of focus. The grin only widened.

“Not going easy on me, are you, old man?”

Nasir huffed. He wasn’t even sixty and yet something in that boy’s smirk made him feel ancient. His shoulders dropped, the heavy metal of his sword dug into the ground. Old, yes, for how long he has been carrying this weight alone.

The man stepped forward, his sword reflecting the sunset, well balanced in his hand. He held it with grace, like a dancer, all fluidity hiding a surprising strength. Nasir parried without a thought, moving from memory, for survival. A habit beaten into his body years ago. One he had beaten into others in the ashen courtyard of the Order. He listened to the faint echoes of barked commands, corrected stances, yelling in cracked voices. All of it had been for nothing but duty. Nothing but fear. 

He hadn’t meant to care.

They exchanged a few blows, his opponent smoothly switching from an aggressive, fluid offensive to an elegant but strong defense. His strikes carried weight, too much to be mere performance but had gathered from years of experience.

Nasir parried once more, countering a high slash with the flat of his blade, pivoted and stepped in close to break the dance’s rhythm.

“Open,” he muttered, his elbow brushing past the guard. It wasn’t a full strike, just pressure. The man’s eyes sparked with excitement as he spun out of reach. His boots stirred up dust from the dry riverbed, then he jumped back closer with a series of quick thrusts, testing. 

Nasir deflected, one, two, then the third came faster. Satisfaction tugged at his chest. He was learning. Nasir pressed forward, his opponent danced back, reading his footing, adapting before swinging back into an attack. Too eager, too bold. 

Nasir swept his leg low, clipping the man’s ankle enough to send him stumbling, but before he could hit the ground, Nasir reached out a hand to steady his shoulder. 

The man let out a soft grunt.

“You’re leaning too far forward,” Nasir muttered.

“So I’ve been told.” The response was accompanied with a lazy eye roll. The grin never faded.

“Then listen, Lucairn.” 

Nasir’s hand stayed on the boy’s shoulder a beat too long. Steady. Reassuring. Warm. 

That feeling lodged itself into Nasir’s chest like a splinter.

“Listening is not a skill he added to his repertoire,” came the voice of Serri from their left. A long blade of weed stuck between her teeth as she lounged in the remaining warmth of the sun before nightfall. “Never has, never will.”

Lucairn huffed a quiet laugh. “I listen when it matters.” 

The way his eyes had wandered back to Nasir’s face had him tense his shoulders, tighten the grip around his sword, made him aware of another close threat. Familiarity. 

At first, Nasir’s only concern had been his charge, to keep the child safe, to keep her hidden, his only obligation. Even with all the lies the Order had told them about the world outside, one truth remained: chaos reigned in most places. The world outside was chaos, no one should be trusted. He had told himself that, over and over again. 

But then, the girl he had saved smiled as Lucairn had invited them to sit at their campfire, Dain had sat with her in a shared silence, Serenya had brought a glimmer of youth back into her eyes and even Orren and Nellarie opened their books for her to learn from their knowledge. The weight of being her only guardian, of being the only one out to watch, became lighter. Slightly, but it was enough.

Slowly the edges of the world softened, and Nasir had felt himself soften with it.

He hated how it made him feel. He hadn’t meant for them to slip through the cracks in the walls he had built around himself. Walls that were raised out of stone and fire, and oath. The Order has taught him to obey, never to question, to push aside any affection, any heart. But Freedom was different. It sang with kindness, it sang of something warmer and caring than duty. That warmth had crept into him like light through a shattered window, and he didn’t step away. 

Lucairn kept watching as Nasir’s hand finally dropped from his shoulder. There wasn’t any hiding from that gaze, even if Nasir would try to build the walls higher, there was too much heart, too much trust in those eyes, trust that he hadn’t earned. He didn’t know what to do with it now.

Nasir turned away before Lucairn’s smile could soften any more of the frown on his face, before he could see the shiver of a smile tug at his own lips.

Later, when the sky had turned dark, and the camp was illuminated by the dancing flames of the campfire, the group had gathered in their usual sprawl around it. Laughter drifted around as shadows danced, the occasional clang of cutlery against tin, and backs against packs as stories were shared. 

Nasir sat just outside the ring of light. Quiet settled against him. He heard the footsteps before he saw the silhouette ease down beside him. Lucairn sat, all steady presence and calm insistence, like a river learning its way around stone.

“You know,” he said, holding out a silver flask towards Nasir. “My aunt said that most adventuring parties are just randomly thrown together groups of misfits that share the most random similarities.” 

Nasir accepted the flask with a grunt. He took a sip, humming softly to himself at the vaguely sweet aftertaste of the clearly alcoholic drink. 

“You and Dain for example,” Lucairn continued, “tight-lipped, brooding and with a deep sense of honor.”

Nasir’s hand tightened slightly around the flask. Lucairn didn’t notice, or pretended not to. 

“You always tuck your bedrolls the exact same way.” 

That had Nasir raise an eyebrow. Lucairn laughed. 

“Or Orren.” 

The dragonborn at the campfire turned his head slightly towards them. Nasir patted the flask against Lucairn’s knee. He didn’t react at first, but met Orren’s eyes over the fire. 

“He used to stand like you,” said Lucairn. His tone turned softer, a touch gentler to accommodate the shift in mood.

“Stiff. Like a sword jammed into the ground.” Lucairn raised the flask in a greeting. Orren nodded.

“Wouldn’t smile for a king’s ransom.” 

Nasir huffed.

“He wasn’t cruel,” Lucairn continued. “Just afraid of being kind, and getting hurt because of it.”

Light through a shattered window. Nasir felt the girl’s eyes on him. Watching. Always weighing the silence between the words.

Lucairn offered the flask. Nasir didn’t take it. A soft sigh escaped Lucairn as he settled against his pack.

“You don’t have to tell me who you used to be,” he said after a while. The group had slowly retired to rest. The girl remained, her eyes fixed on Nasir, as the flames danced in them. 

Once, those flames meant judgement, once fire had burned away any weakness, any doubt.

“But I’m glad you’re here. Just as you are.”

Nasir stared into the flames. 

Here, tonight, they meant warmth. Company. A flickering light in the dark.

“I’ll keep watch,” Nasir said. He didn’t need to turn to see the small smile on Lucairn’s face. The man stood, a hand heavy and warm on Nasir’s shoulder. 

“As you always do.” Lucairn yawned.

As he walked away, Nasir caught the girl still watching him. She didn’t speak, but gave the faintest nod, like she knew of the weight behind those words, like she understood. Like she knew this mattered.