AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He spun that way. But Tir was already saying, “Are you all right?” and shading the candlelight with one hand, as if he thought it might be too bright, coming in. He was mostly dressed—comfortable worn shirt and trousers—but barefoot; his hair swung long and loose. Undone, it slid down his back in a midnight waterfall. His eyes were wide and concerned.
He also had a book tucked under one arm, as if prepared to stay. Oliver winced. “Did I wake you up?”
“No, of course not. You know how thick those walls are.” Tir crossed over to the bed, still soundless with fairy grace; set book and candle on the side table, picked up a drawing-pencil, rolled lazily onto the bed, and poked Oliver in the ribs. “Scoot over. I just thought you’d be awake.”
Oliver scooted obediently. Tir sat up and put an arm around his shoulders, put the drawing-pencil into his hand. They sat together, leaning back against the wall, in the candlelight.
The pencil felt smooth and recognizable, a shape he knew. Like the height of his headboard, and the stone behind it. Like the warmth of Tir against him, arm around him.
He knew that sensation, the two of them fitting together. They knew each other. They’d gone swimming together, trained with swords together, read books in a pile of limbs and novels in a tumble of sun-warmed grass by a river. They’d been to taverns together, got blindingly drunk together, slept in each other’s beds.
Tir had sat with him through some of the worse nights of his life. After Oliver’s father had died. After Oliver had said terrible words, and after Tir had done—what he’d done—as a consequence—
Tirian had apologized. Oliver remembered that. Tir, still pale from exertion and exhaustion, had reached a hand out. Had been the one who’d said, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Oliver—and who’d held him, as Oliver collapsed sobbing into his arms.
I was awful to you then, he thought. I asked you for too much. For the impossible. And you tried anyway. As much as you could.
He leaned against Tir now because he couldn’t not. Taking advantage. Again. Because his fairy-companion was always here.
The night remained dark, not even a hint of light. Their candle did its best.
Eventually Tir said, “Do you want to tell me about it, or do you want me to read to you, or do you want to try to go back to sleep? I’ll stay.”
Oliver said, “I’m sorry.”
Tir nudged him with a knee. “You don’t need to apologize for having emotions.”
“No, I mean…do you ever get tired of rescuing me?”
“No, I enjoy being your hero.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t know what you’re asking.” Tir met his gaze. “I’m here because I want to be. Because I care about you. You’d do the same for me. You did—you and your entire family, when you took me in.”
“As if we wouldn’t.”
“You treated me like one of you. You didn’t have to. I’m not human.”
Ollie nudged him in turn, this time. “You feel pretty human.”
“This time,” Tir said, “I’ll say it: you know what I mean. I’m not, you know. But you’ve never been afraid of me.”
“That’s because you’re not scary.”
“Thank you.”
“I was thinking,” Oliver said, and his voice shook, and he tightened his grip on the pencil, which Tir had picked up for him, “about my father. The day before he died.”
“Oh.”
“That’s why I said I was sorry.”
“You said it then.”
“Did I?”
“Well, you meant to. I know you did.”
