Chapter 15 – It Was Almost Something
Written by Lauca. Edited by Cat.
That night, after dinner, the air between them felt different. In some ways, it felt lighter. In others, heavier. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked calm, maybe a little tired, but not upset. That surprised her. After everything she had said earlier…
Elarion, I… I’m not confident I’d be good for a committed relationship.
The words still echoed in her head. She hadn’t meant to throw them out so suddenly. It had just slipped out, tangled in the silence and nerves and everything else she didn’t know how to name. And now, walking beside him in the quiet, she wasn’t sure what felt worse — that she had said it at all, or that he hadn’t reacted much.
The grove had settled into stillness. Only the soft flicker of moonlight stirred the night, its shimmering light casting long shadows across the mossy paths. Two sets of footsteps disturbed the peace. Gravel shifted beneath their boots with a low rhythm. Elarion’s steps were light for someone his height. He always seemed to move with a quiet confidence that made Iris’ heart ache in ways she couldn’t explain.
They weren’t speaking, but as they passed by the lake, her brows drew together into a soft furrow.
Elarion noticed. “Are you all right?” he asked, voice quiet.
She blinked and turned to him with a smile. It came slowly, and it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course,” she said a bit too quickly. “Just thinking.”
He moved a little closer. “Didn’t exactly look like a happy thought.”
Her gaze shifted back to the lake. “Not unhappy. Just… a lot.”
The silence between them deepened. Not uncomfortable. Just fragile. She stopped to look out over the lake, and he followed. Together, they stood in silence, watching the moonlight spill across the water’s surface — still and silver.
After a while, Elarion spoke again. “You can tell me if you want.”
“Hm?”
“About what’s on your mind. Just like how you listened to me that night... you can talk to me too. No pressure, of course. It’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to say it. “You’ve seemed different since then. I’m sorry if I made things awkward.”
Iris looked at him for a moment and gave a small shake of her head.
“No, I should be the one apologising. I was remembering something else. I don’t really know how to explain it, but…”
Elarion waited quietly beside her, listening with his full attention. His eyes were steady, soft, concerned. It made something in her chest twist.
“Do you remember when you told me you envied my freedom?” she asked, voice quiet. “That you felt bound to this place?”
He nodded. “Yes. I think I still do.” His voice was low, tinged with resignation. “But I’ve made peace with it. Maybe it’s just the way things were meant to be.”
She looked at him, but not quite into his eyes. It was like she was seeing someone else, or a version of herself she no longer knew.
Then she looked back at the lake. “People think freedom means going where you want. But sometimes it’s just about being unseen. And I’ve always been good at that.”
Elarion frowned. That didn’t sound like her. She was always seen, always bright, always drawing attention without even trying. Especially to him. He remembered the day in Taltempla, the way passersby had looked at her with interest. The only thing stopping them from approaching was probably the presence of Ayda and himself. Maybe they had looked like a family.
That thought sat strangely in his stomach. He turned his gaze back to the lake. “What makes you say that?”
She didn’t answer directly. “I envy you too, you know.”
He turned back to her.
“I don’t remember the last time I felt at home like this. Watching you with Ayda, with Nymeris, the others... even if not everyone here likes you, you have a place. You grew up here. You share things with them; memories, belonging. I don’t have that.”
She winced slightly, a familiar bitterness rising in her throat. “I thought I could find it again here. Maybe I still can.”
Elarion shifted slightly beside her, his gaze still resting on the lake. “Ayda and Nymeris are... the closest thing I have to family now.”
Iris looked over at him. Elarion’s gaze stayed on the water. “Like I told you before… my siblings passed away.” His voice was calm, but the weight of it clung to every word. “As for my parents… it’s a little more complicated.”
He paused, searching for the right words. “We’re just not in each other’s lives anymore. That’s all.”
His hand tightened slightly around the edge of his cloak.
“That’s why I treasure Nymeris and Ayda,” he added softly. “They’re the closest thing to family I have now.”
She didn’t say anything at first. She just watched him, her hand reaching out to rest lightly on his arm.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” she said gently.
He gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know.”
“Actually… I want to tell you something,” she said softly, her fingers toying with the laces of her dress. “I feel like I should. After you shared what you did… it hasn’t felt fair.”
Elarion turned to her, his expression gentle, touched with curiosity and something deeper she couldn’t quite name.
“It doesn’t have to be fair,” he said quietly. “But I’ll listen. To anything you want to share.”
She smiled at that, and with a soft huff, lowered herself to a clear patch of grass, patting the space beside her. But before she could even sit fully, Elarion moved. He reached out and caught her hand — warm, firm — and in a fluid, effortless motion, pulled her gently toward him.
Startled, she rose again, stumbling just slightly into his space.
His hand caught hers with a steadiness that sent a jolt through her. callused and warm, his palm dwarfed hers easily. There was a calm strength in his grip, firm but not forceful, like holding something precious without meaning to break it. He steadied her with a hand at her elbow, drawing her in just a little closer, and suddenly she was within the circle of his gentle gravity, close enough to feel the heat of his body through the night air.
For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe.
There was something comforting and dizzying in the way he smelled; earthy, clean, with the faintest trace of something sharper, like fresh rain over cedar and smoke. A scent that lingered just behind her senses, subtle and warm and entirely him. And when he looked at her, just for a second, the distance between them vanished.
“You’ll get your skirt dirty,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze dropped to the grass, then flicked back up to her, softer than before. “Let me.”
And just like that, he knelt at her feet. He took his time, pulling a folded handkerchief from his pocket and laying it down with care, smoothing the corners like it was something delicate. It was such a simple gesture, but something about the way he did it; quiet, thoughtful, wordless, made her heart ache in the gentlest way.
“There,” he said, looking up at her with a small grin. “Now you can sit.”
She sat, her cheeks warm and blooming with colour. “Thanks,” she managed, a little breathless. “What a gentleman you’ve become. You’re practically a different person from the boy I met in Taltempla.”
He tilted his head, amused. “Maybe I’m trying to change a little.”
His voice dipped lower as he shifted beside her. “I mean… you’re the one I’m trying to impress.”
That made her still.
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking away. “You make it hard to think sometimes,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, tinged with something almost bashful. “I still get nervous around you. But… if I let that stop me, I’d probably never get the chance again. And I don’t want to regret that. So… here I am.”
Her hand froze midair, caught in the motion of tucking her hair behind her ear. Blush bloomed across her cheeks and spread down her neck, soft and radiant under the moonlight.
Elarion caught the sight of it. Of her. That blush. That colour. It suited her. Like ripened apples in early autumn. And he did like apples.
Then a splash broke the stillness. A fish leapt from the lake and landed with a plunk, rippling the moonlit surface. The spell shattered. Elarion stared at the water like it had betrayed him. His brow furrowed, muttering under his breath, “That fish is mocking me.”
Iris let out a soft laugh, grateful for the interruption, even if her heart was still racing. She tucked her hair again, smile sheepish. It felt like she had been on the verge of something. Something bright and terrifying.
Her fingers returned to the frills of her dress, twisting the fabric between them as she searched for the right words. He didn’t press. Just watched her with that same patient gaze. Gentle. Steady. Like she was something precious he was afraid to rush. And maybe she was.
"Do you know the name of this lake?" she asked, eyes fixed on the soft ripples catching the moonlight.
Elarion followed her gaze. “We don’t name lakes or natural features. Not officially, anyway. But people here call it Selé. After Selûne, the goddess. The moon always looks especially beautiful reflected in it.”
She nodded, as if that made sense. “It is beautiful,” she said, voice quiet. “But… in the way some memories are. Still. Too far to reach. But somehow still capable of hurting you.”
He turned slightly toward her, watching her more than the lake. The way her voice wavered. The way her fingers curled in the fabric of her dress. Then suddenly, her tone changed. “Just kidding! I just wanted to say something dramatic for once. Doesn’t it sound sort of... poetic?”
She let out a soft laugh, sweet but too carefully placed. He smiled too, small and gentle, not wanting to break whatever this moment was becoming. She spoke again, gaze still distant. “Some people grow up knowing love. Real love. They’re held and cared for without needing to earn it. They move through life expecting kindness from the world, because that’s what it gave them first.”
Her fingers tensed. “Others… learn to stop expecting it at all.”
Her voice didn’t crack, but her hands said what her words didn’t. Clenched at her side. Tightly wound.
“I used to think that if you held on tight enough, people stayed. That closeness was a choice. That love could be earned with enough patience or effort… But sometimes they leave anyway. Sometimes they stay and become strangers. And then you start to wonder if it was ever real.”
He shifted beside her, quiet. Still listening.
Her voice softened again. “I had someone. A long time ago. We were close. Not anymore. Things shifted. Or maybe I did.”
Finally, she looked at him. Her expression was composed, but her eyes had that same faraway sadness.
“I’m not great at the whole... sticking around thing. Or letting people stay near me. I don’t know if that’s a warning or an apology.”
She gave a short breath of laughter. “Maybe that’s why I’ve always liked wandering. It suits me.”
Then, softer, barely audible: “Sometimes I think I feel too little. Other times, I feel too much and just pretend I don’t.”
She smiled then, wide and too bright, as if she could smother everything she’d just said with it. “Anyway,” she added quickly, “we’re elves, right? We’ve got a whole millennium to figure ourselves out.”
She stood, briskly brushing off her skirt and smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “Come on. It’s getting late. Ayda’s probably waiting for me to finish that story from yesterday.”
This time, she held out her hand to him. He took it, warm fingers wrapping around hers, but stood on his own.
“Iris, I—”
“No.”
She cut him off before he could finish, eyes turned away again. Her arms wrapped around herself like armour.
“I’d rather not get into it. Not right now.”
He froze. Then, slowly, his hand fell back to his side.
“Okay,” he said. And that was it.
Iris wished he would say more. Push a little. Demand something from her. Show that he cared too much to let her off the hook so easily. But she didn’t know what she’d do if he did. So she nodded, quiet and grateful and guilty all at once.
The walk back was colder than before, heavy with all the things they didn’t say. When they reached Nymeris’ home, she turned and gave him a faint smile. He returned it, said goodbye, and stood there as the door closed behind her.
The night was quiet. Crickets chirped steadily, unbothered by the silence left in her wake.
Elarion stayed a while, unmoving. Behind the curtain of his old room, a shadow flickered. Then it disappeared.