I had the great honour to gift a little something to @schleierkauz for the @inkyholidayexchange. I tried to incorporate what you like as best as I could and I really hope you’ll enjoy! Without further ado, here’s the thing ✨

I’d Come Home For You Too

“Brianna…”, Roxane interrupted, the tone barely chiding. Brianna stayed silent then, ate her food instead and Dustfinger couldn’t find better words to save himself from his faults.
Something death hadn’t been able to wash away. His faults stayed, they would stay. Always.

—-

When Brianna comes home for a week, Dustfinger is reminded of his guilt of leaving again and again. It’s not that he doesn’t want to fix their relationship, it’s just that he doesn’t know how to.

3594 words, no warnings, just Dustfinger trying very, very hard to be a father. 

A gentle breeze caught Dustfinger’s long hair, tugged at his cloak as if it was calling him away. It brought the smell of oleander along, of the soft moss growing on the trees nearby like a veil. Brought along the whisper of the wind, maybe even its touch. Like a white finger, tracing his face where his scars once had been. 

He couldn’t help himself but to move his own, bring some warmth back to his skin. 

Warmth. He had longed for it the past few days. Not even the fire had managed to scare the cold away completely, the one that nisted deep inside his chest like a reminder. His nights had been cold, had made him wake up drenched in sweat and sweet words on his lips. 

You will come often. And go often. He still didn’t know what the white women’s words meant.

Wandering deep into the wayless forest had been his attempt at trying to get rid of it. The impression of not being alone. The angry buzzing of the fire faeries reminded him of his purpose. Not that their nectar could improve his abilities any more. He still had enough from coming here the last time, his understanding of the flames deeper than ever before. It had been more about the ritual. Having a bit of nostalgia, of old routines to ground him. 

However, the wind. 

The wind tugged at his coat, whispering, touching, teasing. 

He looked into the distance, back the way where he had come from and thought of Roxane’s cottage, of the red anemones growing in her garden; and suddenly he wondered why he had gone out into the woods if he could easily find everything he needed at home. 

You fool, have you still not learnt?, he berated himself and bid the forest good-bye before he could fully be welcomed by it. 

His heart was a silly little thing, and treacherous on top. This was nothing new, but he felt the betrayal deeply each time when he saw Brianna and still hoped for a smile. Softness. Anything, really, but the deepness in her eyes that spoke of unfamiliarity and coldness. Betrayal of its own kind. 

She had grown a lot since he had seen her last, grown completely, perhaps. Her face had lost the last of its childlike roundness, her features now sharper like her mother’s. Healthy. It calmed him to see that she was treated well as Violante’s maid, it calmed Roxane as well. She arrived just at the same time as him, on a proud horse that kept her dress’ seam clean and pretty. Expensive clothes, he could tell. It was what she deserved. 

He patted the goose so the alarm quickly stopped, but Roxane still came out to see what had caused the short commotion. There was an instant spark of happiness in her eyes as she saw them both. He hoped that his own eyes mirrored hers. 

So he, quite sensibly, asked his daughter, “Were you kicked out again?”

Her face instantly fell into a scowl, she didn’t even deem him an answer. Instead she hopped down from her horse, and went to hug Roxane tightly.

“Violante told me to visit for a week. It’s been so long”, she explained to her mother. She offered a bundle of fresh herbs. “A gift.”

“How generous”, Roxane answered with a smile, then sniffed on the plants.

“She also gave me a list of herbs to bring back.”

“Of course. Come in, both of you must be hungry.”

Dustfinger didn’t hesitate to follow her inside if only to escape the weird tension in the garden. The house was as warm as he left it, Jehan sat at the table and copied texts Resa had left him. Even if he had been suspicious of her at first, he too had warmed up to her easily. She visited regularly to buy herbs from Roxane, taught Jehan and Farid as payment and left work for them to do until she’d come next time. 

“How has been work? How is Jacopo?” Roxane asked while she prepared a simple lunch. Some bacon, grilled pepper and bread. 

“He is… Still Jacopo”, Brianna answered carefully. 

Dustfinger could only imagine what hidden meaning lay behind those words. How could one describe a child like this? That murdered his grandfather cold blooded? If he was like his mother, surely he would be fine. Silvertongue had said something about a child psychiatrist, Resa had agreed eagerly. Violante had consulted a soul healer after they had explained the concept then, but Dusfinger’s hopes were rather slim. 

“He stopped kicking the dogs”, Brianna added. A small victory at least! “And you? How have you been?”

Roxane brought over the food with a heartfelt smile. “How could I possibly be better than this with all my favourite people at one table?” With a small gesture to Jehan, she said, “Put your work away for now, let’s eat.” 

Then, for the first time, Brianna looked at Dustfinger. “And your son? How’s he?”

That’s what she called him. He believed she was trying to be petty, but he had no excuse to call Farid anything else. Not after- 

Well. There was no use in correcting something that wasn’t truly wrong to begin with. Dustfinger cleared his throat a bit. “He is well. He is with the Black Prince for a while. Seeing the world.”

“So why are you here?” The accusation cut through the room like a knife, hurting just like Basta’s knives had hurt. Just deeper. 

Dustfinger looked down on his plate, on his bacon, preppers and bread. He knew that he’d say the wrong thing, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. Not anymore. “Those places I’ve already seen.”

“That would be boring, I am sure.”

“Brianna…”, Roxane interrupted, the tone barely chiding. Brianna stayed silent then, ate her food instead and Dustfinger couldn’t find better words to save himself from his faults. 

Something death hadn’t been able to wash away. His faults stayed, they would stay. Always. 

When he helped Roxane wash up the dishes, she put a hand on his wrist. “She’s still hurt. You have to understand.” 

Did it seem like he did not understand? Really? But I do understand, he wanted to say. I understand that she’s hurt. Sometimes I just don’t understand why you’re not hurt also.

He handed Roxane the cloth to dry her hands afterwards and they moved outside, continuing the work. The well’s bucket had fallen and even if he could not call water, it was what he tried to fix now. He could not help but wonder who had done these kinds of works while he was gone and Roxane had been alone. It made him ache for a time long gone by, made him feel guilty, made him wish that the reminder of it would not currently help Roxane with the flowers. That was the cowardly part, hidden well within himself, only rarely acknowledged and already believed gone. 

Yes. The fear of death might be gone. He treasured life. But the coward inside of him simply had found a new fear for him to avoid. Like cold voices it whispered in his mind, asking him why he had returned early, just in time to run into Brianna? What a coincidence. To trust his whim and have it pay so perfectly, cruelly. 

The day passed, so did the next and nothing Dustfinger did or said helped the tense situation between him and his daughter. What he did or said was nothing. Not even that helped. It soured his mood and his surroundings picked up on it. The goose took longer to calm down and Gwin would not stray a foot from its master, as if afraid to be left behind. Which was a reasonable fear and that made all of it even worse. 

The nights were cold, not just because the winter drew nearer, but also because the dreams were filled with memories, with longing calls and white faces. It made him wake up multiple times at which he pressed his sparkling hot hand on his chest, to find back to the warmth. Angrily he stared into the darkness that usually brought him peace, only to see Brianna’s disappointed face in it. If he knew how to fix it, he’d try. 

On a late afternoon, the sun already started to set, Jehan had finished copying lines–his handwriting was so much better than Dustfnger’s–and ran outside to help his mother. 

The boy crouched down to weed the flower beds and it was merely a couple minutes until he flinched back from the fire anemones. 

“Here, let me”, Dustfinger mumbled and quickly pulled the dandelion and grass around it. The anemone’s leaves like tiny kisses on his skin, instead. 

“It’s unfair”, Jehan said and pouted. Suddenly, Dustfinger found himself helpless. Had he been there to push a hundred pouty lips back in, to stroke away the frowns between those childish eyes, he’d know what to do now. But he hadn’t been there when Brianna had been in spite, when Rosanna had been in despair. Not even with Farid. Roxane knew what to say, even Silvertongue would know. 

“What is unfair?” he asked. Summoned a smile. 

“Farid wouldn’t get burnt. But I do. I get burnt every time.”

Dustfinger looked down at his hands and saw the red spots where the plant had come too close. It was truly an unfair fate for someone scared of the flames. Carefully, he covered it with his own, called the heat back and left unblemished skin behind. The child made wide eyes. For the first time since he saw him use his skill and it loosened something inside his chest. Maybe, he simply didn’t understand that it was the same tongue that called the fire back that could also summon it. 

Eagerly, he grabbed at his sleeve. “Will you show me one time?” 

Dustfinger squirmed. Hadn’t he only meant to teach Farid? Jehan wasn’t even his own. 

What nonsense. He could have slapped himself. He squirmed some more while he reminded himself that Jehan was as much his as Farid. And to teach him how to tame was not so bad, was it? Especially not if it managed to take his fear a bit. 

“Someday, maybe”, Dustfinger replied. A gasp.

When he looked up, he saw Brianna, her lips pressed thinly together, just as she turned around and walked away. Stomped away, but with grace (and pride). 

Whatever he had done wrong, it was totally beyond him. He swallowed down whatever wanted to rise in his chest and scrambled up to follow her. 

“Brianna- Wait!” he called and found her in the back, taking the laundry off the line. She might have been in one place now, but she certainly did not wait to talk. Which was a blessing and a curse, because he definitely didn’t know what to say to her, but at least he had the opportunity to. 

Gwin jumped onto his shoulder, a calming presence. 

“I- I don’t know what I did wrong”, he muttered under his breath, more for himself than for her, but she had heard despite it. 

“I am not surprised, you never seem to do.” Great, so she was willing to talk at least. That made it worse. 

“I am sorry. I wish I knew. I want to know. Really.”

She continued her work, not looking back or replying. He had talked with Roxane about it, multiple times. Leave her time. But let her know that you’ll be there once she’s ready, tell her. He didn’t have the words to say it. What would he give for those hated words other people could control so powerfully. Orpheus, Fenoglio, Meggie, Resa. Anyone’s. At this moment, he really did not care, he just wanted to say, “Brianna, I want to fix this.”

“Then try”, she hissed, and stomped inside (gracefully). 

Wasn’t I just trying?, he wondered and felt as helpless as if he had been thrown into an entirely different world. He knew what that had felt like, so he could make that comparison with utmost certainty. 

Dustfinger was restless. He tried to ignore it, that feeling of tingling fingers, of the blood pumping faster than he needed for sitting still and the desire to breathe in the peculiar smell of the forest, the sea, the mountains. A foolish desire, he knew, as it was just a ghost of old longings, he had just tested that out, he did not need to try it again. His true desire was to talk with Brianna without either of them abruptly shutting up or storming off. No, he would sit this week out and prove that he did not have to run away from his fears. He could face rightful rejection. Hadn’t he faced death herself? How could this be any worse?

Just as he finished those thoughts, Roxane put down a basket in front of him. “We’re out of paper and ink. Will you go and fetch some? Jehan needs it for his work.” 

Dustfinger was certain that he had seen a whole stack of paper just two days ago, he couldn’t have possibly used it all up yet. For a moment, he wondered if this was just an excuse for him to leave, if Roxane had seen right through him. Most certainly she had. Thankfully, he took the basket and the purse and made his way to Ombra. If they needed new paper and Roxane asked him to go, who was he to refuse? He would be only gone for a few hours. The trip might bring fresh air to him, let him recharge in peace from his overthinking. 

The imagery had been admirable, really. 

“-and how would I know if no one ever tells me such things? I just told Darius yesterday, didn’t I, Darius?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well, there you have it. It is impossible how expensive the paper is and even more impossible how impossible it is for me to buy it! They won’t even talk to me while paying, they only talk to Darius!”

The loud voice of the old woman made his ears ring, as if the streets of Ombra weren’t loud enough already. 

“If you hate it so much here, maybe you should go back to your world then?” Dustfinger hissed only to be met by a scandalised face. 

“And leave my family behind?” She gaped at him, but used to call him rude. “You of all people should know how much pain it brings to be separated from one’s family!” Dustfinger flinched. “Also, I really quite like it here, aside from horrendous paper prices.” 

“Well, good thing you have it, now. I need to buy some too.”

“Paper?” Elinor repeated, but stepped aside to give room at the stand. 

“Yes, for my s- for my wife’s- for Jehan, my-” Pathetically, he gave up. The old woman did not laugh, though. Rather, she looked at him with understanding. She waited until he had purchased paper and ink, no matter if he wanted or not, and then walked a few steps along. 

“It’s difficult to bond with him?” 

Dustfinger thought back of Jehan’s excitement when he had told him he’d teach him to tame the fire and could not totally agree. The boy had opened up to him in the last months, it became easier every day. No, it was not that hard to bond with him. 

“It’s okay. It’s much harder with my daughter.”

“Brianna?” The old woman put a hand on his arm, squeezed with sympathy. Darius smiled at him, too. He did not know what to make of it. 

“Yes. She doesn’t like me. I do not know how to… Talk to her.”

“I understand”, the old woman then said and nodded. “After my niece had disappeared, contact with Mo and Meggie had been sparse. He never really admitted it, but I think he tried to avoid me, so that I would not ask too many questions. When you all turned up on my doorstep that one day, I also did not know how to be. Especially with Meggie, who looked so much like her mother but carried so little from her, as she grew up without her. I am not good with kids. I’m really not.”

Dustfinger remembered. Now that she pointed it out, he truly could see the similarities. 

“But now you are good with all of them”, he mentioned and hated the longing and envy that was so obvious in his voice. 

“Yes, yes I am. Bonding in Capricorn’s village must have helped. If I am grateful for any of it, then simply that I got to get to know Meggie in that time. You can’t expect to trust and talk to one another easily if you don’t know each other well enough. It needs time.”

“That’s what Roxane says, too.”

“Well then, there you have it! What is the problem?”

“It just doesn’t work”, he admitted and after a raised eyebrow, he told her begrudgingly how Brianna stayed over and how they simply could not talk to one another without it just going wrong. 

“You can’t just exist next to each other. When I say that you need to spend time with each other, I mean that you should work on one thing together. Have you considered that she thought you were going to teach Jehan your fire magic and that she was jealous?”

“But she doesn’t want that.”

“Have you asked?”

No. He hadn’t. He had just assumed, because she had never asked. But had he offered? He hated to admit it, but the old woman was right. He thanked her with a scowl on his face and hurried to get back home, now with an urgency to see Brianna again he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Hastily, he put down the basket on the kitchen table and went to look for his daughter. He found her sitting under the autumn’s sun, humming a soft melody. She flinched a little with surprise when she noticed him.

“I-”

“You’re already back”, she noted. 

“I was just in Ombra to get paper.”

“I assumed you’d take a detour.”

“I wouldn’t. Not while you’re here.”

“Mum, you mean.”

“Yes, but-”

“I’m glad you came home for her, then.”

This was not how Dustfinger had planned for the conversation to go. All the words he had memorised on his way back home were gone, now. He was at point zero again. He had no control over the words, he did not understand them as well, he did not speak them as well, he-

He called the fire, let it paint a face with its flames, so close to what photos were like, just yellow and orange and red and a bit blue. Brianna could clearly not stop herself from looking at it in wonder. There was a frown between her eyes. 

(He wished he had learnt how to wipe it away.)

“This is what you looked like, when I had seen you the last time before I was gone”, he whispered. “I could not call the fire like this, then. I could not draw you or write about you. All I had was my memory, but I promise I held onto it. I held onto you, even if I have nothing to show for it.”

Brianna was silent, watching as her own face tingled over his hands. 

After she had gotten her fill, she looked to the ground, said eventually, “I didn’t know you could do that.”

And Dustfinger got a hold of himself and responded, “Would you like to learn?”

With big eyes, she stared at him. They looked watery. 

“How to talk to the fire, I mean.”

“I don’t need to know how to do your tricks. I can sing, that pays plenty already.”

“You don’t have to”, he quickly reared back. “Only if you want to. I’d teach you.”

“We barely see each other. I bet you wouldn’t even be here the next time that I visit.” She crossed the arms before her chest, but nothing about her defensive posture could hide how her voice cracked. 

“I’m home a lot. If you let me know, I’d come home then.”

“Yeah.” She swallowed, looked into the distance and he let the flames die, didn’t know whether to reach out or to give space. 

“I do come home”, he repeated. “I always have and forever will. For Roxane, but also for you. I’d come home for you too.”

“I don’t need you to”, she snapped back, tears in her eyes that she was too proud to shed and her arms crossed before her chest. 

“But if you wanted me to.” 

And that was, apparently, more than either of them could handle. Because Brianna could not hold back any longer and somehow he couldn’t either. So he found himself with his arms around her shoulder, while she hid her sobs against his chest. He knew it was just a beginning, as he stroked over her red hair in calming motions. They would need time and he did not expect her to forgive him just like that. Maybe he would never teach her a single thing. 

But he could. If she wanted to, he would do anything. 

When the week was over, Brianna left with a bundle of fresh herbs and a smile on her face that did not dim for the first time when her gaze shifted to Dustfinger. 

That night, he slept through, warmth in his heart. 

Basta: Oh, Firefox, it’s just you.

Basta: I was afraid it was somebody important.

Orpheus: My fist hungers for justice.

Orpheus’ stomach: *growls*

Orpheus: That was my fist…

Adderhead: Bluejay! My arch-nemesis!

Cosimo: I thought I was your arch-nemesis?

Adderhead: I have a life outside of you, Cosmio.

Death, about Dustfinger: I could fix him.

Fenoglio: You read my diary?

Rosenquarz: At first I did not know it was your diary. I thought it was a very sad handwritten book.

Elinor, walking into her house: Hello, people who do not live here.

Farid: Hey.

Dustfinger: Hi.

Fenoglio: Hello.

Darius, standing behind Elinor: I gave you the key to our place for emergencies only.

Dustfinger: I was out of Doritos.

Capricorn: They put a tax on soda, what’s next? Income?

Darius: Sir, you don’t pay your income tax?

Capricorn: Whether or not I pay income tax is none of the government’s business.

Black Prince: How’d it go?

Mo: Good. Ate some squirrel. Made some enemies. Regular day.

Fenoglio, to Meggie and Farid: People don’t disappear because you wish for them to.

Elinor: Yeah, Fenoglio, YOU’RE still here.

Barn Owl: Alright, Fenoglio, tell me what happened.

Fenoglio: Well, I was reading an encyclopedia, and I tripped- or “fell over” and hit my head. Or, “Brain helmet”.

Elinor: Yeah, he sneezed and smacked his head against the wall.

Barn Owl: That sounds about right.

Mo: There’s nothing to worry about, Resa! The Nettle says I’m doing phenomenal :)

Resa: …

Resa: Mo, she said you have pneumonia.

“Writing stories is a kind of magic, too.” - Cornelia Funke, Inkheart

silver-words-and-inky-secrets:

A New Home

My first fill for Inkworld Appreciation Week : )

Summary: Darius accepts Elinor’s offer to move in with her and her family. Gen fic
Warnings:none
Length: triple drabble (3 parts with 100 words each. Though this one is the Ao3 count, which ended up slightly lower than the one in my document, so I had to make some tweaks)

also posted to Ao3

Keep reading

Fox: You are loosing a lot of blood! Quick, whats your type?

Jacob: brave, intelligent, red-headed, shape shifter -

Fox: I meant blood type.

Jacob:Oh

Jacob, looks at wound:Red.

[Fox and Jacob at the beach]

Fox: You remind me of the ocean.

Jacob: Yeah, true. Because I’m salty and I scare people off.

Fox:

Fox: Damn it, Jacob!

Jacob: shit, I fucked it up.

Fox, narrating: he said, with a surprised voice, for some reason

Jacob: That would go against my moral compass.

Fox: Oh, c'mon! Your moral compass is a roulette wheel.