Archive of Our Own

I am not the man you fell in love with.

Upon the creation of the universe God, the one true god unlike the ones who hold the shards, saw that some souls were intrinsically linked. They would seek each other in every life, they were bound by more than shards, by love. 

God saw this and allowed them to not have to be taken away into the depths of the cosmere where all other souls go. Instead these souls would find each other in every lifetime, whether others would want it or not. 

I am not the man you once adored, I am not your kind and gentle husband, and I am not the love you knew before. 

Penelope had always felt out of place in this world. She had thought it was due to the constant war and struggle on her planet. She grew up only seeing war, and it was all she had ever known. 

That was how life was here. And now their planet was dying. The air was filled with ash, and they had no drinkable water, or ways to get food. It was only a matter of time before they all died here. 

But a man named Nale, claimed that he heard a voice from the stars. One that spoke of another world that they could live on. 

Something about this world called to Penelope. She had never heard of Roshar before but as soon as its name was uttered something inside her clicked. 

There was something on this planet for her. Something that would allow her to belong. 

She had always known she wasn’t like others in her community. Others didn’t spend hours looking up at the stars, dreaming of another world. Others didn’t think of the soft lips of other girls rather than men as her father expected of her. 

But maybe on this planet she could find others like her. Others who liked women as well. Others who spent far too much time looking up at the stars. 

And so she along with some others in her community followed Nale through the portal and onto Roshar. 

It was nothing like she had ever seen before. Here creatures blew through the wind, calling out to each other, alive. They weren’t birds, but small people. 

Penelope covered in mud, gasped as she witnessed her first emotion spren. She would now know it as an exhaustion spren, but as she first saw it, she felt a light in her. This would be it, this world was the one for her. 

As Penelope and the others walked further into this new world, through the mud, Penelope caught sight of someone. It was a woman. 

She stood in the trees surrounding the large mud bank, skin a swirling pattern of blacks and whites while the rest of her body was covered in carapace. Her hair was in strands trailing down on her back. 

The woman was absolutely beautiful. 

Penelope felt something tug her closer to the woman. Was this what she had been waiting for? Someone like her? 

But someone grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her back to the rest of the humans. The others raised weapons, looking at the strange humanoids with fear. 

They pulled Penelope back to the crowd, and prepared themselves to fight them. 

Penelope never saw that girl again after that day. 

So tell me, would you fall in love with me again, if you knew, all I’ve done, the things cannot change, would you love me all the same? 

Years passed on Roshar, and the singer Yar was a soldier. He wasn’t particularly good at it, but his people demanded he fight the humans. 

So he did as asked. Yar fought for his people, fought for their new god. This new god had allotted some lucky singers immortality if they did as he asked. Yar hoped to prove himself. This would be the battle he would do it. 

This battle would make or break the war effort. This was one of the largest human cities and if they took it, they could restrict the humans to the mountains and marsh lands. 

He ran up with the others taking the area. They got to the city center and the main fused in charge of them pointed at Yar to kill anyone in that tent. Yar hadn’t known what was in the tent, but he lifted his spear and entered anyway, it was probably filled with soldiers. That was his job and he would fulfill it. 

Maybe if he showed the fused he could fulfill orders he would be elevated. Either way, he would do this. 

Yar walked inside the tent and froze. The room was filled with injured and youths. The youths cared for the injured soldiers, making sure they were all comfortable. 

“Singer!” a woman shouted, running up to him. She was his age, one of the only adults in the room that wasn’t injured. She was tall with long dark hair. In her hands she brandished a scalpel. It wouldn’t do much against the spear he held in his hands, but Yar admired the woman’s bravery. 

“Go, get the injured out of here,” Yar said, in the human language. “I’ll tell them the tents are empty, just get out before they find you. They’re going to burn the city down.” 

Yar turned to walk out of the room, but the woman grabbed his hand. 

“Why?” the woman asked, eyes sharp. “What trick is this?” 

“No trick,” Yar said, humming to sincerity, although he knew she probably wouldn’t understand the rhythm. “I won’t let anyone kill the injured, nor will I let them kill you either. Go.” 

The woman stared at him a moment longer before she ran back to her people, getting them ready for transport. 

Yar turned, but not without getting one more look at the woman. There was something about her. Something that Yar related to. She wanted the best for her people, like Yar did, they didn’t want to fight, but they were here anyway. 

He turned and walked out. 

Yar never became fused. The people who escaped the city thanks to his help were slaughtered, but not before they told the fused that it was him who helped them. 

Yar was executed, his last thoughts thinking of the woman. Had she been the one to betray him, or had it been someone else? Had she thought it would save herself in the end? Or did she want to drag him down with her? 

Yar didn’t know, and he would never find out. 

I will fall in love with you, 

The heralds were formed not long after Yar and the woman’s deaths, and with them came a whole new kind of fighting. 

The humans were progressing further onto singer land, so much now that it was half and half. 

Trick lived on human lands during one of the desolations. They were supposed to be an ardent. That’s what they wanted to be at least. But life had a way of getting in the way. 

Now Trick was a radiant, or whatever they were calling it. Trick had never heard of radiants before, but a strange spren had approached Trick and now they were bonded. According to it, it belonged to Honor, and was supposed to be helping in the fight against the singers. 

They were supposedly called an Edgedancer, whatever that meant. All they knew was that it meant they could heal people, which made Trick vital to the war effort, no matter what Trick wanted to do with their life. 

“Over here!” a Windrunner called to Trick. They glided over to the Windrunner, where he sheltered a regular soldier whose body was burned by a Stormform. 

Trick did their work quickly, healing, then moving onto the next man. It had been like this for hours. 

“We only have this tower to take!” a Skybreaker called, and the group began charging forwards. 

Trick stayed behind, checking to make sure they hadn’t missed any wounded. The best ways to make sure people were alive were the pain spren that circled the area. 

They spotted one beside the body of a horse. Poor thing. Trick quickly slid over to the beast. 

But as they tried to put their hands on the horse, Trick couldn’t find any signs of life. There was nothing to heal there, so why was there a pain spren? 

They peered around until they saw what the pain spren had been attracted to. It was a singer, she was leaking out orange blood, seeming to have been crushed by the rider of the horse. 

Trick paused. The singer was still alive. Should they do anything? They were servants of Odieum. 

But when had Trick done anything that was expected of them? Maybe if they did this, they would be kicked out of the army, that would be the best situation, so they walked over to the singer and laid their hands on her. 

“What?” the singer asked, eyes widened, their rhythm turning into something sharp and full of staccato. 

“I’m healing you,” Trick said, as the stormlight filled their body and was pushed into the singer. 

“Why?” the singer asked. Trick looked into their eyes, they were bright orange and studied Trick sharply. They were quietly humming and their voice was deep and melodic, unlike anything Trick had ever heard before. 

Trick raised an eyebrow then grinned, “Because I think you're pretty.” 

They left that day, this last stunt did manage to get them sent out of the army just as Trick had planned. Trick would always think of the singer, silently thanking her for allowing them to join the ardentia, like they wanted. 

Over and over again,

Drol wasn’t anyone special. He was pretty much a nobody in the singer world. He hadn’t been chosen to fight, he was supposed to stay back and protect the crops. That was what was expected of him, and he would live up to it. He was a man of his people, and would continue to do so. 

Well, that was until the humans took him as a prisoner of war. He wasn’t sure why they picked him out of all the farmers to keep alive, but Drol wasn’t going to complain, he wanted to live. He wanted to see the day his people eventually won this war. 

So Drol went somewhat peacefully with the humans, they locked him in a room, dark and damp. He curled up in the corner. He was only in work form, since it would be easier to take care of the crops in that rather than in any other form. 

But Drol needed to stay strong, he would be saved soon. He knew it. The singers would come for him and he would be free from this prison. 

Drol couldn’t tell how much time passed in the cell. Sometimes the guards would forget to bring Drol food and he would starve for what felt like days. He was beginning to lose hope in the singers. Maybe they weren’t looking for him. Maybe they thought he was dead along with the rest of the workers at the farm. 

It had been one of the main bases of food supplies for the singers, which was the only reason he was captured, but what if they hadn’t noticed it yet? Maybe they thought he was a deserter. 

Just when Drol felt he had no hope left, someone new approached his cell. It was a tall man in bright yellow armor. Drol couldn’t read the symbols on his armor but he knew what it meant. He was a radiant. 

Drol closed his eyes. It was time. He wasn’t going to make it till the end of the war as he had thought. Drol was going to die here, in a cell forgotten. 

But the Radiant didn’t cut him down. He just cut away at the metal bars on the door and opened up a hole for Drol to walk through. 

Drol stared at the radiant. Was this some kind of trick? Was he going to enter the cell now to kill him? Or was he testing to see if Drol wanted his freedom then cut him down once he escaped. 

“What are you waiting for?” the Radiant asked in the singer language. It sounded flat without rhythms but he was speaking the language. Drol stared up at the man, how did he know their language? 

“Are you going to just sit there?” the Radiant asked once more. “Escape, before the guards come back.” 

Drol didn’t need any more prompting. He stepped out of the hole in the bars and stood awkwardly in the hallway. He had no idea where to go. When Drol had been taken here, he had been blindfolded. 

“Why are you just standing here?” the Radiant asked. Drol hummed to annoyance, did this Radiant even know how the prisoners were taken? 

“I don’t know where to go,” Drol said, adding an exaggerated eye roll so that he could understand. 

“Fuck,” the radiant said, before taking Drol’s wrist and pulling him along a hallway. 

“Why are you doing this?” Drol asked, humming to apprehension. 

“It’s my order,” the Radiant said, his voice cold. “We’re supposed to free those who have been captured. Freedom is kind of our whole deal.” 

“That’s dumb that they let you here then,” Drol said, following the Radiant down the hall. The Radiant had dismissed some of the armor on his hand so that Drol’s wrist wasn’t crushed by his hand. 

The man’s skin was a dark brown, his hand warm as he showed Drol the way out of the prison. Apparently it was some kind of cavern system. 

“We’re not far from the sea,” the Radiant said, hiding behind a wall, letting some guards pass. “And they don’t know I’m here. I’m kind of here illegally.” 

“Why me?” Drol asked, as they finally reached the fresh air. It felt like it had been years since Drol had felt the wind on his face. It swept around him for a moment, as if it remembered him. The wind blew through Drol’s overgrown hair strands, and he could hear a rhythm. The song of Roshar. 

He hummed along to it, and the wind left as soon as it had come. 

“Because, you don’t belong in a prison, no one does,” the Radiant said, looking at the sea side in front of them. “I heard of them taking a farmer prisoner and I couldn’t let them keep you here.” 

Drol would normally hum to appreciation to show that he was grateful but he didn’t know what humans did in that case. He thought he might’ve seen some hug, but he didn’t know if he should hug the man when he was wearing full shardplate. 

But soon the man had dropped his shardhelm. His face was beautiful. He had a short cropped beard that hid away his lips. And his eyes were a bright yellow, like a glory spren. His hair was in long braids down his back, looking similar to a singer’s hair strands. 

Drol decided what he would do as an act of gratitude. He leaned up and kissed the man on the cheek, then without looking back Drol ran off into the wilderness never to see the man again. 

I don’t care how, where, or when

What the histories don’t speak of were the small villages stuck between the lines. They didn’t really care about the war, they were simply trying to survive. Neither god appealed much to these people, since they were both singer and human. 

In this village lived two girls. One singer, one human. They were best friends, not having seen the horrors of what life was life outside their small village.

Shale and Ply, they were called. 

Most people in the village viewed it as two girls, close friends, but their parents knew better. They saw the way they would disappear into rooms for long stretches of time, the way their eyes would linger on each other more than they did on others. 

They told the girls to keep it quiet. It wasn’t an explicit rule in the village but humans and singers didn’t mate. Nor did two girls at the least. 

So Shale and Ply kept their relationship secret, until the day the singers took their village. 

“You,” a warform said, pointing at Ply. She stepped forward, looking back once more at her girlfriend before following the warform to the front. 

“In the next highstorm, you will take warform and join us, its about time your village took part in the draft.” 

Ply hummed to surprise. She hadn’t expected to ever need to fight. The area they lived in was so far removed from the fighting, that at times she didn’t think it was real. 

She ran back to her family and Shale. They all stared, humming to fear. 

“When do you leave?” Shale asked, taking Ply’s hand not carrying who looked. 

“Now, soldiers don’t need belongings,” Ply said, humming to sorrow. 

Without thinking Ply took Shale’s face in her hands, and kissed her. The onlookers gasped, most being soldiers, and were shocked a human and singer could fall in love. 

Before Ply could pull away, she was dragged away by a stormform. He glared down at Ply, and slapped her across the face. 

“You’re a disgrace to your people, you should be ashamed,” he said. “You will take work form, we need more people working on the fields.”

Ply shuddered, she knew what that meant. Long work hours, with hardly any breaks. They worked until they couldn’t stand. Ply looked back at her family knowing it would be the last time she ever saw them. Last time she ever saw the love of her life. 

No matter how long its been

The first time Garith saw her he knew she was the only one who could match him on all fronts. Battle, strategy, and mind games. He had to admit it was incredibly attractive, even if she was a singer. 

Their first battle was in a scrimmage for a small town. Neither side particularly wanted it, but neither side wanted the other to have it. So Garith, a new windrunner, had led a small squad to deal with the singers occupying it. 

She had been a stormform then, and they dueled in the skies, sword against spear. 

They didn’t see each other for a few months after that. But as they both moved up the ranks of their respective armies, they saw each other more and more. 

On what must’ve been their twentieth battle, Garith found the courage to ask, “what’s your name?” 

She stared at Garith for a moment, her spear stopping, before she sighed and said, “Shmone.” 

He would always think that was the prettiest name he’d ever heard. “I’m Garith.” 

They didn’t truly get to know each other until one night when they had been fighting and they managed to get caught in a highstorm. Garith without thinking pulled Shmone into a small cavern, sheltering them from the flying rocks. 

“You saved me,” Shmone said, once they caught their breaths. 

“Yeah,” Garith said, blushing. She was still the prettiest woman he had ever seen, and he couldn’t help but notice that there, so close together.

That night they spoke. They spoke about everything and nothing. They had so much in common, but so many differences as well, but the differences didn’t drive them apart but brought them together. Garith could see her side, see how everyone in her army wanted peace, like Garith. 

After the highstorm passed, Garith and Shmone stayed together a little longer, and eventually planned to meet once more. 

What came from a few meetings a month, to speak of finding peace, led to weekly dates. They stopped truly fighting each other, only sparring when they saw each other on the battlefield. 

The first time they kissed, Garith thought he knew what true happiness was. 

And when she was turned into slaveform, Garith knew what true grief was. 

You’re mine. You claim that you’re not the same person, 

Rlain peered over the shoulders of the other bridgemen as Teft brought in a new recruit. The man was still hiding behind Teft as Teft gave a long boring speech about how they were supposed to treat him like any other man. 

“Just show us, Goncho!” Lopen yelled, trying to jump onto Rock’s shoulder to get a better look at the man. “If he’s a goncho, I’ll treat him like a goncho, if he’s not I’ll treat him like Pete. If he’s like Sig, I’ll bully him.” 

“Can I kick Lopen out yet?” Teft asked Kaladin who was standing beside him. 

“We need someone to volunteer to be stuck to the wall of a chasm.” 

“True, he is a rather good test subject,” Sigzil said, looking down at a clip board. 

“See, Sigzil doesn’t even mind!” 

“I didn’t say that!” 

Rlain found himself humming to happiness. This was his family. They were nothing like the listeners had been but they cared about him, and that was all that mattered. Even if they didn’t know how to make rhythms for the life of them and their voices were so flat they still loved him, even if he was a Parshman. 

They still didn’t know that he was a traitor, but they didn’t need to know that just yet. Rlain was still trying to figure out how to break the news to them. Maybe he could find a way to convince them that their people weren’t as bad as Dalinar and the light eyes made them out to be. 

Whatever the case, they wouldn’t find out. 

But if they did, Rlain would have to go back home. Home, where they all laughed at him. Home, where no one even wanted him there. If he went home, it would mean he was a failure, he couldn’t even do the one thing everyone had expected of him. 

“Is that the Princeling?” one of the bridgemen yelled, pulling Rlain out of his stupor. 

“Nah, the princeling is Adolin, I think this one is Dalinar’s adopted kid,” another voice called out. Rlain pushed his way to the front of the group, where he saw a short human. He wore fine clothes, nothing like the blue uniforms the others wore, his was silk and dyed a deep almost black blue, on his face he wore a pair of spectacles that Rlain knew the others would be making fun of pretty soon.

“I’m not adopted,” the human said meekly, raising his hand at the barrage of questions that came out of Bridge four. Maybe Teft had been onto something when he asked them to be respectful. 

“This is Prince Renarin Kholin,” Kaladin said, his voice booming over the bridgemen’s voices. “He will be training under us, learning how to be a spearman. You will treat him as one of us, just like me, Teft, Rock, or Moash. He’s Bridge Four now.” 

“Bridge Four!” The group, including Rlain, chanted raising their arms. Soon the group dispersed to their usual training. 

Renarin began following Kaladin around, but soon Sigzil had pulled Kaladin away and Teft had Renarin by the neck pulling him towards the other men as they trained. Of course Rlain and Rock stayed behind getting water prepared for the others, and looking at the different ingredients they would have for stew. 

Rlain stared longingly at the others with their spears. He wanted to be like that. He wanted to fight along with the others. But of course they wouldn’t give a slave a spear. What if he became like the parshendi out on the plains? What if he attacked everyone? Nevermind that they were allowed access to knives on the daily, if they truly wanted to kill their masters. Rlain had brought up the idea of letting him hold a spear, but Kaladin had seemed hesitant. 

Soon Teft called a break and the bridgemen crowded Rlain and Rock. Rlain quickly passed around the canteens of water. 

As he sat back next to Rock, Renarin joined them, panting. “Are they always like this?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

Rlain paused, staring at Renarin. His voice almost had a musical quality to it, unlike any that he had ever heard from a human before. 

“Yes,” Rlain said, humming a rhythm, partially as a test, partially because it just felt right. 

Rock widened his eyes over at Rlain but turned back to Renarin, “It all good, they will warm to you soon.” 

Renarin huffed, but then turned his eyes to the ingredients. “What are you making?” 

“Stew,” Rock said, simply adding a few more ingredients to the soup. 

He looked over at Rlain as if to say could he explain any less? 

Rlain found himself blushing. When was the last time a stranger had treated him like a normal person. Most people when they saw him, thought Rlain was an oddity and treated him as such. 

“How did you join Bridge Four?” Renarin asked, scooting closer to Rlain. 

“Shen no say much,” Rock said, shrugging. “No why, he say more than others according to Kal.” 

Renarin nodded, and Rlain felt his hope die. He had hoped maybe he could find someone who understood him on Bridge Four. Kaladin did his best, but this form was terrible for communicating. 

“I was an experiment,” Rlain finally managed out once Rock had left him and Renarin alone. 

Renarin raised an eyebrow but let Rlain speak. “They wanted to see what the Parshendi would do if I was there.” 

Renarin paled, “people treat me differently too,” he said, quietly. “Father couldn’t find anyone else who would take me, so I’m with you.” 

Rlain felt his chest tighten, they really were alike. Maybe Rlain did find someone who understood him. 

But you’re always my partner, 

Renarin stared at Garith, he was the Windrunner who had kissed the Regal. He had kissed a singer. 

Rlain shoved his arm a little and Renarin realized he had made an audible sound. Renarin blushed, what if Rlain thought he was a bigot or something? 

He quickly turned his eyes back on Garith, who looked on at the singer with love. With love. 

Did this mean it was possible for love between singer and man? Renarin found himself grinning at this idea. Maybe his attraction to Rlain wasn’t as strange as he had originally thought. 

But before his eyes Renarin watched Mishram get betrayed, all the singers were stripped of their forms, and Garith stared at the singer, looking on at the bondsmith who left the realm with Mishram trapped. 

If this was how others reacted to this, how would Renarin fare? Even if Rlain liked him back, could Renarin handle this kind of discrimination? He barely was able to deal with people mocking him for not understanding social cues, but if he had to deal with this, something even Renarin knew was taboo, could he do it? 

Everything was happening too fast for Renarin’s mind to keep up with, Shallan was chasing after what she thought was a ghostblood. 

Rlain was checking on some of the singers, trying to figure out how to help them, and Renarin was stuck there still staring at Garith. 

There was something about his eyes that reminded Renarin of something. He was sobbing loudly as he clutched the singer. He didn’t seem to see anything but the singer. It reminded Renarin of how he had been after his mother’s death. He had clutched to Adolin, refusing to let go until he knew everything was going to be okay, hoping Adolin would be able to fix their father, hoping that maybe the one person who stood up for the two of them would just come back.

Glys hummed inside Renarin making him pause. 

“What’s that rhythm?” Renarin asked under his breath. 

“The rhythm of the lost,” Glys said, simply. “He has the same song as you.” Glys said a lot of strange things at times and Renarin had chosen to accept it, but this seemed more than just that. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know of rebirth right?” 

Renarin nodded his head, it was something he had considered many times over the years although according to his aunt it was heresy. But Jasnah understood, it was a part of his mother’s religion. You were part of the one, they all were, and his mother believed the one spun them out now and then, spun them out to meet their true love. 

Of course Jasnah thought the last part was nonsense, but Renarin believed it, or had for a while, but that was before he had realized that he didn’t like girls. Renarin had kept hoping a perfect girl would come along and Renarin would finally start feeling attraction towards them, of course that never happened, since Renarin was gay, but it had been a nice thought. 

Without thinking Renarin stepped up to Garith, he placed a hand on his shoulder and uttered quietly, “I’m going to fix this.” 

Garith looked at Renarin and seemed to see what Glys saw between them. His eyes flashed with recognition and he smiled at Renarin. 

“Of course you will, I never expected anything less of me.” 

And with that Renarin was swept up into another vision. 

And I’ve been waiting. 

Rlain stood in the middle of Shadesmar. They had done it, they had freed Mishram, and now were out of the spiritual realm. 

Renarin leaned on Rlain, looking around shakily. The weight of their action, finally settling on his mind. 

“We did it,” Renarin said, a bright smile forming. 

“We did,” Rlain said, humming to victory. In his excitement Rlain pulled Renarin closer to him, lifting him up in a hug. They were back. They had done what they had set out to do. They were safe now. 

Well, maybe Rlain shouldn’t have thought that, because in the sky looming above them, lay a collection of storms brewing. 

Rlain let go of Renarin and they ran over to the oath gate, barely making it in time. As they landed, they soon realized their whole world had changed around them. There were no longer three gods, but one. They no longer had stormlight, and would only be able to use towerlight. And worst of all for Renarin all his family other than Jasnah were unavailable. 

Rlain stuck by Renarin’s side through it all, knowing he would need the support. Renarin was incredibly stressed with this new position of power on him, and having to stand as the head of the Kholin house. 

Renarin surprisingly managed to stay strong under the pressure, only cracking once he got back to his rooms. Rlain started spending more nights with him, not sleeping together, just existing. Rlain hadn’t managed to change his form yet and they wanted to wait till he could get into mateform, for them to have sex. 

“You don’t have to be here,” Renarin said one night as they were getting ready for bed. 

“But I want to be here,” Rlain said, hugging Renarin from behind. They had grown more accustomed to physical touch as they had grown closer in their relationship. “I want to help you with this.” 

Renarin leaned against Rlain, sighing gently. “Thank you.”

Rlain gently kissed Renarin’s cheek. “I want to be here for all your moments, and I want you to be there when we go to the Shattered plains.” 

“I would love to go with you,” Renarin said, his eyes closed and Rlain began to sway them back and forth. “I want to spend a lifetime with you.” 

“I’d like to spend nine,” Rlain said, sitting down on the bed, humming to content. 

“Glys thinks we have,” Renarin mumbled. 

Rlain shot him a look, but didn’t ask any questions. If this was a conversation Renarin wanted to have, they would. Sometimes Renarin just said things, and he didn’t expect a response to it, and Rlain was perfectly content with that. 

They stayed in silence for a bit longer, before Renarin finally said, “I wish we could figure a way out of the tower, then we could get you home.” 

“I know,” Rlain said, laying on the bed, Renarin cuddled up to him, laying on his side, his head on Rlain’s chest. Renarin somehow always found a way to curl up between the chinks in the armor that came with Warform. 

“Do you miss it?” Renarin asked. 

“Some, do you miss Althecar?” 

Renarin shrugged, and hummed to resentment. “They didn’t really care about me back there. I like it here more.” 

Rlain nodded, “I get it.” 

“But they’re still our homes right?” 

“You’re my home now,” Rlain said, knowing how cheesy it must sound. 

But Renarin didn’t think that. He just looked up at Rlain and kissed him softly. “You’re my home too.”

They were quiet once again, but their quiets were never truly quiet. It was more both of them humming to whatever rhythm could come to mind. Renarin had taken to singing rhythms quickly, and now he was learning the listener’s language. It was slow going, but Rlain appreciated the effort. 

“You know, most people would be married if they said those words,” Renarin said, picking at a hard part of Rlain’s carapace. 

Rlain hummed. “We don’t have that on the plains.” 

“I know,” Renarin said, biting his lip. “But we could also be war mates, if you’d prefer that.” 

“Why not both?” 

“I’d like that,” Renarin said, looking into Rlain’s eyes. 

“I don’t know how much time we have here,” Rlain said, humming to uncertainty. “But I am sure about us. I’d like to do both sooner rather than later.” 

“Me too,” Renarin said, and he kissed Rlain. They held each other for a long time, even after the kiss broke. This was going to be Rlain’s forever, he was going to make sure of that. 

How long has it been? 

Eight thousand years.