This was compiled from ficlets written for Team Snark (Crane/Rosethorn), in SMACKDOWN, a competition hosted by Fief Goldenlake. A link to Goldenlake is on my profile – go check it out!
a/n: The House that Crane Built and Rosethorn's Garden are both set in the same universe. The other stories/sections are not related to them, but rather, are based around three themes (and take place in the canon universe):
Six People - outsider POVs of Rosethorn and Crane, with various degrees of accuracy;
Breaking Up - out-takes on Crane and Rosethorn's canon breakup (and Rosethorn's subsequent new relationship with Lark);
Road Home - the steps to re-establishing their relationship - new in some ways, but in others still the same
The House that Crane Built
By icecreamlova
- : -
Laying the Foundation
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Isas spends most of his first few weeks at Winding Circle quite alone: he doesn't care to socialize, and his year-mates pick up on that and treat him exactly the same way.
He doesn't find them interesting, so he feels little discomfort about his relative isolation.
While he is perfectly fine not speaking with those peers, he does miss speaking with someone who actually knows what they're talking about. He thought Winding Circle would be a fountain of knowledge; so far he's almost regretting coming.
And then he meets Niva.
It's his fault, really. He's marked her as one of his peers who actually possesses a brain, so he's intrigued when he sees her, dirt between bare toes and habit stained with grass. Those patches of weeds she's pulling out…
"Did someone plant fennel in a vegetable patch?" he asks disbelievingly. Surely, only capable dedicates are permitted to touch these gardens anyway. (Which actually begs the question of why she's allowed, and he isn't.)
She looks like she wants to roll her eyes, and settles for flicking her braid of auburn hair behind her back. "Help or leave," she retorts, and leaves it at that.
Later, Isas will think about the careful way she handles the surrounding vegetation, her deft precision with her tools, and the recognition that she prefers the wordless emotion from plants over mindless chatter of other humans. Later, he'll wonder if it is what makes him stay.
But he stays, and for that noon period spent digging up weeds, of all things, he doesn't ache to talk at all.
- : -
Walls
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In Isas's world, there are two types of walls: the ones that he builds, and the ones that others build around him. As he grows older, though, it becomes more and more difficult to separate one from the other.
At first, he believes it's his upbringing that keeps his friendship with Niva at some sort of distance; he believes it's someone else's fault that their bickering always end with a step back, a disengagement.
But that's a lie, and Niva's words mark it as one. He cannot disagree when she snaps, "You make your own choices," with characteristic forthrightness, blushing with the heat of their arguments.
So when their joint education at Lightsbridge is announced, Isas seeks Niva out. He'll make those walls his own, and build them where he wants. He won't blame someone else.
- : -
Windows
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Isas recognizes from childhood the impossibility of fully knowing another person, and takes advantage of that himself.
Others see only what he lets them see.
When his father visits, it's simple to draw a curtain around his thoughts and feelings, until his walls are what they see. Such fuss around the count's arrival – but no, he doesn't mind at all, it's just a family matter. (He minds: only his dutiful side doesn't, and he rather resents that.)
Strong opinions are expressed by the count – he'll take them into consideration, yes sir, it is true there are many vocations outside of temple dedicate. (But he doesn't want to spend his life governing his father's lands.)
His professors tell him he's suited to Lightsbridge, should he decide not to take his vows. (He shifts the window and shows that that he's flattered by the offer.)
He tells Niva that he knows where he's going, what he wants, and she just shakes her head. "You can stop deflecting the truth. It's perfectly obvious what's going on to anyone who looks," she informs him. "Unless 'anyone' refers to that twit, Professor Bluewater," she adds with a knowing grin, naming the professor he secretly despises, and her color seems to improve a little just from throwing out a barb.
He is unsure if he appreciates that someone else can see through the windows, open or closed, with no effort at all. But if it has to be someone, Isas is glad it's her.
- : -
Interlude A: Niva Would Like You To Know
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Niva wants to assure you she doesn't like interfering with other people's business. She does, however, occasionally, through no fault of her own, stumble onto other people's business.
Niva wasn't prowling around Lightsbridge, looking for gossip. Her time is far better spent studying, so she can graduate early and leave this cursed, dry place, or in her garden, to touch green things and daydream of said day. But for some reason, you decided to spend your time there, and. Well. She can hardly help overhearing if, when she arrives, you have been accosted by your visiting father, and a lecture imbued by aristocratic arrogance is being shared.
Niva saw perfectly how you stopped drawling, how you stood straight until your thin frame made you look like a stork, how some part of you accepted your father's words, so that you'd have an excuse not to have to decide where to go from there.
Niva would like you to know that some people are idiots: knowing what they want, they hesitate to go after what will make them grow.
Niva won't tell you, though.
Niva never does interfere with other people's business.
(Unless you're Isas fer Yorvan, proud and vain and her friend. Then she'll tell you what you won't accept, and land on you with two feet if you continue to be silly.)
- : -
Doors
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When Isas took his novice vows at Winding Circle, he laid foundations there for a life. He hadn't thought much about it at the time; Isas's ambition burned, but it was directionless, a vague impression of his life in some distant tomorrow.
Everything seemed so distant, even Niva. The time spent with her, arguing, competing, laughing wryly; those fleeting moments when they were nose to nose over a disagreement, blushing warmly, until he thought it was her breath against his mouth, and her skin brushing against his… even those moments faded in intensity, because they led nowhere. He stepped away, or she did, and in both instances he could almost hear a door swinging shut, leaving mingled relief and disappointment.
It took Isas longer than it should have to remember he had sworn he would build his walls where he wanted. Now it was up to him to decide what it was he wanted, and to open the doors.
"Stop dithering and make a decision," Niva snapped one day, and he couldn't help it.
Her lips were soft but her embrace was firm, certain, and right there.
"You're right," Isas said, half-bent over – she'd had to tug him down because of their height difference – and not caring a whit.
"I wish I had a way to record that," Niva said. A corner of her mouth tugged up. "Though I'm sure I can make you repeat it."
He had hesitated so long, wondering if he would regret letting her walk in through the door. He didn't.
- : -
Roofs
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Wind whipped across the embankments of the rooftops, until he could barely hear his sigh of relief when he found her at last.
"Niva – "
"Did you ask for it, Isas? Another two years?"
He looked at her down-turned mouth, how she stood with her arms wrapped around her waist, her newly cropped auburn locks dancing across her jaw. He said the best answer, without pretense, without teasing: simply, "No."
She turned to stare out beyond Lightbridge's tall walls. "Two more years here. I want to go home and walk in it's gardens."
After a moment, he joined her there, in her quiet longing. When night fell, they returned down the stairs together, and didn't separate until morning.
- : -
"Did he – "
She hesitated.
"You may ask," Isas drawled, his face buried in his hands, elbows resting on the library table. "I promise I will not reproach you for it."
Niva snorted, and took a seat beside him, pushing away the stack of books that had hidden him from view.
His father had thought that he'd have longer to convince Isas to return to the family, only to discover that his errant son intended to visit Winding Circle at the end of the year and take his vows to become a dedicate. The count had been… displeased.
"If you keep staying up this late," Niva said, after silence had fallen for longer than was comfortable, "your complexion will be ruined." She would never say something as domestic as 'go to bed' but the meaning behind it was loud and clear. She rose, holding out a hand. It was warm when he took it.
It helped. That night, his sleep was peaceful.
- : -
The House that Crane Built
- : -
"He's not going to ask me again," Isas – newly named Crane – murmured against her neck.
He could feel Rosethorn still, as she changed from drowsy to awake. He hadn't told her about this at all.
She had probably suspected, though. His father's letter had been short and concise, but its contents must have lingered for a long time across his face as he processed the fact that he would never really belong to his family again.
Crane wasn't sure what he expected from someone who rarely spoke to humans, and never liked them, but he jolted when she pulled away. Light played across the muscles of her bare back, and made her normally steady eyes glimmer when they met his.
"If you regret it," she told him, "it's too late to leave. You've made your vows." With her words came the tacit assumption that he would never break them.
"I don't regret it," Crane said quietly, and breathed as her hand touched his chest, pressed down, and stayed there.
She hesitated, minutely, and said slowly, "I'm glad. That you stayed. Never tell anyone I said that."
Crane watched her falling asleep, these new moments stolen away from a busy day. He had known her for so long, and there was so much left to learn. He thought of their friendship, their rivalry, their exchanges on the advantages of one herb over another. He thought of Winding Circle's quiet, and its wide gardens, and the magnificent trees that told stories of long ago.
'I don't regret it,' he wouldn't have told her even if she were awake, but would have thought all the same. 'This is my home now.'
- : -
Well?