your heart is your masterpiece

Summary: It's Rayla's sixteenth birthday. Callum knows exactly what to get her. [Rayla/Callum] title is from "i'll keep you safe," by sleeping at last


An artist's sketchbook was a precious thing. Callum had been a little hesitant to hand it over to Rayla, that first morning after fleeing the castle, but she'd tended to it with care, only using one page, and tucking the charcoal back between two pages and giving it back exactly the way he'd handed it to her. He hadn't minded letting her draw in it occasionally since then, her sketches mostly creatures from Xadia and strange fauna that fascinated her. She helped him keep a glossary of spells near the back of the book, her handwriting neater than his. Astero and fulminus had been the first, but plenty more had been added over the last two months as she remembered more draconic words.

It had been Ezran who'd had the mind to ask her about birthdays, when they'd stumbled into a small town and passed by a cake shop. He'd been eagerly discussing Callum's upcoming birthday for about a week now, bemoaning the lack of jelly tarts and cake (and Callum could agree that birthdays at the castle had always been fun) when Ezran had turned to the elf, his eyes bright, and asked, "Rayla, when's your birthday?"

The girl paused, dappled light from the setting sun beset in mountains catching the curve of her lips and her white locks of hair. It was moments like these that made Callum want to draw her, even if he feared she'd find any sketch he made, now that she perused his sketchbook so often.

"At the end of the month," she said.

"The thirty-first?" Callum said.

A smile tugged at her mouth. "No, the thirty-second. Yes, the thirty-first, you dummy."

Callum huffed, even if he wasn't that annoyed. "Just checking."

Ezran seized her hand, and Callum smoothed down the flap of his brother's knapsack to better hide the sleeping Zym. "We should get you a cake and presents!"

Rayla chuckled, bending down to his level. "That's very sweet Ez, but I don't need all that. Besides, we don't know when the next town will be, and we already have plenty we need to get. It's alright. Just a birthday wish from you will be more than enough."

"What am I," said Callum, "chopped liver?"

"Aye, don't worry," Rayla said, straightening up and nudging Callum in the side. "I'd never forget about you, pouty prince."

Callum narrowed his eyes at her, but then Ez was tugging her along and asking all about birthdays for Moonshadow elves, customs and stuff like that. Callum listened to Rayla patiently explaining that Moonshadow elves got their tattoos when they turned fourteen, and he was building up the drive to be a buzzkill and remind them to keep their voices down, when—

He stopped in front of the shabby store they'd walked in front of, the windows full of musty books and ones with glossy covers, and—sketchbooks!

"I'm gonna duck in here for a minute," he called to them.

"You've already filled up your sketchbook?" said Ezran.

"Just browsing," he said, not wanting to voice the idea already forming in his head. Not yet anyway. "I'll catch up with you soon, okay?"

Rayla eyed him warily. "Just meet us back in an hour," she said. "By the fountain."

He gave her his best, most charming smile; it didn't do much. "Hey, am I ever not on time?"

"Well actually," Ezran piped up, and Callum shot him a look, even as his brother and friend exchanged cheeky grins.

"I'll meet you by the fountain in an hour," Callum said, and shut himself away inside the store, sighing. Why was he doing this again? Oh, right.

He found the shop owner by the checkout, somewhere among the crowded bookshelves and tables stacked with thick tomes and journals. It was an elderly man with grey hair turning white and half-moon spectacles. A sign, maybe, if Callum believed in those.

"Hello," Callum said, and he twisted the end of his scarf in one hand, stupidly and suddenly nervous, "do you have any blank sketchbooks for sale?"


Afterwards, the biggest issue was keeping the present hidden. He'd bought a nice leather-bound sketchbook and had traded some of his best sketches of animals and fauna for it (the shopkeeper had wanted to frame them and sell them for a good price), so he just hoped Rayla wouldn't notice they were gone or that his bag was slightly thicker than usual.

His birthday came and went, and while fifteen didn't feel any older, there was a pang at not being at the castle and with his dad and Aunt Amaya for it. Ezran gave him a big hug and some sort of drawing scribbled on the back of a dry piece of bark, and Callum felt touched it'd been weighing on his baby brother's mind enough for there to be anything. Rayla had given him a grin and the last of her new batch of moonberry juice, and a promise to not tease him for the rest of the day. (He wasn't sure how long that would actually last, but hey—it was a nice sentiment.)

"So," Rayla said as they trekked through the woods one day, a week until her birthday, "is your present going to be I get to tease you as much as I want for a whole day?" she joked.

Callum smirked at her, and watched Zym bounding in front, Ezran on his heels and a disgruntled Bait attempting to keep up. "I don't know," he drew out the syllables.

Rayla snorted and rolled her eyes. "Please. It's not like you know how to make moonberry juice."

"You'll see what I have planned," he promised, and her smile softened. Callum looked away and scooped up Bait as a distraction until Bait escaped his grasp and Rayla, finally, looked away. The prince found himself both relieved and disappointed. It always did funny things to his stomach when Rayla smiled at him like that, and he still wasn't sure what to make of it.

Callum was just glad she didn't press him too much on his 'plan' for the next week; he had a feeling it'd be awfully hard to convincingly lie to her (when his little brother's life wasn't on the line, anyway).

Finally, though, it was the thirty-first, and it seemed everyone was in the mood to wake up early that day (except maybe Bait). Ezran was energetic and Rayla spry, and he gave her the same birthday hug he'd given Callum, alongside some sort of small wooden spear that Zym had helped him furnish. Callum had to admit it would be a better tool for spearing fish in the rivers they walked along than her swords. Maybe he should have gotten a more practical gift for her after all...

Callum shook himself. No. She liked drawing in his sketchbook a lot. She'd like having her own.

Once she'd finished praising Ezran for his gift, Rayla looked at Callum with a smile. "Callum—"

He gave her an excited grin. All his hiding and hoping was about to pay off. "Wait here," he said, and grabbed his bag from behind the boulder near their campfire. He hauled it back over to where she and Ezran were sitting on more small rocks, and knelt in front of her as he threw back the flap. "Here!" He held the leather-bound book out to her in his hands.

The smile was wiped off her face, her eyes wide. "Callum, I..." She took the book from him, their fingers brushing, her eyes glued to it.

"It's a sketchbook," he elaborated with a wave of his arm. "I thought you'd like drawing in your own one, you know."

Rayla let out a soft noise of disbelief, and then raised her head and smiled at him. "Yes, thank you, I—" She flipped open the cover and a ran a hand over the creamy soft page inside, and he saw the happiness on her face falter. Why was she sad? He watched her force the smile back up, even as his vanished. "Thank you," she said again. "I love it."

Ezran looked between them as her smile grew weaker, and his face remained a mix of confusion and sadness. Zym chirped, and Ezran hastily scooped him up. "Yes, I think Zym needs to go, so Bait and I will just—take him! We'll be back later okay bye!"

Callum didn't watch Ezran wander over to the rim of the woods surrounding their clearing. He had his answer now, as he levelled his gaze at Rayla. "You don't like it," he said. He tried not to let disappointment well up too strongly inside him. It wasn't her fault she didn't like it. He'd just picked the wrong gift—and jeez, he'd nearly spent money on it too—

"No," said Rayla, "no, I do, it's just—"

Callum rubbed the back of his neck. "It's alright, Rayla—"

"No." She seized his hand and pulled it overtop the sketchbook's cover. "I do like it. It's just..." She sighed and bowed her head slightly, and his face heated as she ran her thumb over his gloved knuckles. "I mostly liked drawing in your sketchbook because I was drawing with you."

Something warm fluttered in his chest, and her admission seemed to knock him hard over the head. Callum had to blink a few times, before uttering, "Oh."

Rayla pushed herself off her rock and started to walk away, her new book tucked under her arm. "Forget it," she said with a shake of his head, but Callum sprang after her.

"Wait, Rayla—" He caught her by the arm and wheeled her back to him. Her face was screwed up in a frown as he tried not to laugh. The whole situation was absurdly funny, suddenly. Or maybe it was the elation at what she'd just said. Either way, he grinned at her. "That's okay. I like drawing with you too."

Rayla's eyes darted away, and then back at him. He'd never seen her so shy before. "You - you do?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He slung his bag over his shoulder, his own sketchbook landing resoundingly against his leg. "Tell you what. How about we finish filling my sketchbook up with drawings, and then we start drawing in yours?"

Rayla smiled at him, broad and her eyes brimming with happiness. "Deal."

(Later, if their hands brushed while both drawing on the same page, they only smiled and added more streaks of charcoal to the page.)