The Opposite of Solitude

Because Rhen learns a lot from Dameon, too.

Set in one of those little forest clearings in the Peninsula; Rhen has been injured by an orc and Dameon is fixing her up. Also Dameon is so much like Talia I just T.T

Lastly, the title is a reference to a related moment in "Night Watch" (ch 7) and of course to Rhen's question in "Golden" (ch 43).

He knew how to heal the gruesome wounds that came from Orcish weapons. Theoretically, he knew how to heal any kind of wound which could be inflicted. He had long since memorized every cure known to humanity, magical and medicinal. When he was young his father had read to him from the ancient texts, books written by the first Sun Priests, books about the theory of light magic and the appropriate herbs and tonics for every misfortune. It was a healer's work to fight fate, to restore life where death had whispered, and he had trained for this responsibility since he was a child.

Theoretically, he had been preparing for this moment his entire life.

In reality? His hands were shaking.

There was blood everywhere— he knew how to take care of that, he was kneeling and cleaning the wound that stretched across Rhen's shoulders, staunching the flow even though his fingers trembled. His lips were forming around the words that would knit the tissue together again. Muscle memory. He had prepared for this work his whole life— and no, it wasn't the same as reading about it, it wasn't the same when his heart was pounding and his confidence wavering, when life hung in the balance and his mind was cruelly replaying that one memory that defined him, that night in the Tear Shrine with his father and his mother and the fates that tipped the scales the wrong way—

It wasn't the same, but he knew the words he was supposed to say. He knew the process. He could get through it.

But he didn't have any precedence for the twisting in his chest when he saw the scars on her back.

"Rhen," he fretted. "Rhen. What are these?" He traced the scar tissue, lightly. Her shoulders tensed anyway. He was holding his breath.

"What are what?" She clutched her pack in front of her tightly. Elini had given it to her before ushering everyone out of the little clearing, saying it would be good to have something to squeeze if the healing hurt. Dameon hoped it didn't hurt.

"These scars. When did you get them? Why didn't you tell me? I could have— It is my job. I could have done something."

Her shoulders shrugged. "Those are very old, Dameon."

"I…" He remembered, suddenly, that lock of hair that wasn't red, and he imagined the ship, and the market, and the Tenebors— there were freckles scattered on her shoulders between the scars, like wildflowers growing anywhere they could. He swallowed. He shifted on his knees so he could see her face, and slowly met her gaze.

"Rhen." It came out a little strangled. Her violet eyes saw straight through him. He had spent weeks and months trying not to look at them, but this time, for the first time, he wanted to be seen.

"I'm sorry. This is my fault. Let me try to fix this. Please? Will you let me try to heal these?"

She blinked, and watched him steadily. "You didn't put the scars there, Dameon."

He wanted to hide. Or run. Instead he held her gaze and stammered, "I didn't know. I didn't want this, for— for anyone." Not even that woman— and he hated himself for it. "Please, let me try? Let me try to make this better?"

She looked away. "It's kind of you to worry. But you can't change what happened. You can't heal the real wounds."

"I know," he choked, and paused to find his breath. "I know." He was rolling the ends of his sleeves in his fingers. They would fray if he didn't stop. His father would have scolded him, if he was— here.

"There are hurts beyond magic and medicine. There are pains I can never ease. I know it," he swallowed again, choked down the memory and everything that came with it, "and I'm sorry. Let me do what I can. Please. Let me help with this."

Her eyes were still angled down, and her long eyelashes cast dramatic shadows over her face. "Why?"

His sleeves were going to be tattered rags. Because he felt responsible. Because it was his job. Because he was lonely. Because… Because...

"I want to be... your friend."

She had told him, more than once now, that they were friends. He didn't know how to believe her. Friends had never been a part of his studies, it was not a concept covered in Ajo's 101 Magical Remedies. Maybe— maybe he had been friends with some of the binis, when he was a child. He had never used that word, he wasn't sure he'd known it. But Morsel would sing songs for him, sometimes, loudly, off-key, laughing the whole time. That was something friends did.

Wasn't it?

And Lambchop would collect useless sparkling things for him, buttons or broken pieces of pottery or other similarly worthless scraps. He got them from the travelling sales squirrels. Dameon had never been allowed to visit Teacup Town when the squirrels were there. Maybe that's why he'd kept all those silly artifacts tucked carefully under his bed.

He didn't know if they were still there. And he couldn't remember when he had stopped visiting Teacup Town, or why. He just hadn't. And after— after that night, it was pointless. Everything was pointless. This was all ridiculous, why was he even thinking about it, why had he said anything at all—

"Dameon."

He looked up and his eyes met hers again. She smiled gently. "You are my friend. And I will let you help me." Her long eyelashes fluttered almost shyly, and then she touched his wrist. "I almost forgot that's part of this friend thing. It's been a while. So— thank you."

He blinked. "Thank— thank you," he stammered awkwardly, and felt his ears get hot— this was not how friends were supposed to be—

But her cheeks were pink too, and she was still smiling at him. He smiled back, and pivoted on his knees to begin his work.

Scars were not like wounds. Wounds were where death threatened. Scars were where the body remembered. He couldn't erase the memory, only change it. He had to open it again, carefully, gently, slowly. Examine it, learn it, know it. Smooth out all the angry edges, knit the pieces together again, in whatever way they fit now. Close it up again. A memory still, the body knew where it had been cut open, but now it knew too where it had been put together.

Rhen laughed softly when it was over, and rested her head on his shoulder, and he felt like he was being split open in all the places he'd tried so desperately to close himself off.

Having a friend was like…

Healing.