The Stillness and the Burr

The Thieves Guild, written by Jacoberr, Chapter seventy seven. The stillness and the burr. The quiet was the best part. Mailer sat at the small table in their quarters, a cup of hot, steaming tea in her hands. The tower was a hive of activity, its halls a constant rush of guards, cooks, and messengers. But in this room, with the heavy door shut, there was a stillness. For three days, she had slept in a real bed, She had washed in clean water. She had eaten food that hadn't been cooked over twigs or eaten raw. She watched Dhalla across the room, humming as she mended one of Mailer's torn tunics. The simple domestic sound of it, the sight of her, the way the light from the window caught in her hair. It made a place in Maela's chest ache, a place she hadn't known was hollow. How did she learn to mend with a needle and thread? Maela thought the intimate and warm discovery of Darla was also a delight. She was able to really know her without the distractions of hunger or magic. She loved this. She loved the quiet. She loved Darla's smile, the easy warmth that now lived in her eyes. After the mountain, after the sewers, after the cold, desperate trek to find allad this, this was peace. She loved all of it. So why did she fidget and feel like there was a burr under her clothes? Why could she not simply live in those moments entirely? Why did she feel her attention drawn to something that burr she could never quite find and remove? Can you do something for me? Darla's voice pulled her from her thoughts. Maeler looked over at her and smile, a deep, sincere smile full of love and affection. Darla pointed to a small wooden tray on the table, bread, cheese, a cup of water. I'm having trouble with this, and it's time for Prosper's supper. Maeler's fleeting piece evaporated, replaced by a sharp, sudden irritation. This was worse than the bur Or maybe it actually was the bur those useless moments that annoyed Mayler to no end, servants work that bored her. Why can't he get it himself? The words were out before she could stop them, sharper than she'd intended. Darla's face fell the humming stopped. Maeler, you know why he just he doesn't remember too. He'll sit in that room all night, so let him. He's not a child, Darla, He's just broken. He's a person. He can't even remember his own name half the time. Have some pity. He's alone. The word alone struck a nerve. Maelah looked away, a hot flush of shame rising in her. She was being cruel. She knew it. She knew why he was alone, and it was tragic and deep with sadness. Fine, she snatched the tray from the table, ignoring the look of pained disappointment on Darla's face. She could see it clearly, and her face softened. It's the least I can do after he lost everything. Darla didn't smile, but at least her judging look was gone. Maela marched out the trayer, led weight in her hands. She hated this, She hated being asked, She hated being domestic. No, she loved it. She loved the quiet, She loved being with Darla. Damn it, what was wrong with her? She seemed to both love and hate her life at that moment. She found Prosper's room on the fourth floor the door was ajar. She knocked once and pushed it open. Prosper was on the floor as usual, staring at a collection of pebbles, but he was not alone. The Outlander Rebecca was sitting in the room's single chair, a book open in her lap. She wasn't reading it, she was just sitting with him, being a presence. Darla sent this. Maela shoved the tray on to the small table. Prosper didn't even look at it. He's not hungry. Rebecca didn't look up. Miela turned to leave him. Not being hungry was not her problem. She had done the task. She could return to the quiet. You seem troubled. Maela turned to look at Rebecca. She again just sat there, calm and composed, as if nothing in the world could possibly bother her or was worthy of her attention. Rebecca looked at Miela, a smile forming on her face as her gaze was clear and analytical. It's difficult sleeping on pillows when a rock has been your comfort. I don't know what you're talking about. The Outlander woman was strange and aloof, and Maeler couldn't decide if she liked her confidence or hated her arrogance. I know you, or should I say, I've heard of you. You're a blade, a shadow. You walk the alleys and do quiet deeds for your own reasons, and you're living in the light. The lack of shadows, the lack of doing your own things for your own reasons, it's bothering you. Maela stared at her. This woman, this stranger, saw her more clearly than Dahla, who slept beside her. Hell, she saw Maeler more clearly than she saw herself. The anger and irritation drained away, leaving only the raw, confused truth. I love it, Maela took a step back into the room, the confession torn from her. I love her. I love the quiet just in her presence. It makes me smile. It's easy and wonderful and something I never want to end. She walked back into the room, leaning against the cold stone wall. But then I want it to end. I've been here for days and I miss. It, miss what. Rebecca closed the book she hadn't been reading and folded her hands in her lap. The alleys, the shadows, the danger of the mission, the challenge of it, all those feelings. God's help me. I miss the smell of the sewers. It was part of me, It is part of me. Darla was able to easily give up being a warrior. I'm not having as easy a time. She finally looked directly into Rebecca's eyes, her own internal conflict laid bare. What would you do? Rebecca was silent for a long moment, her gaze drifting to Prosper, who was now lining his pebbles up in a perfectly straight line. Some would say I've had an e Others would say I've had a tragic life. Still, others would call me cold, while some would call me sad. None of them are wrong, yet none of them are right. I am who I am, and in being that, I've learned one thing. She met Mahler's gaze, her eyes full of a wisdom that felt as old as the stones of the tower. You can never go wrong just being true to yourself. A Podcast Alchemy production, m