Raef: Beginning

**Content Warning: Mild depictions of death, torture, and blood content.**

Setting: 300 to ~70 years before the start of the campaign.

\_\_\_\_

We all have a beginning.  Whether we consider that our birth, when we first learned to walk, when we learned a new skill, or even learning to tie a lace, it doesn't matter: we all have a beginning.

There are small moments in my life that would work, but the one that I consider my beginning is when the strange, blonde haired elf held out his hand to me.  He smiled as he wrapped his fingers around my hand and he drew me put onto the dance floor.

I had gone to the ball to practice card tricks (and because my parents insisted I go; maybe I would a lovely elf my age to marry), but Aesar didn't give a damn.  He ignored my glare and scoff. He ignored any biting comment as he placed a hand on my waist and guided me through the dance. All he did was smile down at me and answer every comment with one of his own.

It was such a simple beginning, but Aesar took me on a whirlwind of a ride.

\_\_

“He's a kid!”

“And he's fucking good!”

Anatoly glared at Aesar.  Both of them had their hands on the table and were standing.  They were almost close enough to kiss.

“We can't be bringing kids in, Aesar!” Anatoly glanced my way. “No offense.”

I shrugged and splayed my hands in an *It's fine* gesture.  He meant all the offense in the world, but he was past two hundred and I had barely gotten past thirty.

“We need more people.” Every syllable was controlled anger and irritation. “The guild is barely making it as it is.  If we don't have new blood soon it's going fucking fall!”

They stared hard at each other before Anatoly grit his teeth and sank back down. “The guild's already dead and you know it,” he said with a sigh.  He pinched the brim of his nose. “Fine. Whatever. Do what you want, Aesar, but he's your problem.”

Aesar smiled; he always smiled easily. “Good.  I can't have you fucking him up.”. He straightened and fixed his shirt before turning towards me. “Ready?”

\_\_

Aesar looked at the sheet of paper, brow furrowed.  It read one word: сломанный. “*Slomannyy*?  That's...fucked.  Are you sure you want that to be your name here?”

I turned the lockpick over in my fingers and worried my tongue. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“It was the first thing my mother ever called me.”

\_\_

“You never told me how it was.”

“Mmm...how what was?”

“Killing her.” Aesar traced his fingers down over the tattoo still healing on my forearm.

I shrugged. “It was killing her.”

He chuckled. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”  I could remember the way my blade slid through her flesh, angled up to pierce into her heart.  I could remember how the hot blood bubbled over my fingers and dripped to the floor. Her labored, muffled gasps filled my ears before her breath hitched and her body grew limp.  But there was nothing else. She deserved her death.

“You really are slomannyy.”  Aesar pressed his lips against the side of my neck, causing the hair to prick there. “But I still love you.”

\_\_

“I told you she was bad for you.” I shifted my legs on either side of Aesar, letting him settle in closer against my stomach and chest.  It was cold in the alley, but moving wasn’t an option at the moment.

“I know, I know.” Aesar waved his hand dismissively. “...should’ve...hh...listened.”

“If you did I wouldn’t be sitting on the wet ground freezing my ass off.”

He gave a choked laugh before he spat out a wad of blood. “...hah...thanks for coming.”

I smiled softly and gently brushed back his hair from his sweat-slick forehead; he was so warm despite the air being frigid. “I will always come for you.” I placed a soft kiss to his forehead and took his hand in mine.  I kissed his fingers as well, the kiss bitter with the taste of blood. “Why did you go, Aesar?”

“...because I had to be sure…” He sounded weary, exhausted from the fight and the blood pooling around us. “...promise...hnh...you’ll take care of Gwydion…”

“Of course.  He couldn’t find his own way out of a paper bag.” I kissed his fingers again, squeezing my eyes shut. “Mask, you’re fucking stupid, Aesar.”

“...but you love me.”

“I do.”

Aesar coughed before he pulled my hand down to place a kiss on the back. “Why didn’t you marry me?”

“I could never love you the way you deserve.”

“...you were wrong…”

\_\_

“*What the fuck is wrong with you?*”

I pulled a stool over and sat down in front of Anatoly.  He was bound tightly to a chair, naked and soaked from blood, sweat, and water.  His green eyes stared at me with panic and anger rather than their usual mirth or condescension.   It was a pleasing sight, but I kept my face passive as I looked at him with head slightly cocked. “What?  You don’t like your kid to put his training into play?”

He spat. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing!”

I twirled my knife lazily as I watched him.  He was becoming unhinged. “Here’s the thing, Anatoly.  You and I both know that is a lie.” I leaned forward and traced the tip against his thigh, carefully teasing under the first layer of skin. “You and I both also know that I am really fucking good at my job.  So, tell me: why did you send Aria after him?”

He spat again.

The blade slid a little further down his thigh.  A flap of skin fell forward followed by a trickle of blood.

“Come on, Anatoly.  We don’t want this to drag out.”

He grimaced as the blade continued its work. “Fine!  Fuck, goddammit, Raef.  He needed to fucking die before --”

“--he ratted your ass out.” It clicked then as he squirmed and hissed.  The fucker was the reason the guild had disintegrated and why so many good elves had lost their lives.  He had loved the power he had more than his people and more than his fellow guild members. It was disgusting.  Aesar must’ve known and must’ve known where the few remaining members were apart from me. If he had told them about Anatoly maybe, just maybe, the guild could have gotten back together. “You could have talked to him.  He was your family.”

“He was a coward.”

I sighed softly, standing up. “We were playing so nice, Anatoly, and you had to go and ruin it.”

\_\_

I could have gone after Aria after I burned Anatoly’s body.  I could have gone after Aria after I buried Aesar. I could have…I could have, but instead I went home.  I stripped myself and threw my clothes into the fire. I ran my fingers over the tattoo that was now faded other two centuries of wear before my hand dropped.  I sighed and carried myself to the bathroom to clean myself; I could hear Gwydion singing downstairs, a song his father used to sing when cleaning.

It made me smile as I climbed into the claw-foot tub.

Maybe it was the song of a new beginning.