Summary: *sighs at self* Inspired by Silk’s assurances to the Earl of Seline that Garion’s odd accent would be corrected ‘when we have leisure’.
Disclaimer: None of these characters or the world they live in is mine. I am using them merely for amusement and get no profit from it. Also, I is po’ so trying to sue me is silly.
Distribution: If you like, put it up, email me the location, and make sure my name’s on it. That’s all.
Dedication: To m’Lars, and m’Abby. I think you can guess why. And to m’Beth. Cause she’s m’Beth.
Warning: Slash. Yes. That’s right. Eddings slash.
Rating: T for teen. Nothing too heavy.
Feedback helps to feed the bunnies. The bunnies help cause the fics. That's all I'm saying...
Garion was worried.
That wasn’t exactly unexpected, nor was it a huge change from how he’d been feeling any other night in the last month as he’d traveled with Silk and his Grandfather across the world on the way to the City of the Night. He knew what lay before him and knowing about it, he was starting to think, might actually be worse than doing. He was starting to understand just why Aunt Pol and the rest had kept him ignorant for so long.
For one thing, it was far less nerve-wracking.
“I think you’ve killed it, Garion.”
He blinked and stared down at the stick that he’d apparently been whittling. He hadn’t known he’d been whittling, but the stick in one hand was close to breaking and the knife in the other showed signs of rough use. He stared at them for a few moments, as if asking the inanimate objects what they were doing in his hands, before dropping both to the ground in disgust and wrapping his arms around his legs.
After a minute, he finally looked up at Silk. He didn’t say anything, but there was a comment in the gaze which the Drasnian couldn’t help but answer.
“I was concerned you’d cut yourself and really, do you want to have to hold up that ridiculously large sword with a cut on your hand?”
Garion grunted in response before turning away from the small fire and away from his friend.
“Are you really going to be like that, Garion? With me? Your old friend Silk? I thought I knew you better, my boy.”
It was silent for a moment and then slowly, he shuffled back around to face Silk. His young face looked haunted in the low light of the cooking fire, but it wasn’t just the shadows of the cave they were staying in that did so. The fear and worry had been wearing on him, as had the voice of Torak within his mind, and while physically he was perfectly fine and able, his mind and heart were certainly not up to challenge ahead of him.
When he spoke, it was soft, almost scared.
“Could you help me practice the secret language a little bit? We…never really got a chance to correct my ‘accent’ like you said we would.”
It was as much of an apology as Silk was likely to get and the little Drasnian took it for what it was.
“Certainly, Garion, though when I mentioned it, I figured we’d be doing it sometime after all this nonsense was through.”
He gave one look at young man before continuing.
“Being that Belgarath is out scouting, though, and I abhor inactivity, I suppose we can start working on it now. Come a little closer so I can see you and show me ‘good morning.’”
Garion nodded wordlessly before sliding himself closer to the fire and off to one side, which brought him a little closer to Silk. The smaller man nodded and Garion lifted his hand, placing it in the shape that meant ‘good morning.’
Silk scowled and Garion instantly dropped his hand to his lap.
“Oh no,” Silk assured him airily with a small wave, “I just can’t see the more exact parts of the gesture in this light. I’ll need you to come a little closer.”
He nodded and moved a little closer, practically next to the other man now except that he was still closer to the fire. That put the Drasnian somewhat behind him and he moved to switch his position again before being halted by a hand on his shoulder.
“No, Garion, that’s just fine.”
He turned his head and blinked at the older man.
“What do you mean? My back’s to you. How are you going to see the signs?”
Silk rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“I’m not. I’m going to hold out my hands and you’ll do the signs where I can touch them. I know what they feel like as well as what they look like.”
While he hated at times feeling so unknowledgeable and often complained that he wasn’t just a dull farmboy, he couldn’t help but blink again.
“What they feel like?”
Silk nodded, his profile shadowed on the wall exaggerating the gesture.
“Yes, what they feel like. The language can be understood in more ways than watching the fingers move. A skilled enough reader can read the signs as one forms them along his skin…”
The hand that had been on his shoulder slid up, the spy’s small, nimble fingers tapping and moving across the surface of Garion’s neck and shoulder in a way that felt oddly intimate.
“W-what did you say?” He asked, and he hated the titter in his voice that the other man’s hands had somehow put there. He had to have put it there…because it wasn’t there a few minutes ago.
“I asked you if wanted me to help you relieve some of the tension you’ve been carrying…”
Silk’s voice in his ear was soft, smooth, lulling. And then there was silence, with Silk’s hand still on his shoulder. Garion was very still.
“Would you prefer if I moved my hand?”
Garion blinked then, looking up at Silk with a strange expression on his face.
“No, I…I just don’t understand what you—“
The hand was removed a moment later and the smaller man withdrew somewhat into the shadows.
“Don’t worry about it, Garion. You don’t need more to trouble you. Forget it.”
And his voice was as airy as it had been earlier, but there was something there, a note to his tone that Garion couldn’t read.
But he couldn’t.
“I think I’ll sleep for a while, Garion, if you don’t mind. Your grandfather should be back within the hour, no doubt. You can keep watch till then, no?”
Garion nodded mutely and Silk went to the back of the cave before curling up in a ball of slightly-darker shadow, his back to the entrance in an attempt to lessen the light hitting his face. Silk was a light sleeper.
But Garion didn’t forget about it.
And the ghost of fingers on his skin didn’t go away until he eventually passed out a few minutes after Belgarath returned.
...no guarantees for a sequal, but possible. If anyone likes.