(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

He had discarded the books in a hedge a bit back and was concentrating on new magic when he saw the bird in the tree. A corvid - raven, maybe - and the most ragged raven that had ever been. something had taken a nip out of it’s beak. feathers were crooked, tail features were missing. one talon on one of the hooked claws was a stub, though the bird still stood even. it was watching him rather intently. the eyes were very dark and very sharp even if the bird was, gently speaking, a little damaged.

“oh, hello, my veteran friend,” he said to it, and flicked his fickers, pulling a little fire from the air and letting it radiate in his palm. some of the wild magic he was good at, but he knew what he needed was a teacher. the sort of magic the noalles were interested in him learning was mostly writing essays cooped up in stuffy towers. no, that wasn’t him. he was meant to move bridges, repair roads, pull out sunshine for heroic events. he wasn’t interested in dark cauldrons or dramatic sigils.

the raven tilted its head and hopped to a lower branch, its attention completely on him. “i won’t judge you for being a bit ragged,” he said to it, and then he puffed the flame out and instead reached into his bag for a bit of bread, breaking off some and putting it in his hand. “certainly there is no shame in being a survivor.”

the crow peered at him for two more moments and then fluttered into his hand, picking at he bread. it was a damaged-thing, but despite it there was a sort of grace to it, like an old general.





“what wars have you fought in, my dear?” he asked, and tore off a bit more bread, which the raven picked at, seemingly careful to avoid nipping at his hand, “did you leave your medals at home? how humble of you, to not wish to show off. very charming indeed.”

once the the raven had finished eating its bread, it looked at him for a very long time, and then in a flutter of dark wings hopped onto his shoulder, finding purchase in the decorative guard he wore there. it had a good flair to it, and better with a bird on it.

“well,” he said to the bird, and even with a few moments the thing only resettled for balance, when required, “you are certainly welcome to watch some of my terrible self-lessons, if you so desire.”

**

the bird watched him almost set himself on fire a few times, and set a few small scrubs on fire, and one of the strings of his pack, and on a very rare occasion, the targets he set out in the field. he worked on pulling the targets to him, almost hitting his new friend. but the bird only cawed very loudly, flew in one very long circle, and landed back on his shoulder to preen its feathers.

“i seem to have made a new friend, and who can complain about such a thing?” he said, and then reached up and pet the thing on the top of it’s dark head. “you are welcome to come home with me if you like. we shall not go see my family, for i’d like to keep you. instead i have a secret cottage. but i will show you, dear. it would be an honor to have such a noble veteran see it.”

the bird cawed at him and took off.he looked up at it, watched the slightly-awry lines of feathers swoop in low circles, well-highlighted by the cloudy sky and never far. he made friends. he had never made a friend of a bird before. he opened the door to the cottage, watched the bird swoop in without a doubt and land atop the arm of his couch.

it was a disaster of a living space, with books, clothes, and empty places everywhere. the bird saw one and began to pick at the remains of some dinner he’d eaten. lafayette watched for a few moments, and then, apparently satisfied, his friend peered around and then disappeared out of a window.

“wiley old veteran,” he murmured, unable to not be entertained, “coaxes me into a feast and then abandons me. stood up, almost.”

he did not expect for the bird to return several hours later with a gleaming coin in it’s beak. he was studying. the bird landed on the book and dropped it in front of him.

“For me, wise sage?” he asked, unable to resist the joy from seeing the ragged thing return. “why. thank you. where should i put it?” he tucked it into his pocket. “there. to remind me of my friend.”

the bird cawed at him, settled in a pile of clothes, and settled.

“you have probably had a very hard day,” lafayette said, “i will be quiet. an old man needs his rest.”