Spin Me Closer [Reynir & Lalli]
Jul. 12th, 2016 11:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: Spin Me Closer
Fandom: Stand Still, Stay Silent
Characters: Reynir and Lalli
Rating: E for Everyone
Length: 4.2k
Summary: The next expedition is coming up. While Reynir studies and waits, he decides to make Lalli a special gift.
Other: For Mélusine. :)
Spin Me Closer
They returned safely that summer. Relief all around! And curiosity, and questions, so many questions about what they had found out there, what they had done out there. It made Reynir's head swim, but he couldn't hold it back; the stories spilled out of his mouth like water.
The closeness didn't last long. Mora didn't last long. As much as he liked it, he couldn't stay.
Before he knew it, Reynir was shipped back home – and he had a lot to answer for. There were so many things that he needed to explain. So many things that he needed to apologize for.
It was enough to make his head spin.
Even his stay at home was much too brief. There was no way to get around it: he needed training, he needed to get to the academy, and he needed to do it quickly. As soon as he set foot on his home soil, as soon as he arrived at his farm, as soon as he stepped into his home – the days passed much too quickly. It was as if the words, "Mom, Dad, I'm so sorry – " had hardly spilled out of his mouth before he had to leave again.
He sent letters back home whenever he could. And packages. And odds and ends. It was the least he could do, even if it didn't make up for the months he'd spent away, all the months of worrying.
It also didn't change that there would be even more months of worrying soon enough.
They would go on another expedition, Reynir and the crew of explorers that he had spent so many yet so few months with. The people that he had started to think of his comrades, his friends. What they had brought back into the known world was too valuable to not try again – both in terms of knowledge, and in terms of the goods they had stacked into the tank, the precious books and trinkets.
Sigrun had been firm about the matter: if she was going to go again, and she certainly was going to if she had any say in it, then she wanted to take the same crew. All of them. Even Reynir. "I don't care that he won't be trained up properly by then," she'd said. "He was useful even when he knew nothing. He's coming with us, do you hear that?"
At least, that was how Tuuri had summarized it, when Reynir took her aside and asked what Sigrun had said. He had a feeling that Sigrun's actual words were more colourful than that, judging by the volume of her voice and the excited way that she kept pointing at him.
That was fine. Sure, it had been a dangerous trip, a risky trip, a stupid trip from a stupid idea, and it was a miracle that they had all come back alive. But even if he wouldn't admit it to his parents, there was one thing that Reynir was certain of: he wanted to go along.
Even if it had been terrifying.
And dangerous.
And stupid.
So stupid.
He wasn't going to leave his friends behind. Especially not after he'd finally started to get to know them! All of them.
Turri's tutoring hadn't come easily. Swedish was slippery; it was tough to hang on to it. "Maybe I could learn Finnish instead?" Reynir had muttered hopefully one day, as he glanced over a page of notes that Emil had misplaced before going out with Sigrun. It was a list of Swedish phrases and their translations into Finnish, those oddly-welcoming words with their doubled vowels and so many dots. He liked the way it looked.
"Um... no. I don't think so. Not yet."
"But Lalli –"
"Lalli's learning Swedish too, you know." Tuuri took Emil's notes from him, carefully tucking them into Emil's notebook so that they would not be lost. "You'll be able to talk to him eventually." She paused, looking at him for a moment, almost scrutinizing him. "You need to be able to talk to Sigrun, too. Remember?"
"...Right!"
Right.
It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Sigrun. It was only that – well –
Reynir couldn't quite think of the right word when it came to Lalli. Not friends. They weren't friends, not quite, not exactly. Oh, he wanted to be friends of course, he really did! But he didn't know what went on in Lalli's head. No matter what he tried, he couldn't understand him, and it was impossible to know how Lalli felt about him, or about talking to him, or about anything.
But that didn't mean Reynir wasn't getting anywhere with him, either. It didn't escape Reynir's notice that whenever he slipped Lalli a rune, Lalli would pocket the paper without questioning it – unlike anyone else. And it was true, he couldn't exactly ask about it either, not easily. But unlike some of the others, Lalli had never given him a sceptical look about his attempts. Hadn't rolled his eyes when Reynir tried at magic. And that, even if it was small, was something.
In the mornings, when Lalli returned from his work out in the silent night, he always took the mint tea that Reynir offered him – and even if he'd go to sit with Emil immediately after, in that fraction of a moment, it always seemed to Reynir that Lalli looked at him with something like acceptance. Later, after they both started learning Swedish, that acceptance was accompanied by something else – a simple word. "Thanks."
It was strange to hear and understand him while they were awake. Strange, but good.
One day, Lalli had stayed in the tank. Sigrun and Emil had left, claiming that they didn't need him that day. It was for the better; Lalli had returned the previous night with his uniform badly in need of repair. He hadn't given anyone an explanation for why it had been ripped during his scouting duties, even though Tuuri had asked and asked and asked.
Mikkel ran his fingers along the damaged cloth, frowning, his thick brows furrowing. He didn't say anything, but it was clear he wasn't looking forward to taking care of it. Reynir had seen his needlework before, and wasn't surprised. There were many things that Mikkel was good at, but that wasn't one of them, and the more Reynir thought about watching him attempt it, the more he wanted to intervene. "Here, let me – I can do it," he said, putting on his broadest, most confident-looking smile. "I'm actually pretty good at this; I had to mend things back at home all the time."
A raised eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Well, my parents needed a lot of help inside the house, not just with farm work. And my brothers and sisters were usually away, so it was just me. And... you know." A shrug. "I'm great with a needle."
"We'll see about that."
That was how he ended up repairing Lalli's uniform. The tank door was open, letting in sunlight and fresh air. Reynir was glad for the brightness, as it made the work easier. He lifted his head when he heard footsteps, and tried to hide his surprise when he noticed that it was Lalli who'd come to sit next to him, curling up in the seat beside him.
"Oh, hi! I didn't know you were awake." Reynir waited, wondering if he would respond.
No reply.
That didn't matter, Reynir decided. So, he kept talking, letting the words spill out wherever they wanted to go, just happy to have the company. "I thought you'd be sleeping at a time like this, since you didn't have to go out today. You're probably happy to get some rest, right? I really can't imagine having your job, it seems so – well, anyway. Wow, you really must have gotten yourself into a scrape, to damage your clothes like this. Did you get stuck somewhere? Or was it a troll? Mikkel said that you were absolutely covered in blood when you came back. I couldn't go out to see, of course, I had to stay back, but – well, I'm just glad that you weren't hurt. You're okay, right? Just tired? That's what it looks like, but I don't know for sure."
He glanced over, hands stilling. Lalli was staring at him, his drooping eyes narrow.
Oops, Reynir thought. Too much?
Lalli held up a hand. Pointed at him. Opened his mouth. Hesitated. Then said, very carefully, "You. You talk... a lot." The words rolled awkwardly off his tongue.
Reynir felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. No doubt that "a lot" was actually meant to be "too much", just as he'd feared. And – to be fair... Lalli was right, he had been talking a lot. "Um." He quickly searched his vocabulary for the right Swedish words to form an apology, but could only come up with: "Sorry?" Then he repeated it, in Finnish, for emphasis. "...Sorry."
Lalli stared at him. He seemed to coil in on himself, sinking into his shabby grey sweater as if it might completely envelope him. It was obvious that he hadn't expected to hear any Finnish come out of Reynir's mouth, and he didn't seem to know what to think about that.
"Ah..." Did I say it wrong? Reynir thought, biting his tongue to stop another "sorry" from slipping out. Maybe I said it completely wrong, maybe that's why he's staring at me, maybe I accidentally said something really, really rude, maybe –
"It's... okay." Slow, careful words in slow, careful Swedish. Lalli's voice had a quiet, concentrated note to it, as if he had gone through everything he could think of saying, and had only been able to settle on that.
"It's okay?" Reynir echoed.
"Yes." Even talking that much seemed to exhaust Lalli. He closed his mouth, seemed to clamp down now that he was done with speaking.
But what he'd said was enough.
It's okay, Reynir thought. He doesn't mind. Even if I talk "a lot". Even if it's in Icelandic and he doesn't understand a word of it. It's okay. Reynir breathed deeply, tried to steady himself, practically vibrating from happiness. "All right," he said in Icelandic, resuming his rambling as if he'd never stopped in the first place. "If you say it's okay, then it's okay. ...So, where do you think we'll go next? I got a look at the map; Mikkel says there might be a really good library in the village east of here. I don't know if we'd even be able to find room in the tank for a lot of books, though; we already have so many already. But –"
Even if they weren't friends yet, they were something.
Reynir clung to that moment, remembering how Lalli stayed close, how he didn't seem to mind listening, or at least he didn't seem to mind the sound of Reynir's voice. How he dozed off next to Reynir, and even after he woke again, he didn't leave until Emil returned.
They didn't have many moments like that, but the ones they did have, Reynir kept close, remembering them fondly.
Even when he was at the academy, with all its distractions, Reynir did his best to keep those few moments in the back of his mind. Not that he had much time to himself for reminiscing about his friends and the expedition. In fact, sometimes it seemed that he hardly had time to think of anything but school, and learning, and magic.
The daytime was one thing: there was so much he had to remember. Symbols, formulas, spells, all of it crammed into his head, and Reynir had to struggle to make sure they wouldn't fly away from him. And after that, there was the studying – and so much studying! – he had to grasp it, hold it. There was so much memorization. There were also the extra things, the books he looked up on his own, spells he sought out in the library. All of it was material not covered in class, too advanced for him just yet. But maybe, he thought, fumbling through the pages, it was possible that he might see something that would be of use out there, out in the silent world.
But the evenings belonged to him, and when he wasn't stuffing as much information into his head as he possibly could, Reynir thought back to the time spent in the tank. Thought about his friends, about joining them again.
He'd bring gifts, of course. Their expedition had landed him some money, and while there was so much of it – more than Reynir had ever imagined possessing in his life – it hadn't been hard to decide how to spend some of it. He'd already chosen everything, packaged it away safely, just waiting for the day when he would leave.
But there was one gift that couldn't be bought. One gift that would be a little more difficult, one that would take a little time.
One evening, Reynir scribbled in a notebook, and thought of Lalli. Thought of how he had looked that one day when Reynir had been repairing his clothes: curled up near to him, staring at him, wearing that worn-out grey sweater. It was so big that it practically swallowed him up.
That image stuck in his mind, and Reynir knew exactly what to do with it.
As he plotted out the pattern, estimated amounts and measurements and sizes, Reynir remembered. Thought back to the day when they parted.
Lalli had been wearing the sweater that day, too.
Reynir waited, waited, waited, until finally Emil was called away from Lalli – something to do with last-minute packing. As soon as Emil was gone, Reynir stepped in. He knew he wouldn't get many more chances to talk to him alone, not with the way Emil had been clinging to Lalli like a barnacle, knowing that they'd soon be parted for months.
"I want to say goodbye to you," he said carefully. Swedish was still difficult, still slippery, sliding over his tongue.
Lalli stared at him. Blinked once. But he didn't try to slink away, and that was encouraging.
"I hope you will have a good summer?" Reynir continued, hesitating, halting. "And, um... I hope you will go safely to Keuruu." Clumsy. Awkward. Stupid, he thought to himself, you should have figured out how to say it properly before you started talking. You could have asked Tuuri, or someone else. But Tuuri was busy, and –
"Why?"
Reynir blinked. Stared. Tried not to look as confused as he felt. He didn't understand why Lalli looked so baffled, either. The question was not what, but why, so he must have understood what Reynir had said, at least. But why?
Lalli was waiting, arms coiled around himself, the old sweater dipping over his fingertips.
"Why? Um..." Think, think, how to say it – "Because I like you. And I – I will miss you? And, um. I want to be together with you for the second expedition. So, I want you to be safe."
There was a moment of quiet as Lalli looked at him sideways, as if Reynir had said something very weird, and he needed to think about it. Finally, he nodded. Hesitated for a moment. Then, he offered his hand. It wasn't the first time, but it was still strange to see it. Strange, but good.
Reynir wanted to hug him, but at least in this case, he knew better. He grasped Lalli's hand. Squeezed it. Just long enough. Then he let him go. Lalli withdrew, stepped back, pulled his hand back into the too-long sweater-sleeve again.
"Bye," Lalli said. Looked at him for a second longer, then stepped away, heading in the direction that Emil had taken.
That was all.
It wasn't hard to plot it out, to plan it, to get everything he needed to put it together. Reynir knew wool, and he knew yarn, and he knew how to estimate what amount he would need, what size it would need to be. His hands were as comfortable with knitting needles as they were with his shepherd's staff.
He spun the yarn himself.
It wasn't as if he couldn't have skipped that, bought it already prepared and ready to go. But the academy had a spinning wheel, and students were encouraged to use it – either the wheel, or their own drop-spindles.
Reynir knew why.
Magic. Focus. Concentration. Magic.
Well, maybe he wasn't skilled enough to do it like a proper mage. Reynir had to admit that. But the work was relaxing, it was calming, and as he spun the wool into yarn, he felt as if he could put a piece of himself into it somehow, put a protection spell over it, infuse it with words against danger right down through every fibre. Keep his friend warm, yes, but keep him safe, too.
The days passed quickly, even if they were exhausting, full of spells and theories and principles that he felt he could never completely grasp.
The evenings passed quickly too: the whir of the wheel, the coil of yarn on the spindle, his own low humming. Later, there was the slip of yarn over wooden needles, the rustle of paper as he consulted his pattern now and then, off and on. Reynir recited spells under his breath, committed them to memory, doing homework even as he tried to sink the power into the garment itself.
Even if it didn't work, Reynir thought as he brushed his fingers along the strand-knitted pattern, protective symbols picked out in grey and white, at least it would fit Lalli better than what he had. He slid his hands down to the ends of the sleeves, feeling along the small design at the cuffs, the endless knots that he had found in one of his textbooks, on one of the few pages that bothered to include anything about Finnish magic. If the power was nothing, and even if the Icelandic designs along the yoke meant nothing, then maybe that part – the tiny repeating hannunvaakuna designs circling the wrists – maybe Lalli would like that.
When the time to leave came, Reynir was a bundle of energy. Saying goodbye had been too easy, maybe – hugging his father, kissing his mother, a quick, "I'll be safe, I promise!" It wasn't that he was eager to leave! At least, it was not like it had been the first time, when he'd slipped away in secret.
It was only that he wanted to see his friends again. All of them.
The journey was too long. Too rocky. Too many things. When he finally stepped foot on Swedish soil, he was so excited, he thought he was going to be sick.
Counting down the days – one, two, three, too many.
He was staying with the Vasterströms. They had arranged it, welcoming him with open arms. It felt good to see them – even if they weren't who he was waiting for.
Waiting, waiting, studying in between the waiting. Magic. Swedish, more than anything. His skill improved all the more during those days. The children were good to practice with, even if they teased him about how halting he was when speaking it.
Eventually, Emil arrived. His face was a cloud of disappointment when he realized that no, he was mistaken, the Hotakainens would not arrive for two more days, and then Sigrun and Mikkel after that. Reynir was the only one who had managed to arrive so far, and he wasn't exactly a welcome substitute for Lalli.
But Emil softened, eventually, when asked if he'd heard from Lalli. He was friendlier now that they could communicate, more welcoming when his words could be understood.
They talked about the letters they'd exchanged, the things they expected to see, what the next expedition would be like. And then together, they waited.
The day that the Hotakainens arrived was a whirlwind of movement and people. Reynir let himself get pushed along, floating through the confusion with the rest of them. The day that the train came to Mora was rainy and damp and not fitting at all for the joyous mood. But Tuuri's smile was bright enough to contrast all the greyness. Onni had come too – surprise of surprises! – and he somehow managed not to protest too much when Reynir hugged him, only complaining a little when Reynir practically lifted him off his feet in his enthusiasm.
Lalli held back, quiet as usual. Reynir smiled at him over Onni's shoulder. That got him a look, at least. Eye contact. Not a glare! And then, a small wave.
A second later, Lalli spotted Emil, and melted past Onni and Reynir toward him. Well, Reynir thought, that was fine. That was just fine.
They weren't able to talk until after supper. Not really. Not properly.
Lalli had disappeared, slinking off to find a quiet place for himself. So much noise. Too many people. That, at least, was what Reynir thought he had done. It didn't surprise him at all.
Reynir found him, eventually, in the guest room. He had curled up under the bed with a biscuit, nibbling his way through it as he listened to the conversation slipping in through the door from the rest of the house. The laughter of children. Emil and Tuuri's voices.
His eyes glinted when Reynir turned on the light and slipped into the room.
Deep breath. Okay, Reynir thought, how to approach this? Maybe it was best not to draw too much attention to it. Or to him. Or to anything. "Hi," he said, dipping his head a little to look at the tired bundle curled up under the bed. When he didn't get an answer, he straightened and stepped toward the other side of the room, where he had put his luggage.
Lalli said nothing, but Reynir could feel his eyes on him.
"I have something," Reynir continued, opening his pack, speaking in careful Swedish. Trying to be casual. He took the sweater out carefully, and placed it on the mattress. "This is for you." He spoke as clearly as he could. "Um. I hope you will like it?"
He listened. Nothing.
"Maybe I should... go."
Nothing.
As he left the room, Reynir tried to remind himself that it was fine, that it was Lalli. That no words didn't mean rejection, because this was Lalli. He breathed, bit his tongue, and lingered outside of the room for a moment, torn between stepping in and asking about it, or going to join the others.
A floorboard creaked inside the room.
There was a rustling, then the squeak of a mattress as someone sat on the bed.
Reynir turned a little, daring to peek in.
Lalli had the sweater in his lap. He touched it, carefully sliding his fingers along it, seeming to feel out the texture of the wool. As Reynir watched, he lifted one of the sleeves, curiously inspecting the design at the cuffs. His expression shifted a little – but to what, Reynir couldn't tell.
Lalli didn't look unhappy with it, at least. And that was good enough.
Later, when Reynir caught sight of him again, he was wearing it.
Down in the warm glow of the living room, where everyone was talking, Lalli tried to slink by without anyone except Reynir noticing him.
Reynir felt a presence by his shoulder, then heard a quiet, hesitant, "Thanks".
Reynir turned to him, smiling, and smiled even more broadly when he realized that the sweater fit just as well as he'd hoped.
He opened his mouth to speak – and anything he was going to say was eclipsed by an excited stream of Finnish, pushing out everything else as Tuuri latched onto Lalli and turned him around, chirping, asking – probably – where the sweater had come from.
...Well, Reynir thought, biting his tongue to stop himself from laughing. That was all right.
What was also all right was what he found carefully placed on his pack when he returned to the guest room deep into the evening, just as everyone was starting to talk about going to sleep.
Set on top of Reynir's luggage were two things. A tin of hard candies. A small knife with a dog carved on its wooden handle. Reynir didn't need to ask where they had come from, who had put them there.
"Thanks," he said softly in Finnish, murmuring the words almost under his breath. There was a soft rustle of acknowledgment from under the bed; that was enough. He had been heard.
Carefully, he opened the tin. Maybe, Reynir thought as he popped one honey-flavoured candy in his mouth, and dropped another into the palm of the long-fingered, outstretched hand that had slipped out from under the bed, maybe he and Lalli had become closer than he'd thought. Maybe all they'd needed was time. A few moments. A few memories. Something to hold on to. Some time to cool down after their first adventure. A little while to think about what they'd been through together, and what was waiting for them up ahead, and what they'd find on the next road that they travelled down together.
Maybe they really were friends, after all.
Fandom: Stand Still, Stay Silent
Characters: Reynir and Lalli
Rating: E for Everyone
Length: 4.2k
Summary: The next expedition is coming up. While Reynir studies and waits, he decides to make Lalli a special gift.
Other: For Mélusine. :)
Spin Me Closer
They returned safely that summer. Relief all around! And curiosity, and questions, so many questions about what they had found out there, what they had done out there. It made Reynir's head swim, but he couldn't hold it back; the stories spilled out of his mouth like water.
The closeness didn't last long. Mora didn't last long. As much as he liked it, he couldn't stay.
Before he knew it, Reynir was shipped back home – and he had a lot to answer for. There were so many things that he needed to explain. So many things that he needed to apologize for.
It was enough to make his head spin.
Even his stay at home was much too brief. There was no way to get around it: he needed training, he needed to get to the academy, and he needed to do it quickly. As soon as he set foot on his home soil, as soon as he arrived at his farm, as soon as he stepped into his home – the days passed much too quickly. It was as if the words, "Mom, Dad, I'm so sorry – " had hardly spilled out of his mouth before he had to leave again.
He sent letters back home whenever he could. And packages. And odds and ends. It was the least he could do, even if it didn't make up for the months he'd spent away, all the months of worrying.
It also didn't change that there would be even more months of worrying soon enough.
They would go on another expedition, Reynir and the crew of explorers that he had spent so many yet so few months with. The people that he had started to think of his comrades, his friends. What they had brought back into the known world was too valuable to not try again – both in terms of knowledge, and in terms of the goods they had stacked into the tank, the precious books and trinkets.
Sigrun had been firm about the matter: if she was going to go again, and she certainly was going to if she had any say in it, then she wanted to take the same crew. All of them. Even Reynir. "I don't care that he won't be trained up properly by then," she'd said. "He was useful even when he knew nothing. He's coming with us, do you hear that?"
At least, that was how Tuuri had summarized it, when Reynir took her aside and asked what Sigrun had said. He had a feeling that Sigrun's actual words were more colourful than that, judging by the volume of her voice and the excited way that she kept pointing at him.
That was fine. Sure, it had been a dangerous trip, a risky trip, a stupid trip from a stupid idea, and it was a miracle that they had all come back alive. But even if he wouldn't admit it to his parents, there was one thing that Reynir was certain of: he wanted to go along.
Even if it had been terrifying.
And dangerous.
And stupid.
So stupid.
He wasn't going to leave his friends behind. Especially not after he'd finally started to get to know them! All of them.
Turri's tutoring hadn't come easily. Swedish was slippery; it was tough to hang on to it. "Maybe I could learn Finnish instead?" Reynir had muttered hopefully one day, as he glanced over a page of notes that Emil had misplaced before going out with Sigrun. It was a list of Swedish phrases and their translations into Finnish, those oddly-welcoming words with their doubled vowels and so many dots. He liked the way it looked.
"Um... no. I don't think so. Not yet."
"But Lalli –"
"Lalli's learning Swedish too, you know." Tuuri took Emil's notes from him, carefully tucking them into Emil's notebook so that they would not be lost. "You'll be able to talk to him eventually." She paused, looking at him for a moment, almost scrutinizing him. "You need to be able to talk to Sigrun, too. Remember?"
"...Right!"
Right.
It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Sigrun. It was only that – well –
Reynir couldn't quite think of the right word when it came to Lalli. Not friends. They weren't friends, not quite, not exactly. Oh, he wanted to be friends of course, he really did! But he didn't know what went on in Lalli's head. No matter what he tried, he couldn't understand him, and it was impossible to know how Lalli felt about him, or about talking to him, or about anything.
But that didn't mean Reynir wasn't getting anywhere with him, either. It didn't escape Reynir's notice that whenever he slipped Lalli a rune, Lalli would pocket the paper without questioning it – unlike anyone else. And it was true, he couldn't exactly ask about it either, not easily. But unlike some of the others, Lalli had never given him a sceptical look about his attempts. Hadn't rolled his eyes when Reynir tried at magic. And that, even if it was small, was something.
In the mornings, when Lalli returned from his work out in the silent night, he always took the mint tea that Reynir offered him – and even if he'd go to sit with Emil immediately after, in that fraction of a moment, it always seemed to Reynir that Lalli looked at him with something like acceptance. Later, after they both started learning Swedish, that acceptance was accompanied by something else – a simple word. "Thanks."
It was strange to hear and understand him while they were awake. Strange, but good.
One day, Lalli had stayed in the tank. Sigrun and Emil had left, claiming that they didn't need him that day. It was for the better; Lalli had returned the previous night with his uniform badly in need of repair. He hadn't given anyone an explanation for why it had been ripped during his scouting duties, even though Tuuri had asked and asked and asked.
Mikkel ran his fingers along the damaged cloth, frowning, his thick brows furrowing. He didn't say anything, but it was clear he wasn't looking forward to taking care of it. Reynir had seen his needlework before, and wasn't surprised. There were many things that Mikkel was good at, but that wasn't one of them, and the more Reynir thought about watching him attempt it, the more he wanted to intervene. "Here, let me – I can do it," he said, putting on his broadest, most confident-looking smile. "I'm actually pretty good at this; I had to mend things back at home all the time."
A raised eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Well, my parents needed a lot of help inside the house, not just with farm work. And my brothers and sisters were usually away, so it was just me. And... you know." A shrug. "I'm great with a needle."
"We'll see about that."
That was how he ended up repairing Lalli's uniform. The tank door was open, letting in sunlight and fresh air. Reynir was glad for the brightness, as it made the work easier. He lifted his head when he heard footsteps, and tried to hide his surprise when he noticed that it was Lalli who'd come to sit next to him, curling up in the seat beside him.
"Oh, hi! I didn't know you were awake." Reynir waited, wondering if he would respond.
No reply.
That didn't matter, Reynir decided. So, he kept talking, letting the words spill out wherever they wanted to go, just happy to have the company. "I thought you'd be sleeping at a time like this, since you didn't have to go out today. You're probably happy to get some rest, right? I really can't imagine having your job, it seems so – well, anyway. Wow, you really must have gotten yourself into a scrape, to damage your clothes like this. Did you get stuck somewhere? Or was it a troll? Mikkel said that you were absolutely covered in blood when you came back. I couldn't go out to see, of course, I had to stay back, but – well, I'm just glad that you weren't hurt. You're okay, right? Just tired? That's what it looks like, but I don't know for sure."
He glanced over, hands stilling. Lalli was staring at him, his drooping eyes narrow.
Oops, Reynir thought. Too much?
Lalli held up a hand. Pointed at him. Opened his mouth. Hesitated. Then said, very carefully, "You. You talk... a lot." The words rolled awkwardly off his tongue.
Reynir felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. No doubt that "a lot" was actually meant to be "too much", just as he'd feared. And – to be fair... Lalli was right, he had been talking a lot. "Um." He quickly searched his vocabulary for the right Swedish words to form an apology, but could only come up with: "Sorry?" Then he repeated it, in Finnish, for emphasis. "...Sorry."
Lalli stared at him. He seemed to coil in on himself, sinking into his shabby grey sweater as if it might completely envelope him. It was obvious that he hadn't expected to hear any Finnish come out of Reynir's mouth, and he didn't seem to know what to think about that.
"Ah..." Did I say it wrong? Reynir thought, biting his tongue to stop another "sorry" from slipping out. Maybe I said it completely wrong, maybe that's why he's staring at me, maybe I accidentally said something really, really rude, maybe –
"It's... okay." Slow, careful words in slow, careful Swedish. Lalli's voice had a quiet, concentrated note to it, as if he had gone through everything he could think of saying, and had only been able to settle on that.
"It's okay?" Reynir echoed.
"Yes." Even talking that much seemed to exhaust Lalli. He closed his mouth, seemed to clamp down now that he was done with speaking.
But what he'd said was enough.
It's okay, Reynir thought. He doesn't mind. Even if I talk "a lot". Even if it's in Icelandic and he doesn't understand a word of it. It's okay. Reynir breathed deeply, tried to steady himself, practically vibrating from happiness. "All right," he said in Icelandic, resuming his rambling as if he'd never stopped in the first place. "If you say it's okay, then it's okay. ...So, where do you think we'll go next? I got a look at the map; Mikkel says there might be a really good library in the village east of here. I don't know if we'd even be able to find room in the tank for a lot of books, though; we already have so many already. But –"
Even if they weren't friends yet, they were something.
Reynir clung to that moment, remembering how Lalli stayed close, how he didn't seem to mind listening, or at least he didn't seem to mind the sound of Reynir's voice. How he dozed off next to Reynir, and even after he woke again, he didn't leave until Emil returned.
They didn't have many moments like that, but the ones they did have, Reynir kept close, remembering them fondly.
Even when he was at the academy, with all its distractions, Reynir did his best to keep those few moments in the back of his mind. Not that he had much time to himself for reminiscing about his friends and the expedition. In fact, sometimes it seemed that he hardly had time to think of anything but school, and learning, and magic.
The daytime was one thing: there was so much he had to remember. Symbols, formulas, spells, all of it crammed into his head, and Reynir had to struggle to make sure they wouldn't fly away from him. And after that, there was the studying – and so much studying! – he had to grasp it, hold it. There was so much memorization. There were also the extra things, the books he looked up on his own, spells he sought out in the library. All of it was material not covered in class, too advanced for him just yet. But maybe, he thought, fumbling through the pages, it was possible that he might see something that would be of use out there, out in the silent world.
But the evenings belonged to him, and when he wasn't stuffing as much information into his head as he possibly could, Reynir thought back to the time spent in the tank. Thought about his friends, about joining them again.
He'd bring gifts, of course. Their expedition had landed him some money, and while there was so much of it – more than Reynir had ever imagined possessing in his life – it hadn't been hard to decide how to spend some of it. He'd already chosen everything, packaged it away safely, just waiting for the day when he would leave.
But there was one gift that couldn't be bought. One gift that would be a little more difficult, one that would take a little time.
One evening, Reynir scribbled in a notebook, and thought of Lalli. Thought of how he had looked that one day when Reynir had been repairing his clothes: curled up near to him, staring at him, wearing that worn-out grey sweater. It was so big that it practically swallowed him up.
That image stuck in his mind, and Reynir knew exactly what to do with it.
As he plotted out the pattern, estimated amounts and measurements and sizes, Reynir remembered. Thought back to the day when they parted.
Lalli had been wearing the sweater that day, too.
Reynir waited, waited, waited, until finally Emil was called away from Lalli – something to do with last-minute packing. As soon as Emil was gone, Reynir stepped in. He knew he wouldn't get many more chances to talk to him alone, not with the way Emil had been clinging to Lalli like a barnacle, knowing that they'd soon be parted for months.
"I want to say goodbye to you," he said carefully. Swedish was still difficult, still slippery, sliding over his tongue.
Lalli stared at him. Blinked once. But he didn't try to slink away, and that was encouraging.
"I hope you will have a good summer?" Reynir continued, hesitating, halting. "And, um... I hope you will go safely to Keuruu." Clumsy. Awkward. Stupid, he thought to himself, you should have figured out how to say it properly before you started talking. You could have asked Tuuri, or someone else. But Tuuri was busy, and –
"Why?"
Reynir blinked. Stared. Tried not to look as confused as he felt. He didn't understand why Lalli looked so baffled, either. The question was not what, but why, so he must have understood what Reynir had said, at least. But why?
Lalli was waiting, arms coiled around himself, the old sweater dipping over his fingertips.
"Why? Um..." Think, think, how to say it – "Because I like you. And I – I will miss you? And, um. I want to be together with you for the second expedition. So, I want you to be safe."
There was a moment of quiet as Lalli looked at him sideways, as if Reynir had said something very weird, and he needed to think about it. Finally, he nodded. Hesitated for a moment. Then, he offered his hand. It wasn't the first time, but it was still strange to see it. Strange, but good.
Reynir wanted to hug him, but at least in this case, he knew better. He grasped Lalli's hand. Squeezed it. Just long enough. Then he let him go. Lalli withdrew, stepped back, pulled his hand back into the too-long sweater-sleeve again.
"Bye," Lalli said. Looked at him for a second longer, then stepped away, heading in the direction that Emil had taken.
That was all.
It wasn't hard to plot it out, to plan it, to get everything he needed to put it together. Reynir knew wool, and he knew yarn, and he knew how to estimate what amount he would need, what size it would need to be. His hands were as comfortable with knitting needles as they were with his shepherd's staff.
He spun the yarn himself.
It wasn't as if he couldn't have skipped that, bought it already prepared and ready to go. But the academy had a spinning wheel, and students were encouraged to use it – either the wheel, or their own drop-spindles.
Reynir knew why.
Magic. Focus. Concentration. Magic.
Well, maybe he wasn't skilled enough to do it like a proper mage. Reynir had to admit that. But the work was relaxing, it was calming, and as he spun the wool into yarn, he felt as if he could put a piece of himself into it somehow, put a protection spell over it, infuse it with words against danger right down through every fibre. Keep his friend warm, yes, but keep him safe, too.
The days passed quickly, even if they were exhausting, full of spells and theories and principles that he felt he could never completely grasp.
The evenings passed quickly too: the whir of the wheel, the coil of yarn on the spindle, his own low humming. Later, there was the slip of yarn over wooden needles, the rustle of paper as he consulted his pattern now and then, off and on. Reynir recited spells under his breath, committed them to memory, doing homework even as he tried to sink the power into the garment itself.
Even if it didn't work, Reynir thought as he brushed his fingers along the strand-knitted pattern, protective symbols picked out in grey and white, at least it would fit Lalli better than what he had. He slid his hands down to the ends of the sleeves, feeling along the small design at the cuffs, the endless knots that he had found in one of his textbooks, on one of the few pages that bothered to include anything about Finnish magic. If the power was nothing, and even if the Icelandic designs along the yoke meant nothing, then maybe that part – the tiny repeating hannunvaakuna designs circling the wrists – maybe Lalli would like that.
When the time to leave came, Reynir was a bundle of energy. Saying goodbye had been too easy, maybe – hugging his father, kissing his mother, a quick, "I'll be safe, I promise!" It wasn't that he was eager to leave! At least, it was not like it had been the first time, when he'd slipped away in secret.
It was only that he wanted to see his friends again. All of them.
The journey was too long. Too rocky. Too many things. When he finally stepped foot on Swedish soil, he was so excited, he thought he was going to be sick.
Counting down the days – one, two, three, too many.
He was staying with the Vasterströms. They had arranged it, welcoming him with open arms. It felt good to see them – even if they weren't who he was waiting for.
Waiting, waiting, studying in between the waiting. Magic. Swedish, more than anything. His skill improved all the more during those days. The children were good to practice with, even if they teased him about how halting he was when speaking it.
Eventually, Emil arrived. His face was a cloud of disappointment when he realized that no, he was mistaken, the Hotakainens would not arrive for two more days, and then Sigrun and Mikkel after that. Reynir was the only one who had managed to arrive so far, and he wasn't exactly a welcome substitute for Lalli.
But Emil softened, eventually, when asked if he'd heard from Lalli. He was friendlier now that they could communicate, more welcoming when his words could be understood.
They talked about the letters they'd exchanged, the things they expected to see, what the next expedition would be like. And then together, they waited.
The day that the Hotakainens arrived was a whirlwind of movement and people. Reynir let himself get pushed along, floating through the confusion with the rest of them. The day that the train came to Mora was rainy and damp and not fitting at all for the joyous mood. But Tuuri's smile was bright enough to contrast all the greyness. Onni had come too – surprise of surprises! – and he somehow managed not to protest too much when Reynir hugged him, only complaining a little when Reynir practically lifted him off his feet in his enthusiasm.
Lalli held back, quiet as usual. Reynir smiled at him over Onni's shoulder. That got him a look, at least. Eye contact. Not a glare! And then, a small wave.
A second later, Lalli spotted Emil, and melted past Onni and Reynir toward him. Well, Reynir thought, that was fine. That was just fine.
They weren't able to talk until after supper. Not really. Not properly.
Lalli had disappeared, slinking off to find a quiet place for himself. So much noise. Too many people. That, at least, was what Reynir thought he had done. It didn't surprise him at all.
Reynir found him, eventually, in the guest room. He had curled up under the bed with a biscuit, nibbling his way through it as he listened to the conversation slipping in through the door from the rest of the house. The laughter of children. Emil and Tuuri's voices.
His eyes glinted when Reynir turned on the light and slipped into the room.
Deep breath. Okay, Reynir thought, how to approach this? Maybe it was best not to draw too much attention to it. Or to him. Or to anything. "Hi," he said, dipping his head a little to look at the tired bundle curled up under the bed. When he didn't get an answer, he straightened and stepped toward the other side of the room, where he had put his luggage.
Lalli said nothing, but Reynir could feel his eyes on him.
"I have something," Reynir continued, opening his pack, speaking in careful Swedish. Trying to be casual. He took the sweater out carefully, and placed it on the mattress. "This is for you." He spoke as clearly as he could. "Um. I hope you will like it?"
He listened. Nothing.
"Maybe I should... go."
Nothing.
As he left the room, Reynir tried to remind himself that it was fine, that it was Lalli. That no words didn't mean rejection, because this was Lalli. He breathed, bit his tongue, and lingered outside of the room for a moment, torn between stepping in and asking about it, or going to join the others.
A floorboard creaked inside the room.
There was a rustling, then the squeak of a mattress as someone sat on the bed.
Reynir turned a little, daring to peek in.
Lalli had the sweater in his lap. He touched it, carefully sliding his fingers along it, seeming to feel out the texture of the wool. As Reynir watched, he lifted one of the sleeves, curiously inspecting the design at the cuffs. His expression shifted a little – but to what, Reynir couldn't tell.
Lalli didn't look unhappy with it, at least. And that was good enough.
Later, when Reynir caught sight of him again, he was wearing it.
Down in the warm glow of the living room, where everyone was talking, Lalli tried to slink by without anyone except Reynir noticing him.
Reynir felt a presence by his shoulder, then heard a quiet, hesitant, "Thanks".
Reynir turned to him, smiling, and smiled even more broadly when he realized that the sweater fit just as well as he'd hoped.
He opened his mouth to speak – and anything he was going to say was eclipsed by an excited stream of Finnish, pushing out everything else as Tuuri latched onto Lalli and turned him around, chirping, asking – probably – where the sweater had come from.
...Well, Reynir thought, biting his tongue to stop himself from laughing. That was all right.
What was also all right was what he found carefully placed on his pack when he returned to the guest room deep into the evening, just as everyone was starting to talk about going to sleep.
Set on top of Reynir's luggage were two things. A tin of hard candies. A small knife with a dog carved on its wooden handle. Reynir didn't need to ask where they had come from, who had put them there.
"Thanks," he said softly in Finnish, murmuring the words almost under his breath. There was a soft rustle of acknowledgment from under the bed; that was enough. He had been heard.
Carefully, he opened the tin. Maybe, Reynir thought as he popped one honey-flavoured candy in his mouth, and dropped another into the palm of the long-fingered, outstretched hand that had slipped out from under the bed, maybe he and Lalli had become closer than he'd thought. Maybe all they'd needed was time. A few moments. A few memories. Something to hold on to. Some time to cool down after their first adventure. A little while to think about what they'd been through together, and what was waiting for them up ahead, and what they'd find on the next road that they travelled down together.
Maybe they really were friends, after all.
