"Humility" and "Gratitude"- skekGra, urGoh
The part of exile skekGra had never expected was feeling like a helpless childling. It was one thing to relearn how to stand and walk and function with a metal spike through his brain, but even once he had, he found a thousand little things that he had no idea how to do. Tasks as simple as washing clothes, cooking anything but meat over a spit, drying and grinding grain. He is a ball of hair-trigger frustration- swearing and lashing out at the most banal irritations.
“The rest of Thra…..does these things….without slaves,” urGoh had once responded evenly. “So……..can you.”
SkekGra had stewed in those words for days, before he’d thrown enough breakable objects at the wall to process that urGoh was right.
He learns patience as the trine pass, and domesticity grows oddly comfortable. His swords, which had once brought him the bloodshed and notoriety he craved, are tucked in a corner, wrapped and hidden away. He doesn’t need that to sustain him now that urGoh is here to fill the emptiness, bickering as they hang blankets off the edge of their balcony, distracting each other hopelessly as they attempt to cook.
After a time, he allows himself to forget them.
They curl up together, skekGra’s chin on urGoh’s shoulder, bellies full of food they made from ingredients they grew. This is a life no one would sing songs of, and skekGra thinks he likes it that way. Just the two of them, as much a part of Thra as they ever could be. He breathes in the smell of herbal smoke and smiles.
“Thank you.”
UrGoh, to his credit, does not ask what for- merely strokes skekGra’s callused palm and murmurs “You’re……...welcome.”