Author's note: [My first attempt at writing backstory back when I first started. Meant to serve as a peek at their friendship, when both were teenagers and had grown somewhat estranged.
Alrik, was throwing himself headlong into preparing for the lofty mantle that was set aside for him at adoption. He was to be Lore-keeper of the Helmsfrost, where one ran a library by day, and organized the defense of the citadel-archive by night. Meanwhile, there have been rumours that his father, the incumbent Lore-keeper, has been doing more than just his duty, and has vast influence upon the rulings of the Council of Thirteen.
Orders and guilds generate influence like a ship does barnacles, especially when they remain in stagnant waters. Still, there is something disconcerting about Alrik's stepfather, even though few can place their finger on exactly what that is.
Still, for now, Alrik is thirteen, and has little more to think about other than the well-trod teen classics Their place in this world, an existential crisis(or two if you're an over-achiever), and academics.]
"I feel for him", Alrik said, picking at the flesh near his finger-nails, "I can only imagine what it would feel if he was tossed into the ocean, vial and all."
Huron just scoffed. He did that often when they spoke on matters of empathy or morality, though Alrik knew he was listening. Without even looking back, Alrik pinched his friend on his stomach, eliciting a yelp.
Ignoring the angry muttering behind him, he continued with his monologue, "Anyways, in his little crystal vial, the little fish would swim circle after circle in his cage and go nowhere and everywhere, as the tide carries him far across the sea. He will see the island floating on the water, flush with greenery and life, and drift by the white, bloated carcasses of half-eaten leviathans."
At this, he then turned to stare at Huron. "But he will never be able to choose which way to go. He simply endures and waits to die, helpless, like a fish trapped in a bottle. Along the way, he will see the other fish, and they will see him, though there will always be a gulf between the two. Almost like they are separated by some invisible wall. He will have to watch them live their lives, watch their tears of joy and sorrow, watch them love each other, speak to another, share the bond of brotherhood and community, knowing that he will never be able to have what they do. "
He then looked back and jolted as he saw the merchant watching at him with a bemused eye. A brilliant crimson colored the little orator-in-trainings face, who quickly handed over a silver piece to the merchant and scurried away with his fish-in-a-vial, ignoring his friend's laughter from behind him.
…
The winter months always brought an unnatural chill, one that was best tolerated with heavy fur coats and kettles of warm tea. When he was younger, Alrik's father would tell the story of The Ever-Crying Boy around the warmth of the hearth. The exact details of the story would change, but it always ended the same way.
Marcus would lower his voice to a whisper and open his eyes so wide that they seemed to bulge, and say, "And his eyes froze shut! On quiet winter nights, listen carefully to the winds and the sounds they carry, for they say you can still hear screaming sounding in the woods. It could be the Ever-Crying Boy, lost in the dark, with ice-melt ever-dripping from his eyes" Then, he would tilt back his head and roar with laughter.
That one was Alrik's favorite. Huron also found it hilarious, and Alrik didn't have the heart to tell them that stuff like that was not funny. It was tragic, and was nothing to be laughed at. Even if it was a little funny. Especially when it was a little funny.
The pair stayed quiet as they walked down the cobblestone steps of Hollow Lane, until Huron broke the silence with a question, "Did you tell me that because you think you are that fish? Alone, isolated, and a tool in the plots of your stepfather?"
His partner stared up at him with wide eyes, shocked, and sputtered, "No, I think you are that fish."
Now it was his turn to be sputter.
"What do you mean I am that fish?" He asked, "Our peers beg for scraps of my attention, while boot-licks fawn over my every action!"
"But are you one of them, or are you just an outsider in your little glass bowl, watching others act through a layer of detached logic?"
Huron's eyes hardened, and the air between them seemed to freeze over. "And what are you trying to imply when you mention this?"
Alrik quailed under his glare, and shrunk into himself before replying, "I … just thought that if we are both outcasts, maybe we can be two fish in a bowl, so we can have company in our isolation."
His friend stopped and simply stared at him, dumbfounded, until Alrik could no longer bear the awkwardness, and began to slowly swivel, turning his back to him. The smaller of the two could feel his ears starting to warm.
Huron finally found his voice, "That's the most long-winded pick-up line I've ever heard."
"What! Not everything is about– "
"I know"
A half-hearted push brushed against Huron's shoulder.
"You're awful."
"And you love it."
And to this, he had no answer but to flush red, muttering something about "loose men with screws loose" under his breath. He hiked his coat above his head and accelerated into a half-walk and half-run. His friend easily kept up, his long strides slicing through the snow. They stayed silent, and remained silent for the rest of the walk, though Huron bore a smug grin as proof of his triumph. At the last fork in the long, winding cobblestone road, they parted ways, though not before lingering a while. Alrik's gaze quickly flicked up to look his friend in the eyes, before he began to run down the worn dirt path home.
"I'll finally be rid of you!" Alrik yelled over his shoulder, watching his friend stand there and wave a solemn goodbye, "Now go away, and don't come back!"
Huron retorted with quite an insulting hand gesture. Alaric returned it with flair, and they both wore the same smile as they said their goodbyes.
.