The days after Thomas came to live with Darian's family passed in a blur. There was so much to do, so many little things that needed figuring out. Where would Thomas sleep? What chores would he take on? How did they integrate another child into the daily rhythms and routines of the household?

Mara, of course, took it all in stride. She'd already made up a pallet for Thomas in the little side room off the kitchen, the same room Darian's father used to use for his tinkering. It had been sitting empty for years, gathering dust and odd bits of junk. But with a bit of sweeping, some fresh linens, and a patched quilt, it became a cosy bedroom.

"There," Mara said, hands on hips as she looked over her handiwork. "That should do nicely. What do you think, Thomas? It's not much, but it's yours."

Thomas stood in the doorway, the few possessions he had clutched to his chest. He looked around the small room with wide eyes, as if he couldn't quite believe it was real.

"It's perfect," he whispered. "Thank you, Ma'am. Truly."

"None of that 'Ma'am' nonsense," Mara said firmly. "You call me Mara, you hear? Or Ma, if you like. You're family now."

Thomas ducked his head, but not before Darian caught the shine of tears in his eyes. "Yes Ma'...Mara," he said, voice wobbling only a little.

Mara nodded, satisfied. "Good lad. Now, let's get you settled. I've got some old clothes of Darian's that should fit you with a bit of taking in. Can't have you running around in those rags."

And just like that, Thomas had a place. A room of his own. Clothes that weren't threadbare hand-me-downs. And people who cared whether he was warm and fed and looked after.

It was a lot to take in. Darian knew it would take time for Thomas to really believe this was his life now. But Darian was determined to give him that time. To do everything in his power to make sure Thomas felt safe and wanted and home.

As for chores, Thomas threw himself into helping out with a fervour that bordered on desperation, as if afraid they would change their minds and send him back to the orphanage if he didn't make himself useful. He swept the floors until not a speck of dust remained, washed the dishes until they sparkled, and folded the laundry with military precision.

"Thomas, lad, you don't have to work yourself to the bone," Mara said gently one afternoon, catching the boy scrubbing at an already spotless pot. "You're not a servant here. You're family."

Thomas ducked his head, his ears turning red. "I know, I just...I want to help. I don't want to be a burden."

Mara took the pot from his raw, reddened hands, setting it aside. She tipped his chin up with a finger, making him meet her eyes. "You are not and could never be a burden, Thomas. We're happy, truly happy, to have you here. I don't want you to ever feel like you have to earn your place, you hear?"

Thomas nodded as he swallowed hard, his eyes suspiciously shiny. Mara smiled and drew him into a hug, rubbing his back.

Over Thomas's head, she met Darian's eyes where he hovered in the doorway. He had come running at the sound of voices, half-afraid Thomas and his mother were arguing. But now, seeing the gentle way Mara held his friend, the tension drained out of him.

His mother was good at this, at saying the things that needed to be said. The things Thomas needed to hear. Darian was glad, so glad, that Thomas had her now too.

The garden proved to be more of a challenge for Thomas than the household chores. He attacked the weeds with grim determination, but more often than not pulled up the vegetables right along with them.

"Sorry!" he yelped the third time it happened, holding up a limp carrot seedling. "I don't...everything just looks the same!"

Darian laughed and bumped his shoulder. "No worries, Chom. Gardening's not for everyone. Why don't you come help me chop some wood instead? We're running low."

Thomas brightened at that. Chopping wood, at least, was something he knew how to do. He'd done it often enough at the orphanage, hauling in logs to feed the always-hungry fires.

He followed Darian to the woodpile, accepting the axe handed to him. It had a nice weight to it, solid.

Thomas squared up to a log, raising the axe over his head. He brought it down with a satisfying thwack, splitting the log clean in two.

"Hey, you're a natural!" Darian grinned at him. Thomas felt a smile tug at his mouth. It was nice, to be good at something. To feel like he was contributing.

Side by side, they made quick work of the woodpile. It was hot, sweaty work, but satisfying. Thomas found his mind emptying of everything but the rhythmic rise and fall of the axe, the strain of his muscles, the steady chop-chop ringing out in the warm air.

By the time they finished, he was sweating and breathing hard, but it was a good kind of tired. The kind that came from an honest day's work.

Darian clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done, Chom. I think you've found your calling."

Thomas ducked his head to hide his pleased flush. "Thanks, Dare. Maybe you can show me how to build things with it, sometime? I've always wanted to learn carpentry."

"I'd like that," Darian said. "But I’ll warn you, I only know bits and bats, what my Da taught me."

----------------------------------------

The next morning, Darian stretched, his back popping as he sat up. With the Academy exam behind him, he could finally relax a bit. No more late nights hunched over books, cramming his head full of facts and figures.

The clatter of dishes drew him out to the main room. His mother stood at the hearth, stirring a pot of porridge. She looked up as he entered.

"Morning, my luv," she said. "Hungry?"

"Starving," Darian replied, moving to give her a quick hug. Mara squeezed him tight before shooing him toward the table.

"Sit. It'll be ready in a minute." She nodded at a basket of mending by her chair. "I've got plenty to keep me busy today. With two growing boys in the house now, seems like I'm forever stitching up torn knees and ripped elbows."

Her words, said so casually, warmed Darian down to his toes. Two boys. Thomas really was part of the family now.

As if summoned by Darian's thoughts, Thomas came out of his little room, yawning. He froze when he saw Mara and Darian watching him, a wary look flashing across his face. As if he still expected to be scolded or turned out at any moment.

"Good morning, Thomas," Mara said gently. "Come have some breakfast."

Thomas relaxed slightly at her tone. He padded over to the table, sliding onto the bench across from Darian.

"Morning," he mumbled, ducking his head.

Darian nudged his friend's foot under the table. "Sleeping well these past few days?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I have." Thomas darted a glance at Mara's turned back, then leaned forward to whisper, "Better than I have in ages, if I'm being honest. That bed is loads better than my lumpy straw tick at the orphanage."

"I'm glad," Darian whispered back. "You deserve some good sleep."

Mara set two steaming bowls of porridge in front of the boys, ruffling Thomas's hair as she did. He startled at the casual affection, his ears turning red. But a tiny, pleased smile tugged at his mouth as he picked up his spoon.

They dug in, the only sounds the clink of spoons against bowls and appreciative slurps. Mara's porridge was always good, sweetened with a bit of precious honey and whatever summer berries could be foraged.

Darian was scraping the last sticky bits from the bottom of his bowl when Mara spoke again.

"Now then, boys, I thought we might start Thomas' lessons today. Get him caught up to where he should be."

Thomas froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Lessons?"

"Of course, dear," Mara said. "Every child needs schooling. I taught Darian his letters and figures, and I'll teach you the same."

"But... I already know my letters," Thomas said slowly. "Sort of. They taught us some at the orphanage. Only the teacher wasn't very good, and a lot of the other kids didn't care to learn..."

He trailed off, shoulders hunching. Darian remembered the letter Thomas had sent him in Arbrook, the shaky penmanship and creative spelling. His friend was clever, no doubt about that. But he'd never had someone take the time to really teach him.

"Well then, we'll just have to make sure you get a proper education," Mara said firmly. "Talia too. The two of you can learn together."

Right on cue, Talia came stumbling out of the bedroom, her hair a tangled mess and one sock sliding down her ankle. She made a beeline for Mara, wrapping her arms around their mother's waist.

"Do I hafta do lessons today, Mama?" she whined. "I wanna go outside and play!"

"Yes, you have to," Mara said, untangling Talia's arms and steering her toward the table. "Learning is important, sweetling. Don't you want to be clever like your brother?"

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Talia pouted but allowed herself to be sat down next to Thomas. She peered at him from under her sleep-mussed curls. "Are you gonna do lessons with me?"

"Looks like," Thomas said. He shot Darian an uncertain glance. "I'm probably not very good at it though..."

"That's alright!" Talia said, perking up. "I can help you! I'm really smart. Mama says so."

Thomas bit back a smile. "I bet you are," he agreed. "Maybe you can help me with my letters, then."

Talia puffed up with seven-year-old importance. "I will! I'm a good teacher. You'll see."

Mara set down two more bowls of porridge, ruffling Talia's wild hair. "I'm sure you are, sweetling. But let's get some food in you first, hmm? Can't learn on an empty stomach."

Talia tucked into her bowl with gusto, getting more on her face than in her mouth. Thomas ate more slowly, his brow furrowed. Darian could practically see the gears turning in his head as he contemplated these new expectations.

"It won't be so bad," Darian murmured to him as Talia chattered away to Mara about the games she wanted to play later. "I'll help too, if you like. With reading and sums and all that."

Thomas shot him a grateful look. "Thanks, Dare. I just...I feel so behind. The other kids my age, they're loads better at all this than me."

"So? You'll catch up quick, I know it." Darian bumped shoulders with him. "You're the smartest person I know. Cleverer than me."

That surprised a laugh out of Thomas. "Don't let Talia hear you say that. She'll be right offended."

Darian grinned. "I'll just have to mind my tongue then." He sobered, looking Thomas in the eye. "Really though, Chom. You're bright as they come. A few missed lessons won't hold you back. Not if you don't let them."

Thomas ducked his head, cheeks pinking with embarrassment. "If you say so."

"I do say so," Darian said. "You'll be running circles around the rest of us before you know it."

They finished up breakfast and helped Mara clear the table. Talia was vibrating with impatience, annoyed at being made to wait for her promised outdoor adventures.

"Sit down, child," Mara said, dragging her towards the old rag rug in front of the hearth. "Lessons first, then play. You know the rules."

Talia let out a huge sigh, as if the weight of the world rested on her small shoulders. But she plopped down on the rug, crossing her legs and looking at Mara expectantly.

Mara grabbed a few things from the shelf - a well-worn primer, some scraps of birchbark, and a stick of charcoal - before settling next to Talia. She looked up at Thomas, patting the space next to her.

"Come on then, lad. Let's see what you know."

Thomas hesitated, shooting Darian an anxious glance. Darian gave him an encouraging nod, moving to sit on Talia's other side.

"I'll just listen in," he said to his mother. "See if I can pick up anything new."

Mara smiled knowingly at him but didn't call him out on his obvious ploy to provide moral support to Thomas. She just opened up the primer, pointing to the first page.

"Alright, my loves. Let's start at the very beginning. Thomas, can you tell me what letter this is?"

Thomas squinted at the carefully printed character, his nose scrunching up in concentration. "That's...it's an A, right?"

"Well done!" Mara praised. Thomas flushed, pleased. "And do you know what sound it makes?"

They went on like that, working through the alphabet. Thomas stumbled here and there, mixing up his Ds and Bs, his Ps and Qs. But he knew more than he'd let on, and Mara was endlessly patient, guiding him through the tricky bits.

Talia, not to be outdone, chimed in with her own hard-won knowledge, puffing up with pride when she could provide an answer that Thomas missed. Thomas took it with good grace, shooting her a wink and a "good job, squirt" that made her giggle.

Watching them together, heads bent over the book, Darian felt a deep contentment settle in his chest. This was his family. His Talia, his Thomas, his Mara. They belonged to each other, looked after each other. Fought for each other.

He thought of Elias, of all the things the adventurer had taught him in the training yard. The way he moved, sure and deadly. Those weren't just exercises. They were tools of survival, hard-won skills to keep himself and his people safe.

I'll keep you safe, he promised silently to the two dark heads and the greying one across from him. All of you. No matter what.

"You did so well, both of you," Mara said, pulling Talia into a hug and ruffling Thomas's hair. "I'm proud of you. Darian, doesn't your friend have a fine head on his shoulders?"

"The finest," Darian agreed, grinning at Thomas' beetroot blush. "Didn't I tell you, Chom? You'll be outsmarting us all before the week is out."

"Hardly," Thomas mumbled, but he couldn't hide his grin. Impulsively, Darian hooked an arm around his neck, hauling him in and rubbing his knuckles over the crown of Thomas's head.

"Don't be modest!" he laughed, ignoring Thomas' squawk and flailing attempts to escape. "Own your smarts, beanpole. You're officially the second cleverest Ashcroft, after yours truly, of course."

"Get off!" Thomas protested, finally wriggling free. But he was laughing too, his eyes bright. Darian couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his friend so at ease, so genuinely happy.

"Alright, you two," Mara said, her fond exasperation breaking into their tussle. "That's enough roughhousing in my kitchen. Take it outside if you're going to wrestle like a pair of bear cubs."

----------------------------------------

Of course, it wasn't all sunshine and roses. Thomas still had moments of prickliness, where the change felt like too much. Where he'd retreat into himself, going quiet and remote behind shuttered eyes.

He was falling into one of those moods now, Darian noted. Talia was telling them a very detailed, meandering story about one of the village dogs and something to do with their simple supper of beans and bread. Normally Thomas would chime in with a quip or a question, gently keeping her on track. But tonight he just stared into his bowl, mechanically spooning food into his mouth.

Darian nudged his leg under the table. "Alright there, Chom?"

Thomas stirred, blinking as if coming out of a daze. "What? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine."

He shoved a hunk of bread into his mouth as if to discourage any other questions. Darian frowned but let it drop for now.

Later, though, as they were banking the fire for the night, he tried again. "You seemed a bit lost in your head at supper. Anything you want to talk about?"

For a moment he thought Thomas would brush him off again. But then the other boy sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"It's silly," he mumbled. "I just...I was thinking about my Da and Ma. How they should be here, hearing Talia's stories and eating Mara's good food." His voice wobbled slightly. "It's not fair. It's not fair that they’re gone."

Darian's heart clenched hard. He set down the poker and moved closer, placing a hand on Thomas' shoulder. When his friend didn't shake him off, he tightened his grip.

"You're right," he said quietly. "It's not fair. Your folks should be here, and it's okay to be sad that they’re not. To miss them."

Thomas sucked in a shuddering breath. "I do miss them," he whispered. "So much. Even...even when they were mad at me, they were still my folks, all that I had."

"Oh, Chom." Darian gathered him into a hug, heart aching at the broken words. "I'm so sorry."

Thomas shuddered against him, fingers clutching at his shirt. He buried his face in Darian's shoulder, his tears hot and wet against Darian's neck.

Darian knew there was nothing he could say to make this better. Grief was a strange beast, not easily slain. It would ambush Thomas again and again, when he least expected it.

But Darian would be there. Every time, without fail. Ready to hold him up, to remind him that he wasn't alone. Not anymore, and never again.

"I'm here pal, I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. We're your family now, Chom. For good and all."

Thomas's hitching breaths slowly eased, his death grip on Darian's shirt loosening. When he finally pulled back, his face was splotchy and damp, but his eyes were clearer.

"Promise?" he asked, his voice small and fragile as spun glass.

"I promise," Darian looked him directly in the eye. "On my life, Thomas. You're stuck with us now."

That got a watery laugh. Thomas leaned into him for a moment longer before straightening up and scrubbing at his face.

"Well," he said with a shaky attempt at lightness, "I suppose there are worse things than being stuck with you lot."

Darian slung an arm around his shoulders as they made their way to bed. "Too right," he said. "Just you wait. Give it a month and you'll be begging for some peace and quiet."

Thomas surprised him by leaning into his side, just a little. "No," he said softly. "No, I don't think I will."

And well, there was nothing Darian could say to that.