It was early in the morning, and Gray was sitting in the saloon with his overshirt in his lap, a needle and thread between his fingers as he tried to fix his oaths. He was clothed in nothing but a loose undershirt and his pants, with his cloak laid out over the chair, waiting to be darned.

“Why are you fixing that now and not when it’s over?” Geoff asked as he dragged up a chair and straddled it, and Gray hummed.

“It’s disrespectful to show up to a duel between clerics with your clothes in a disarray,” he replied as he stabbed through with the precious white thread. “Father Ilias would take offense.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Geoff groused, and Gray glanced at him.

“Well, I’m already a bit young to be fighting. I don’t need to act like it,” he replied and almost stabbed himself with the needle. “Ah. I need to be careful.”

“What do those mean, anyways?” Geoff asked and Gray rubbed his thumb over the familiar patterns.

“This is the ancient language of Verdova,” Gray said and settled back in the chair. “My homeland. They’re my oaths.”

“Your oaths?” Geoff repeated as Gray focused on moving the thread through.

“Yes. We have tenets, but oaths are different and more personal. We spend our entire childhoods planning them for when we finally take them in adulthood,” he explained as he put in several more neat stitches. “We recite them in whatever the ancient language of our culture may be to show off our education and our teachers make us our first sets of clothing with them.”

“Yer a lot more friendly than the last one that came through here,” Geoff said. “What’s’is’name, uhhhh…”

“Crimson,” Alfie said, and Gray paused in his stitching as he blinked at the shirt in his hands. Crimson… “Fixing that ratty embroidery, Gray?”

His thoughts were abruptly washed away and Gray blinked up at Alfie.

“Was it truly that bad?”

“The wife would never let me out like that,” Alfie drawled and the bartender, whose name was Malina, Gray had learned, barked a harsh laugh.

“That’s the joy of being young and single, Alfie! Don’t be so mean!” she called and shot Gray a wink. “Don’t let ‘im tease ya, sweetie.”

Gray idly wondered if they realized he had a baby face and wasn’t that young.

“Well, I like ya a lot better than the other guy. Passed through about six months back, nearly blew up the church down the way. Kids weren’t even gone yet, kid just didn’t like the priests,” Alfie said and clapped Gray on the shoulder, nearly messing up a stitch in the process, but Gray said nothing.

“Crimson has always been like that,” Gray said quietly and thought about the firebrand of a boy that had grown up even worse. “He’s very talented.”

Far more talented than Gray. He probably knew they were in the early stages by taking in the orphans and lost his cool. Crimson had always handled his problems directly and aggressively, with very little communication with anyone else. To think Gray had once looked up to him. Now, here he was, likely cleaning up his mess. It was no wonder the priest had jumped to a duel so quickly. He likely thought it was the only way to avoid a full-on siege.

Well, bless these people for not judging him based on the actions of Crimson right off the bat. He probably would have.

“You know that guy?” Alfie asked in surprise, and Gray blinked at him.

“We’re in the same order,” he said. “I know everyone in the order.”

“Oh, right, you said something about that, right,” Alfie said and rubbed at his chin. “Are you two friends?”

“No,” Gray said flatly, and then realized that may have come off as rude. “I mean, no. We aren’t friends. We just know each other through our teachers. He was two years older than me, so we didn’t have much in common with our specialist training regimens.”

Also, White, Gray’s teacher, absolutely despised Red, and Red despised White. White was of the Monochrome line, and there was a pseudo blood feud between them and the Red line. Not that Gray bought into the idea of a blood feud. No, he just didn’t like Crimson and his attitude once the sparkle wore away. He was bad with people, rude, domineering, and while Gray had once admired his boldness, something Gray could never manage, it became a bit much with every meeting.

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It also didn’t help that Crimson did buy into the blood feud and somehow thought Gray was beneath him. Once Gray gained some self esteem, he saw how shallow it really was.

His skills couldn’t be denied, though, so Gray was left wondering why on earth he had left so early without actually blowing the church to the heaven they prayed to. Crimson specialized in wind magic, so it would have been quick wo…

The orphans.

Ah.

So, he had learned some restraint.

A small smile touched Gray’s lips and he bent more over his stitching.

“What’s so funny, then?” Alfie asked and Gray shrugged.

“People can surprise you, sometimes,” he replied and put in another stitch, looped it, and tied it off. Well. There was one shoulder complete. Now for the neck and other shoulder… Ah, this was going to take awhile. He had to darn the cloak, too.

“Speaking of people, would ye like if my wife darned your cloak?” Alfie asked, and Gray blinked.

“Could she?”

“I don’t think she knows them letters, though she’s a woman that knows a lot, but I figure she could fix yer cloak for ye,” Alfie said with a nod. “Otherwise we’re gonna be here all day.”

“Don’t you have work?” Gray asked, because he was fairly certain the mine didn’t stop in the middle of the week for no apparent reason.

“Ah, the ole foreman heard ye were gonna be fightin’ ole Father Ilias and gave us the day off to watch,” Geoff said and stretched lazily. “Thanks for that, by the by. This ole back of mine needed a break.”

There were going to be spectators…? How bored were these people? Maybe this was a bad idea…

“Well, I’m glad to be a source of entertainment for you all,” Gray replied as he started on the other shoulder, putting in the neatest stitches he could. He wasn’t as good at embroidery as other Librarians, and would likely have to request a fresh set at the next Library he reached. It was looking a little…

“You’re not all that good at that, ain’t’cha?” Geoff asked as Gray stared in mild dismay at a few ruined stitches he hadn’t caught in the finished shoulder.

… It was looking a little sloppy. That was the word he wanted to use.

“I try my best,” he replied, but his nose was crinkling. “You’d think after twenty years, I would be better at this.”

“... How old are ye?” Alfie asked in mild shock.

“Twenty-five.”

“Ye’ve been learning stitchcraft since ye were five?” Alfie asked, and then blinked. “You’ve got a bit of a baby face, don’t you?”

“I’ve heard that a lot,” Gray replied and just set to stitching again. He thought about informing them that stitchcraft was actually a magical art, commonly practiced by the bookbinders and restoration artisans of the Librarians, but… No, it was rude to seem too knowledgeable and correct people at every opportunity.

“So, you’ve been stitching and whatnot since you were five, and still can’t…?”

“I’m not good with my hands,” Gray admitted and Alfie scratched at his head.

“What does embroidery got to do with books?”

“It has a lot to do with books,” Gray said, almost taking offense, but then remembered ignorance was rarely based in malice. “We rebind books often, and an embroidered cover is just nicer. But we learn from a young age so we can keep our hands busy and our bodies still while an older Librarian reads to us.”

It was a good way to focus a child’s attention, right up until someone stabbed themselves with a needle. White still had the first handkerchief Gray stitched as a five year old in preparation for his master to be assigned at fifteen. He had not given it to her willingly, but Teal had made absolutely certain she would receive it one way or another. It had been humiliating, and the memory brought a slight smile to his lips.

“That’s fascinating,” Geoff said with the awe of someone excited to learn about people they didn’t know. “I always heard tales about Librarians and their kiddies, but I didn’t know how real they were. Do ye just read all day, every day?”

“No,” Gray replied with a huff of laughter. “No, we don’t. We have other chores. Shelving and organizing books, though I guess we have to read covers to do that. Managing the Libraries and working with the general public who come in to read. Organizing community events and things like that.”

“It sounds like ye just work all day,” Geoff said dubiously.

“No, we have plenty of rest time,” Gray assured him before he stabbed himself with the needle. “... Ah.”

The needle was sticking directly out of his thumb, and he stared at it blankly as he tried to recall the last time he had stabbed himself with a needle.

Oh, dear.

He needed more practice.

“And I think that’s my sign to take this to the wife,” Alfie said and picked up the worn and torn cloak. “Y’all behave, now.”

“Ah, thank you, Alfie,” Gray said as he pulled the needle out of his thumb and sucked on the pinprick of blood that welled up. “Ouch.”

“Ah, maybe they should’a made you do it more,” Geoff said with a loud, boisterous laugh, and Gray smiled around his thumb.

These really were good people. He’d trust the sincerity of a darned cloak before any nobleman’s chests of gold, anyday.