Ashlyen Birthday Story (Patreon)

You're four years old.

- Mom...

Your wooden spoon sinks into the slice of cake you're sharing with Tobias. A strawberry charlotte, overflowing with cream, a delicacy that Cecily has prepared for the occasion. You're all gathered around the table, as in those rare moments when nothing seems to be missing.

Tobias returned to Northview just in time for his birthday - well, a few days off. You're not sure what triggered this question in your mind. Maybe because today, everything seems so right, so complete... and yet, there's that little void you always feel, even when you're laughing.

So, frowning, you ask: "When is Ashlyen's birthday?"

Cutlery freezes mid-air. Tobias coughs, swallowing the whipped cream the wrong way. You lift your eyes to your mother.

It’s warm this month of Altheris, but it’s not the heat making her heart race.

Her lips part, then close again.

You blink lazily before turning your head toward your uncle and aunt. Tobias busies himself drinking; Cecily pats her lips with a napkin and clears her throat. She’s the one who answers:

"I think I remember he was born in Altheris, right? Elia?"

Your mother seems to shake off her hesitation.

"I… uh, yes."

A soft smile stretches her lips.

"The eleventh day."

Your eyes widen. Your heart races. A wave of warmth rises to your neck as you carve this information into a secret corner of your mind — that small place you only open rarely, for fear of being overwhelmed.

The eleventh of Altheris.

The eleventh of Altheris!

Wait… the eleventh of Altheris is…

You let out a piercing scream:

" It’s next month! I have to get a gift!"

"You don’t have to", says Tobias with a sly smile. "Old people don’t need presents."

Elianna rolls her eyes, Cecily shakes her head, exasperated.

"You’re old and yet I made you one!" You retort with disarming innocence.

Cecily bursts out laughing while Tobias inhales in exaggerated offense, but you pay no attention. An idea has just sprouted, and already your hands flutter around your spoon. You drop it and jump off the bench—you must find the perfect gift!

Does he like pretty stones? Or should I draw him a picture? Does he like cakes?

"Since you’re going to a big city… maybe you could give him my gift… if you find him?"

The table freezes for a moment. Cecily looks at you gently, and your mother lowers her eyes to her plate.

Tobias, meanwhile, sets down his glass, studies you for a moment, then simply replies:

"We’ll see."

It’s not a yes.

It’s not a no either.

And that’s enough for you to decide you absolutely must find the perfect gift. But what to give him?

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The halls of the Tower echo with Ashlyen’s measured footsteps. The familiar scent of polished wood mingles with lingering incense, blending with the rustle of parchment being carried from one office to another. Nothing breaks his rhythm, his focus. Sirius trots royally by his side, proud, whiskers high, tilting his head at every greeting that reaches his ears.

They both sense the movement before they hear it. They recognize the magical signature flashing amber light bursts inside their minds, wrapped in the scent of dry grass and sun-warmed wood. Stable, reassuring, a little proud. From the corner of his eye, Ashlyen sees it: the shadow in his blind spot, a hand reaching out. His lips curl into a sly smile. He pivots, raises his fist, ready to strike.

His muscles relax and his fist meets a palm.

“Ha!” The exclamation is a strange mix of disbelief and pride, as if the owner of the other hand can’t believe it. Stopping an elf… Ashlyen chuckles and his other fist connects with his attacker’s nose.

Tobias staggers backward, retreating out of sight. Ashlyen follows.

“What are you doing?”

“Asshole!” Tobias replies, cradling his sore nose.

“Charming, your use of Elvish.”

Tobias sniffs loudly, offended. “You could at least apologize.”

Ashlyen raises an eyebrow.

“You could at least introduce yourself instead of trying to catch me by surprise.”

Silence falls, broken only by the scraping of boots on the floor and Sirius’s steady breathing as he watches them like a well-rehearsed show.

“My apologies, Tear Ashlyen. I told him it was a bad idea, but my Heart is as stubborn as an old mule.”

Snow, perched on a low stone arch, nimbly jumps onto Tobias’s shoulder and presses his snout against his cheek.

“Are you okay?”

Tobias grumbles before finally plunging his hand into his jacket and pulling out a small package, roughly tied, wrapped in a worn piece of cloth.

“Here.”

Ashlyen blinks. Tobias does too. Yet the elf still refuses to reach out.

“What is it?” Sirius asks suspiciously, echoing Ashlyen’s thoughts.

“Oh, it’s not from us,” Snow quickly reassures, settling on the ground before the Lynx. “We’re only the messengers.”

“It’s a birthday gift.” Tobias says, half amused, half bored.

“A birthday we didn’t wish you, by the way.” The little ermine points out, turning to Tobias.

“I’m not going to wish him a happy birthday.”

Snow sighs. “May your year be sweet and prosperous, far from the desperate darkness,” the familiar politely recites, nodding toward the elf.

A strange feeling of gratitude shakes Ashlyen as he crouches to meet the familiar's eyes.

“Thank you, Maëllir Snow.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ashlyen stands and finally looks down at the object.

His magic brushes over the cloth, recognizing a timid, hesitant aura… yet strangely determined. The faint sparkle of a child’s laughter, a racing heartbeat. Elia.

“It’s from…”

“Guess,” Tobias cuts in, a smirk playing on his lips.

Ashlyen studies him for a moment, then takes the package.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll keep it. But I doubt it,” Tobias says, a little sparkle in his eyes.

Ashlyen sighs, but it’s a sigh that doesn’t quite hide the warmth rising in his chest.

“You crossed half the Tower just for this?”

“No. I also wanted to see you and get punched in the nose,” Tobias retorts, rolling his eyes. “I have a meeting, you know. With Lady Eleanor!”

Nonchalantly, the young man leans against the wall, ruffling his hair in a gesture Ashlyen reads as nervousness. Strange for the elf. Elianna’s brother has always seemed so calm. Unflappable. As light as the wind, while he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Clenching his fists, Ashlyen hurriedly slips his hands behind his back.

“I did indeed see Lady Aleris with Lady Eleanor early this morning.” He tilts his head. “What nonsense have you done this time?”

The look Tobias gives him was deadly.

“Not to scold me! To recommend me!” Tobias lifts his chin. “In a few years, I’ll be Master.”

Ashlyen hums, and Tobias’s smile fades. Sirius and Snow stood together at the corridor’s start, standing guard.

“Well, that is, if Aleris doesn’t mess me up… And I’m not you, so…”

Ashlyen frowns.

“Meaning? You’re you, plain and simple.”

“Forget it, I don’t want a deep conversation with you, focus on what matters,” Tobias snaps, pointing at the box Ashlyen spins in his fingers.

“What, you expect me to open it here?”

“Do as you want, I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

Ashlyen grows impatient. Being around Tobias always irritates him a little, and all he wants is to leave. To discover the box’s contents away from prying eyes. He hadn’t taken a step when Tobias’s voice stopped him.

“Already? That’s all? You don’t have any questions for me?”

Tobias, leaning against the wall, wears that little smirk Ashlyen hates — the one that says, “I know something you don’t.”

Ashlyen blinks slowly.

“I don’t see why I should stay,” he answers flatly.

The look Tobias gives him says a lot, and the elf holds back from biting his lip, from yelling at him. Of course he had things to ask, he wanted to know something, anything, everything! And he hated how it made him look to Tobias: desperate, vulnerable. He hated it and yet… Touching the watch hanging around his neck, he activates its mechanism, starting the countdown.

Tick tock.

“Do…,” he clears his throat. “How are they?”

Tick tock.

A sly smile stretches Tobias’s lips as he shrugs.

“Oh, you know, Elianna is exhausted with all her suitors crowding her door.”

—“Suitors?”

—“She’s a very beautiful young woman.”

Ashlyen’s eyes narrow. Ashlyen knew. He always knew. Tobias’s old crush on Elianna, that tenderness that never really disappeared… even if now it wasn’t the same.

“Yes, you know. However, I doubt you mean yourself,” Ashlyen remarks, a smirk this time.

“Oh, I learned to be content just being her friend,” Tobias replies sharply. “Like I said, I’m not you.”

Ha! Touché!

Tick tock.

“Anyway, I took $na—”

“No!” Ashlyen cuts him off with a wave of his hand. His tone was sharp and cutting. “I can’t know their name.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Tobias snaps.

How dare he!

—“Enough!” Sirius growls, stepping between the two men as a flash of anger makes Ashlyen step toward Tobias. “If you have nothing interesting to say, I suggest you save your breath,” the Lynx adds, turning to Tobias.

Raising his hands in surrender, Tobias exhales through his nose.

“All I meant to say is that they’re an amazing kid.” His face twists into a pained grimace, and Ashlyen is frozen by the intensity of the affection he perceives, both in the young man’s voice and expression. So powerful, the knot in his chest tightens even more.

“The other day, I took them fishing.”

Ashlyen stiffens despite himself.

“…And?”

“And they managed. More skillful than their mother… they learn fast.” Tobias pauses, as if savoring his words before speaking them. “You know, they… they… miss you. And it kills me,” Tobias confesses.

Passing by him, the young man mutters:

“Sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

Tobias chuckles. A bitter laugh that echoes off Ashlyen’s ribs. Then he falls silent, his eyes falling on the little box Ashlyen still clutches.

“Open this box, and enjoy what’s inside.” Snow climbs onto Tobias’s shoulder. “Enjoy the biscuits.”

Ashlyen raises an eyebrow, tired.

“Biscuits?”

“Biscuits,” Tobias repeats as he walks away. “See you later, pointy ears.”

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Later, in his room, Ashlyen follows Tobias’s advice and opens the box. Nose buried in a handkerchief slipped under a small packet of biscuits, he inhales deeply. Elianna’s scent.

“Should I leave you alone with that handkerchief?” Sirius teases.

“No,” Ashlyen answers, grabbing a small biscuit.

Sliding it into his mouth, he closes his eyes and mutters:

“Tobias, you bastard.”

Salt—the salt had replaced the sugar, but in the end, it didn’t really matter, because in the dough, Ashlyen also found the taste of something else: hope.