fanfic Renarin's Special Interest (set during RoW)

[cosmere_play]

Renarin's Special Interest - rated General, 1700 words - please check it out on ao3 and give me a kudos if you liked it!

Note mild Rhythm of War spoilers!
 

 

 

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At the top of a large hill overlooking the Coalition armies, in her command tent, Jasnah spread her hand over the pages on her temporary desk, trying to keep her research from flying away. If she had the time or the inclination to take in the view outside the tent, she would see the open, rolling green landscape of Emul. Wit had assured her it was quite the panorama. She said she’d take him at his word. The wind was a menace, sneaking in through openings near the ground and at the entrances, with enough power to necessitate paperweights on almost every sheet of paper on her desk. She’d wasted enough time turning whatever she could find to stone so she could reference as many sources as possible. She copied passages furiously, trying to catch up on her study of battle formations before the next meeting. She didn't want to embarrass herself in front of the generals…again.

A gust of wind threatened to flip the pages of the book she was reading. “If you’re going to just sit there anyway, could you hold down this page for me so I can read it without the wind interrupting me every ten seconds?”

Renarin stood and pulled his chair forward, then held the page as she directed. "Did you know the listeners don't just have Rhythms for their emotions?” he asked. “They have songs too."

Jasnah ignored him and kept working. As annoying as it was to have Renarin blathering on about whatever topic was fascinating him at the moment, it was also a comfort. He still trusted her enough to be near her. His presence was a precious gift, one she didn’t deserve, but she would accept it gladly--even if it did interrupt her focus at times.

“They have songs that tell grand mythologies and lore, just like us, but they also have songs for more mundane things.” Renarin tapped a finger on the page. “They have a song for making paper. That’s interesting, right?”

“Mmm hmm,” Jasnah hummed noncommittally, trying to stay focused.

“It can’t decide if it would be masculine or feminine to sing a song of how to do something. It seems like an excellent method of memorization that doesn’t involve writing,” he went on. “Then again, creating a song like that would be an art, I suppose. There doesn’t seem to be a strong argument one way or another.”

Her cousin had always been highly motivated to follow masculine practices, though sometimes he had trouble telling the difference on his own. His statement almost sounded like he was asking her opinion, though Jasnah knew that if that were his purpose, he would have asked her directly. Nevertheless, she decided to offer it. “It would be a masculine thing to do, I believe,” she said absently. “The composing would be feminine, but the performance, for the purpose of everyday tasks, would be masculine.”

“Oh.” Renarin scratched his chin. Lately, his face seemed to have more stubble every day. “That’s good.”

“Mmm hmm,” she murmured, focusing back on her work. She gestured to Renarin to lift his fingers and she flipped the pages of her reference book, skipping small-formation tactics. She would need to start with the bigger picture. She could work her way down to the minutiae later.

She found the page she was looking for. “Here, please, Cousin,” she said, and he obliged her. Now, there seemed to be at least six distinct philosophies regarding larger battle tactics...

“The relationship that the listeners have with the Stormfather is complex,” Renarin continued. “The Stormfather is a god to them, but they have a severed relationship. They still respect him though. Do you know what they call the Stormfather?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “The Rider of the Storm. They know Highstorms are incredibly dangerous, and yet they still go out into them to change forms. Some listeners bring a large shield, but that just seems unwieldy, in those winds. I wonder how often they change forms.”

“Yes, fascinating,” Jasnah intoned.

“It seems brave.”

“Mmm hmm.” There was a long pause. Finally, some silence.

The entrance to the tent flapped angrily, and a cold breeze blew in. Jasnah sucked up some Stormlight for warmth rather than stand to get a cloak. She noticed Renarin do the same, and a warmth bloomed in her chest. Unfortunately, the happiness she felt at their Radiant kinship was marred by her guilt from attempting to kill him. What’s done is done, she thought. What matters is that I chose correctly. I hope. She still wasn’t sure what to make of his corrupted spren or his powers, but Navani was looking into it. Jasnah had enough on her plate.

“Did you know that listeners hear the same beat of the Rhythms of Roshar, no matter where they are?” Renarin asked. “That’s why it seemed like they could communicate with each other across large distances. They were attuning the same Rhythms.”

“Yes,” Jasnah said absently, and scribbled rhythm instead of reconnaissance. She sighed, crossing the word through top and bottom and moving on. No time to start a new page.

“It connects them on a fundamental level. Imagine being apart from someone but knowing you were still attuning the exact same Rhythms. I think it would be great to learn them,” he droned on. “Besides, it’s nice to know exactly what someone is feeling without having to ask.” He started to list the different Rhythms he knew. “Determination, Pain, Longing, Amusement…”

Jasnah gritted her teeth. When Renarin had been obsessed with wines, it had been easy to shut out the information. But this…this was actually fascinating, and potentially useful for the fight. Where was he getting this information? As if to provide her an opening, Renarin finished his list. “My favourite Rhythm is Peace.”

Jasnah put down her pen and crossed her arms. “You’ve been practicing?” she asked with a hint of amusement.

Renarin stammered. “Well, I mean…I’m not good at it,” he said.

She pulled out a blank piece of paper and started to jot some quick notes on Renarin’s monologue. “Who is teaching you this?” she asked.

“Rlain.”

“Ah, of course. The listener spy.” That was a logical connection. Renarin had been a member of Bridge Four, and still spent a lot of time with them. With the men, or with Rlain? She tapped her page. She wanted to explore this further. “Do you trust the information you are getting from him, despite the fact that he was a spy for years?”

Renarin looked down and pulled out his fidgeting box. “Yes.”

“And what reasons do you have to trust him?”

“He’s Bridge Four. He left the listeners and gave us crucial information we needed for the battle at Narak. He’s stayed with Bridge Four ever since, even though his people all died. He had no reason to stay with us, but he did because it was right. He’s shared critical information with me and Aunt Navani. He’s helping us grow crops at Urithiru.” He put away his box and looked up at Jasnah’s face. “He wants to help. He’s a good man.”

Jasnah raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Interesting. “And he’s teaching you songs?”

Renarin looked down at his hands. “Ah. Well, Rhythms. But yeah.”

She reviewed her thoughts, reading below the lines, so to speak. He likes that he can tell what Rlain is feeling. He’s been memorizing the Rhythms, and every fact he can get about listeners. He thinks they’re brave when they change forms. He wonders how often they do it. He wants to learn Rlain's songs, as long as it’s masculine. Jasnah tilted her head, the hint of a smile threatening her cheek. “Renarin, what is your favourite fact about listeners?”

His expression perked up and he sat up straighter. “Did you know that their babies have orange-pink carapace? It darkens to red as they get older.”

Jasnah raised both eyebrows, and her smile made good on its threat. I never thought I would see this day! “Are you planning on raising little listener babies with Rlain, dear Cousin?”

Renarin’s eyes went wide, and his face puckered as if he was trying to pull his lips into his closed mouth. “...What?”

“Renarin, I have been acquainted with you long enough to know that the subjects of your special interests are always related to the people you care about. You wanted to please your brother, so you learned everything about horses, even though you didn’t ride. You love your mother, so you learned about Riran religious traditions, culture, and language. You learned about wine for the sake of your father’s love. And now, dear Cousin, I find you obsessed with listener culture and biology. I think it means you care for this Rlain.”

Her speculation was rewarded with a series of facial expressions that indicated 1) he had not been aware of the themes of his obsessions, 2) he was unable to rebut her argument, and 3) he was now aware of certain feelings he had towards this listener.

Finally, he met her eyes, his expression determined. He stood slowly. “I–Thank you,” he said, looking towards the door flap. “I need to go think for a while.” He left abruptly without asking the permission of his Queen, but Jasnah allowed him this one indiscretion. After all, the poor boy wouldn’t be able to be indiscreet again until after he returned to Urithiru.

Storms alight, was that wordplay? she thought, affronted at herself. I have spent too much time around Shallan. She narrowed her eyes. Or is this Wit’s fault? Yes, easier and more convenient to blame him.

Shaking her head with a smile, she reached down and picked up a stick that had blown in. She reached into the Cognitive Realm in her mind.

“I am a stick,” it said.

“You are a paperweight, and you will be happy about it,” she retorted. She opened her eyes in the Physical Realm, placed it on her book, and got back to work.

 

 

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[Thirdofstars]

Love the stick detail!

[Wittles]

The Stick is omnipresent