Ship: Ruthari (Runaan x Ethari)

In the solitude of his workshop, Ethari is cutting scrap metal for his current project. He's trying to cut apart a particularly thick piece of metal when a jagged edge slices into the side of his forefinger.

The weapons smith jerks his hand away with a hiss of pain. The cut is long, nearly the length of the finger its on, and it's deep. The deepness's evidence is in the amount of blood that drips from the wound.

"Ah, that hurts." Ethari grunts, cradling his injured hand close to get a better look at it.

Looking down at the cut on his finger, Ethari is reminded of other times he received similar injuries to his hands.

"Ow!" Ethari yelped.

"Love? What's wrong?" Runaan asked when he heard his husband's cry of pain.

"Nothing, my heart, I just cut my hand a little." Ethari assured.

"Here, let me take a look at it." Runaan said, holding his hand out to the other elf.

Ethari places his wounded hand into the upturned palm of his husband's. The cut was on his palm where the junction of his thumb and forefinger were.

"That really looks painful, dear." Runaan hummed sympathetically, gently examining the injury.

Without another word, Runaan guides Ethari over to the corner of the workshop where some medical supplies is kept for occasions like this.

"In your line of work, it would be wise to wear gloves." Runaan commented, spreading a salve on the cut to numb the pain.

"You're probably right." Ethari sighed, looking ashamedly to the side.

"I am right. Your hands are beautiful and they make beautiful things, they should be cared for." Runaan chastised lovingly, wrapping Ethari's hand in bandages.

"Well, isn't that what I have your hands for?" Ethari chuckled softly.

The assassin matches his husband's smile, clasping his rough and calloused hands, that's more often used for taking lives, around the weapons smith's like a gentle and warm embrace.

"I suppose you do." Runaan breathed blissfully, pressing a light kiss atop the bandaged wound.

Runaan was always there with soft words and healing kisses whenever Ethari cut, nicked, or burned his hands while forging. And every time, the warmth of his hands enveloped around his own would fill him with a sense of love, care, and safety.

But now Ethari would never feel loved, cared for, or safe in Runaan's hands ever again, because Runaan was not there to hold his.

That all changed the day Runaan's lotus sank to the bottom of the fountain while on his mission in Katolis...and with it sank Ethari's heart.

His husband was gone, he wasn't coming home.

Grief sends Ethari to his knees with a choked out sob. Blood and tears drip to the floor as his hands ached not from the cut on his finger, but ached from the absence of the warmth of Runaan's gentle hold.

A/N: Starting things off with a short angsty fic about my favorite elf husbands.