Rise.

Loban had suffered long enough, the Council had decided, for his only brother's weakness. Let him go, they said. Send him away. Exile. The word was fell like water into Loban's heart. Exile. Let him go. Send him away. His brother would yet live. Loban's love for his brother had not been lost on the Elders.

Later in that week, they helped Medin to pack up his things; his room in Loban and Euan's quarters was prepared. Róan was under observation still, having reacted poorly to the loss, to the sickness, to losing his mate. When the doctors weren't listening and Euan had gone, Loban asked him if he'd have liked to have gone with him. Róan thought for long minutes.
"No."
Loban could breathe.
Euan was getting very near to the whelp, and the trip down to see Róan was becoming more arduous. Loban told him he'd simply have to get better. Róan smiled a little, and looked away, out the window, as he seemed to always like to do. It was difficult, the nurses said, to get him out of bed. Even new bonds were not easily broken. Twice, he woke shaking in the middle of the night, his heart racing and skin cold, and knew that something had happened. Some terror had come upon Marik and soon he would be no more. When that happened, he couldn't sleep for days. Medin came to see him all the time, after school and before, and even ate all his meals in the infirmary until Loban and Róan both scolded him off it. One more week, and Ro had built his strength back up enough to go home. He didn't want to, said he would rather not see those things he'd shared with someone who was now, for all intents and purposes, dead and gone. Loban asked him if he ever wished to have Marik back. Ro said that he'd found he rather liked being alone.

Medin went to school, came home, read books, studied well, showed all the obedience that Marik had accused him of lacking when he'd been around. He read Russian to Róan, who pretended to listen politely, but still didn't understand. Melbourne came by, once or twice a week, to visit. His lit was new, and he said he enjoyed the time away. Sometime during the week, Loban packed and moved Euan's things; workers came and the quarters were cleared by the afternoon. There were many new families in the pack these days, and someone would surely need a home.

Once, Medin asked him if he'd loved Marik. Róan shook his head, said he didn't know; he'd known him some months, he'd been his mate and that was it. Medin didn't ask anything else, just went back to reading. That night, Róan left Euan's house for the first time since he'd come; he made his way out for a walk, found a balcony in the north corner. When he returned, Medin was already sleeping, and a braic he'd painted with a picture of the sunset was lying on Róan's pillow.

In the fifth moon, when the air had just begun to get hot in the daytimes, Euan whelped four little bright pieces of life: a lit, all healthy, one human, three tailed. Róan went to the birth, but unwhelped betas were not allowed in; he stayed with him afterwards, waiting by his brother's side for him to wake or the lit to stir. Neither happened for hours. The next day, Medin came and waited with him. It occurred to Róan, during one of these days, during one of these sessions where they sat together in a silent room, that Medin had probably loved Marik in a way that Róan never could. He had raised him, after all, and saved him, and loved him, and gone to war and died in his name. Róan wondered if Medin felt responsible. He had changed since Ro had known him; no more little shy child, no more Dinny or Dina, or any of the names he'd invented to call himself; no more silly games or sneaking out, no more loud, chirpy friends and braids in his hair and fits of unstoppable laughter. Why? Because of Walker, and Marik, and Róan and Medin, and the indomitable passage of time. Róan thought on this a while, next time he went for a walk. When he came back this time, Euan was awake and sitting, and Medin had two of the litter cradled in his arms. Róan began to eat downstairs again, sitting with Medin and Loban at Virgil and Avion's table.