a/n: ONE YEAR LATER and i can finally tick this story's status as complete. if ever you're confused about anything, don't hesitate to ask! i also explain a few things over on tumblr, so check it out if you're curious. thank you so, so much for reading, and happy 2017.
THE HANGED MAN
upright: restriction, letting go, sacrifice
reversed: martyrdom, indecision, delay
Lei wheezed in the corner of the room, feeling light headed. He didn't have any pieces of spare cloth to cough into, so he merely used the sleeves of his ash-stained shirt.
There wasn't work to do today since the entire castle was busy with the preparations of the fair. Everyone else had gone home, but he had stayed behind, mostly because he had nowhere to go. He had no family to celebrate with, not that there was anything worth celebrating.
It seemed twisted to him, that they were celebrating a queen's death with food and dance. Lei never understood the royals.
Still, he'd tried his best to make the smithy look a bit more . . . festive. Sort of. He'd cleared up the worktables, did his best to make everything look tidy. Hung up ice-blue paper lanterns on the walls, though the ones near the fireplace were now dusted with black and had an almost orange glint to them. He also adorned the mantels with a bit of white spheres filled with candle stubs. It wasn't anything fancy, but he was rather proud of himself.
"That sounds bad," someone remarked.
Lei glanced up. His thirteen-year-old apprentice of five months was standing by the open door in an oversized coat, hands in his pockets. He'd shaped his blacksmith mask so it would look like a scarf.
"Clement! What a surprise."
"Don't you know that the smoke worsens it?"
"What? Oh, the cough. It's nothing." Lei offered a small smile. "What are you doing here? There's no work today."
"Ah. Well." Clement scratched the back of his neck, shyly stepping inside the smithy. "My father's working at the fair, and he tells me he don't need my help, but I think he just wants to be alone. I just thought I'd wander."
Lei glanced at his apprentice. Despite spending five months working in the same room, he knew almost nothing about the boy, since work was work and there was very little time to say more than greetings every day. They've never spoken about family before. "What does he sell?"
"Candy apples. It's popular during the season, but . . . It's hard to get by the rest of the year."
"What about you? Not fond of boiling sugar?"
"I think I'd rather make a sword than stab a stick through an apple."
He wanted to at least make a joke about the boy's ambition—swords haven't been high in demand in years—but he felt nothing but melancholy. Before he could help it, he asked, "Have you considered fighting with one?"
"You mean become an imperial guard?" Clement shifted uncomfortably, pursing his lips.
Lei winced. He shouldn't have asked. It was stupid of him; no child would want to become a soldier in this war. No child ever has, since six years ago, and no parent would ever let them. "I'm sorry; it was a stupid question. I didn't know what I was—" His words were cut off when his coughs returned. He could taste blood on his tongue.
