What He Means

[Taelian]

42nd of Frost, Year 119

"Love is an entangled thing, Taelian," the woman professed. To her words, the ashen-haired Knight lowered his gaze and slowly shook his head, balancing his closed fist atop his anxiously twitching leg.

"I know," he replied. "I never thought... it would have so firm a grip on me. I never thought I wanted it; I suppose in some sort of distant way, like that of a fantasy, but I did not think it was so near. And I could not have imagined it would have ever come."

"You never do," she whispered. "Until it's there. And then... it's there. Emblazoned, smoldering; rotting your principles, altering your conception of the future. It's easy to be swept away. To lose sight of what matters... perhaps because what matters begins to come into competition." The woman demonstrated with imagery, peering far away to an overhead view of Arlain, through the slightest gap of a Window. Somehow the sun had fallen darker on their horizon than in Karnor, and night had already fallen. "These things that matter to you," she continued, "...like restoring Daravin to Elven ownership, freeing your people from Dranoch oppression; they are things that matter greatly. But what can possibly oust personal fulfillment? What else matters if we, ourselves, are unhappy?"

The Window closed. It was a reminder of what else lied out there -- but Taelian already knew. He had the structure of that city seared into memory; its liberation had become a principle of his identity.

"I... I think that it is the right thing to do," she faintly smiled. "To choose joy over ambition. If everyone did, this world would be far better. But there is an instinct of competition, a voracious hunger for power that lives within us all. It competes with our simple desires -- and because it is so compelling, those among us good enough to truly lead must often abandon their personal desires to acquire it. Otherwise, only the rotten would be in control."

"I'm beginning to wonder if I care," he said. "About... who is in control. If we go far enough, into the wilds, away from everything... if we disconnect ourselves wholly, it -- it won't matter. I know it's merely closing my eyes to the painful truth... but I grow tired of it all. Both the truth and the pain."

"You already know the truth, Taelian," Eloise responded. "Once you have already seen it, the pain will never subside. You will always wonder of what suffering you could have spared your kin; of how they are faring... and one day, when you discover that Aldrin lay upon the floor of the Citadel Gallows in shambling decay, you will loathe yourself; you always will. Love matters, but you cannot turn it into an escape, Ebon Knight. It must be a motivator, or even a purpose, but not a tool of distance."

He sighed. It was true -- they would, perhaps, never have their moment of buying a home out in the woods, away from everything else. Perhaps they would, but never to stay; they would enact upon themselves... glimpses of escapism, but with the context of eventually returning. To the politics, to the war, to the arcane and divine. Taelian's life had been molded around the extreme.

[Taelian]

"I wonder if I'm wronging him... being like this. The way that I am."

"The way that you are...?" The Umpire inquired, seeking clarity.

"Everything! Everything. Famished, drawn to violence and revolution, hesitant and weak; devoid of and yet filled by emotion. I will drag him along with me across the world as I am, and yet I wonder if I can ever give him happiness. I'm encircled by these thoughts, these woes; they never end. I think I'm over them, and then they come back. And I can't tell anyone -- I can't talk to anyone. Least of all him. Because I know what he'll say, and yet I'll still know my own truth. How unworthy I am. How much happier he would be with the stable, opulent Prince. Not me."

"Stability is not fulfillment, Taelian," she said. "It is an illusory joy. We are driven forward -- towards aspirations. They are not always grand, but they are there: the rearing of children, the progression of a trade, the acquisition of individual or structural power. They vary, and it is fine to hold a variety of these things close to you. And--"

"But love means compromise," he interjected. "And I don't know if I can, Eloise. How will he feel if he knows... what I want? The carnage I would inflict; the hatred I bear. How can we meet in the middle when what I want is so far away from anything he could ever tolerate?"

Eloise stopped him, clutching the back of his palm with her fingertips and motioning him to calm. "Is it so far away? Think of what you want, Taelian. Not all of it can be described as so grim; you wish to liberate and restore Sil-Elaine, to provide your people with a better life. Do you not think he would empathize with this?" she asked.

Taelian paused, as a moment of recognition came upon him. She was right. "No... he probably would," he softly replied.

"Then worry about that," the Umpire suggested. "Such a goal is lofty, Ebon Knight, and may take your entire life to fulfill. To even do that would be of immeasurable boon to your people, and perhaps in some years you will find yourself content with what you have done. Perhaps these goals towards Daravin will become distant memories; I do not know. But to dwell so far in advance in lieu of what lies presently before you, particularly when the present is so incredibly pertinent, is a foolish act of self-deception. That, I know."

He glanced upwards at her, and from the corners of his lips, a small grin came to be. She was right; these worries were far in advance of when they might ever be relevant. But not all of them. There were still so many things left to wonder.

The Bond had already helped him to regain his emotions, to some extent. And Riven had fallen in love with him before any change at all; he had come to desire, fondly, the sundered void that he was. But Taelian still wanted a cure. He wanted to be whole.

[Taelian]

Before long, he realized through his ensuing spiral of negativity, just what was beginning to occur. The shell of his soul had again blanketed his emotional mind; small wisps escaped from the chasm that obscured his Beacon, but they were dreadful, loathsome. It was happening again -- the regenerative well of self-loathing had begun to fill, and there was no escape from it. That night, he returned to the bedroom where he'd spent his last few days, mostly devoid of memory. His palm was nearly stapled to his face, and in scattered increments he wiped away the onslaught of welling tears. He was sick of being like this.

He had his joy. Of late, it was always there -- but there was this... dark cloud, that could not be penetrated. The Bond had, some; but it was not strong enough. The block Aldrin had placed upon him was... so severe. He often wondered if he could even be cured at all, or if what he felt was the manifestation of a permanent rift; if in some way he had been severed, or dismembered. He felt mutilated somehow, and always had.

But Eloise was right. The restoration of Sil-Elaine was a worthy goal, one he could not imagine Riven would find objectionable. There was so much hope for them . . . and with Riven, he never felt the way he did now. It was always in his moments away, left to his own devices, that these ancient fears began to brew and consume his mind. Taelian decided that night that he would return home, that he would stand by Riven's side -- that he would remind the man of how much he loved him, despite the days he had spent away.

Taelian needed his time. He needed this time, to grow as a person. To become more worthy; to take steps towards his goals, as vindictive as some of them may have been.

But there would be no more prolonged separation. What mattered throughout all of it -- moving across the world or not, compromising as they only could -- was that they stayed together. He had spent too much time afraid of encumbering his beloved, but their weight was shared. He needed to be there for Riven, too.

The Siltori gathered the few belongings he had brought, filling his satchel with them. Geared to wade through the wintry night, he stood upon the mat that first greeted visitors of Lethiril's home, and announced his goodbyes across the wooden estate. The Dratori and Hytori came to him, and spoke some; they made commitments to meet him at his home to further discuss his future in Melitene. They hugged and kept their grip for some time, as Taelian felt he was surrounded by people who genuinely cared for his well-being. Even Lethiril. The Ithur was a selfish man, but his intentions were kind.

"I love both of you," he told them. Eloise warmly smiled, and Lethiril almost appeared as if he were to cry.

"I love you too, Taelian," said the Dratori.

"Same here, my dear," the regal woman nodded. "It has been a pleasure mentoring you so closely. One day, in Melitene, we will learn and do much more than just this... and I welcome that day. But for now--"

"Goodbye," said Leth. "I'll see you in... a week? Sound... reasonable?"

"It does," the Siltori nodded.

"Goodbye," followed Eloise. Taelian grinned.

"Goodbye."

And then, into the woods, he went.

[Etro]

♅ What He Means ♅

XP: 5

Pieces of knowledge:

• Persuasion: Raising unconsidered points
• Persuasion: Learning to persuade yourself in moments of doubt
• Persuasion: Context can dissuade one from poor decision-making
• Logistics: Focusing on attainable ambitions

Comments: This was very cute especially at the end with such heartfelt goodbyes. I'm interested to see the personal growth the Ebon Knight makes, and what will come of him and his lover.