Outsider

[Asher]

47th of Searing, Year 122

"It is not the same for you and I, fraulein. Where you feel disquiet, I am encompassed by the wholeness of a void: it reaches to grasp, and I do not even move to escape; my survival is allowed only by my skepticism of my own reality, which I question enough that it becomes unreal."

"Has it always been this way, Ser Barrows?"

"No. But -- it is now. And, perhaps it will always be, until the maw of the deep places I explore comes to drag me below. I... ache, to know what that feeling might be like. The sensation of being senseless, or without senses; the void in its purest form, beyond the obscuring fog it inflicts upon my mind. Don't you long to know too?"

"I do not, Doctor. I think it might be... too much to bear. This darkness in your heart . . . does it not gnaw at your very soul? I wonder how you might live like this for any longer."

"I won't," he muttered. "That is the simple answer, fraulein. These conversations are the last vestiges of my life. Now, come, tell me about the loss of your first son, and the way it moved you. The way it moved the world."

He closed the book, his eyes narrowed until his brows loosened, a stiff sigh escaping his nostrils. It had been a while since he'd really read anything, and he rarely had the chance to explore fiction, or other things that stirred the mind. A Kathar's purpose in life was to be functional and strong, rather than to be tainted with the feelings and philosophies of authors, who were so often corrupted by intellectual deviance. A sin of imperfect moral virtue, even if it was one that created dynamism, and beauty.

It had been a while since he had been allowed to see Talon. After their night together in the cathedral, he had only been allowed one short visit, during which time he was expected merely to relay that the process of incubation had begun. Afterwards, he was sent away to his barracks, and forced east to partake in drills for what the Empire imagined might be an upcoming conflict. There was always the potentiality for conflict, and it was best -- or so he was made to believe -- that soldiers be instilled with war as a matter of function and instinct, instilling battle readiness into their very bones.

He returned on the forty third, but was not allowed to see Talon again, and was not informed as to why. Darkness encompassed his mind, much as it did the man from the book he'd been pleasured enough to read. He had been left feeling... hollow, with intrusive thoughts; the idea that he might not be allowed to see Talon again now that his purpose had been fulfilled, or that he would only be brought to do so when there was need, to satisfy the Emperor's will.

It was loathsome, feeling the way he did. He had never known it before, just like so many other things he'd been introduced to of late. Like affection, the loneliness of being separated from one's heart was an encompassing thing, and while the former made life appear to shimmer -- vibrant -- the latter gouged out his veins. He felt little but anticipation for a moment he did not know would come.

Asher eyed over his own passage, something he'd written in the lines near the end of his book. He wasn't allowed to keep a journal, really, but he could write and scribble over pages he'd already read, if only he remembered to burn the books.

"These days have inflicted a strange thing upon me -- a sensation I'd not encountered before. A feeling of emptiness. I've missed him, only it is beyond missing him. I feel a sleep-like delirium, my eyes wandering towards the empty spaces of every room, my thoughts lingering on his recollection. It's like I've lost my ability to be content with loneliness -- even with time's passage, I do not feel better. I feel worse. I feel a fear that that time in the light was the last time -- that it has come to an end."

He sighed.

"Asher," a familiar voice physically shook him from his melancholy. A black Knight, his dreadful, amber eyes peering through the visor of his onyx helm.

"Y--yes, Calus," the Kathar cleared his throat.

"You'll be seeing Talon again today. Get your bearings ready; we're going now."

He held in a long breath, peering with his eyes half-lidded, before swallowing the moisture in his throat and nodding. "Okay," Asher whispered. "Let me prepare."

[Talon]

The ring of the rune hammer coming down upon the breastplate of the armor filled the space with a metronome-like rhythm. Talon stared down at the armor in front of him, examining the aetheric pathways that spanned it. His face was without expression. He worked with a tireless diligence that bordered on obsession. He had been commanded to complete the armor. Across the grey planescape that was his mind and soul, it was the only thing that brought vibrancy. The toiling of this work, it filled the hollow darkness that would have otherwise consumed him. He picked up a pair of tongs and grasped hold of one of the aethereal pathways in the armor, tugging it to the forefront and realigning it before beginning the work of hammering it into place. He rotated the breastplate so that he could better access another of the pathways that was not optimized. He brought his hammer up.

“Talon?” He paused, turning his head so that he could look at the brown haired man who had been his keeper for the past few days. “That is enough for this afternoon. You need to eat and rest.”

He blinked at the man. Gingerly, he set the hammer down on its pedestal then stepped away from the anvil. As he did step away from the anvil, he noticed a lethargy in his muscles. There was a sheen of sweat upon his body and his breathing was deeper, heavier. He should have felt something about this. He felt nothing.

The man with the brown hair and burning eyes reached out, taking hold of his hand. He guided him over to the circle where he rested when he was not working. There was a bowl of water, a wash cloth and some food waiting there. Gently, he was seated upon the floor and the man with the burning eyes began to bathe his body with a warm washcloth. He was part way through it when the doors opened and the sound of another joining them filled the space.

Talon did not look up to see who it was. He had not been told to look at them.

---

Aoren held back the urge to scream in rage and frustration. For the past seven hours, he had watched Talon do nothing more than toil away at the runeforge that the Inquisition had set up for him. He had felt it. He had felt the moment that Talon had been robbed of everything that made him the man he had come to love and admire. It had been like a knife cutting into his chest and gutting out everything that made his heart flare with life. He had felt the pull of the awful artifact that had ripped away Talon’s mind, his heart, his soul, his very will to live. He had felt Talon fight against it with everything he had but it had not been enough. The experience had been horrifying to see through even the distance of the Bond.

When Aoren had come face to face with his husband, he had been filled with such an inordinate amount of rage and hatred that he had been dragged away from the room. He had tried to attack his handlers. He had flown into such a fierce rage that they had been forced to use not only his collar but other means of restraining him. It was only after they explained that Talon would suffer for his disruption that he calmed down. He tenderly brushed a strand of Talon’s hair out of his face. He then set about washing Talon’s hands just as the doors to the room opened. Without looking up, he practically growled out.

“He is done working for now. He needs rest.” He finished washing Talon’s hands then looked up. It took a moment before he recognized the fact that stared back at him. The anger in his face lessened. The frustration that radiated from him abated due to shock.

“Asher?” He blinked at the other Kathar.

[Asher]

47th of Searing, Year 122

The journey to the forge had been short, but unpleasant. Mostly, it was spent with his Handler giving him directive: directive on what he was meant to be, what he was meant to do, the role he was supposed to serve. He was to be Talon's defender and assistant, and occasionally a receptacle for stress, and occasionally even the holder of his leash. None of that seemed to matter much when he'd apparently been practically lobotomized, but the Imperium's directives were clear. Asher was to be everything but he wanted to be: a lover, an unconditional source of support; a future co-parent. He was held back by wishes that weren't his own -- wishes that would never be his own.

And then, suddenly, he was through the doors of the forge, and as he looked back he did not see his Handler beside him, or anywhere until he gleaned up towards the sky and saw him fleeing the scene of Asher's arrival. The Kathar scowled -- a hint of rage mustered in him, angry that he was still being treated as an untrustworthy child, a risky, even degenerate asset. He wanted to be free of a Handler. It did not fully occur to him that these thoughts directly coincided with Talon's arrival into his life -- in his mind, desires for autonomy were the natural progression of a man as he aged.

As he turned back to gather a snapshot of his surroundings, Asher blinked.

"Aoren?" he spoke, the warrior's tone dripping with confusion. It was the man who had made him a Reaver -- and, also, Asher's first crush; the man who'd made him realize he was fond of men. It was never something that mattered much between them, but seeing him as a youth had always managed to make the Kathar blush. The shade of rose was dampened, now, but for a moment it was still there.

"...You're Talon's husband? Right. I... that did not click for me," he chuckled, beneath his breath. "I..."

He lifted his hand, half-threatening to offer an embrace, but restraining himself before he did. It was unusual for his kind, and perhaps in poor taste.

"I was curious of your departure," Asher said, his own form of admission: that he missed him. "And you have not been killed for desertion. I -- am surprised. Are you... meant to watch Talon with me?"

[Talon]

Aoren did not miss the reach for him. He caught the halting in the other man’s words. The silent admission that he had been missed. Truth be told, when he had been informed that Talon had been given a mate with whom the empire wanted him to sire children with, Aoren had been confused as to why they had not simply let the two of them join. It was still a question in his mind. Putting two and two together, he could not say that he was angry that Asher had been chosen. Even as a young man, Asher had proven himself to be a distinguished warrior of skill and honor. He turned back to Talon. Gently, he brushed a strand of his husband’s now gleaming white hair out of his face. He spoke softly.

“Finish your food. Make sure you drink your water as well.” Talon did not even nod but Aoren knew that he would obey the command. Seeing his husband’s eyes, drained of the life and passion that he had come to love so much, it hurt him in a way that he could not put words to. He turned to Asher then and walked up to him. He did not embrace him but he reached up and squeeze the man’s bicep in a greeting.

“We are Core Bonded, Asher. Talon and I. To kill me would kill him.” He tilted his neck and brought attention to the ebony collar that was once again proof of his bondage. “So they shackled me once again.”

At the knight’s question, Aoren nodded. He turned his eyes, eyes that burned with a literal fire as a result of his progression as an elementalist, back to Talon. Aoren’s jaw firmed.

“He does nothing unless commanded to. He would waste away if not supervised.” The restrained rage in his voice and in the stiffening of his posture would have been plain to see. “They used an artifact on him. One of the Greater Imperial Relics. I have been told that once he completes the forging of his armor, he will be returned to his normal state.”

It was no less horrible to watch. Aoren nodded to the runeforging laboratory that was assembled around them. It was quiet for the moment. Upon the anvil rest the evidence of Talon’s work. It still hummed with the power inherent to its making. With how focused Talon had been, it would likely be complete in a few more days.

[Asher]

47th of Searing, Year 122

It was strange, hearing the words Core Bonded. They were words he should've known, innately, as they were a part of his species: a part of his identity, in a way. He did not, however, know what they meant, not really. He knew what the Bond was, and that it weakened one, that it dampened their resolve as a soldier, as a Knight. All of the rest was up in the air -- the attachment to the term was even more valueless than the term itself, and so he responded to it with nothing but a quiet stare.

The collar did not cause him to wince, or appear empathetic, or to turn his head. A Kathar with a collar was the natural order of things, as far as he had been raised. That fact only garnered a prolonged stare, equally as inaudible.

"I heard... vaguely," the man eventually replied, looking down towards the bicep the other man had just gripped. He reached forward to squeeze Aoren's arm much the same, though he quickly let go after a time. "I know little about the Artefact, or the armor he's meant to forge. I am... disheartened to see what the Relic has done to him. It is good that you are here."

Asher eyed Aoren for a moment, as if implicitly asking for permission. After a second or two of an exchanged stare, he brushed past him, approaching the Synnekar, placing his palms into his shoulders as he neared him. Against his neck, the Knight-Sergeant breathed, and then turned back to face the other.

"Do you resent me, Aoren?" he asked, lowering his gaze, which barely remained alert. "For the job I am meant to do -- for what I have already done; the child I've given the Empire. I can't help but ask myself whether I'd feel resentful, in your boots. I can't know that, so I can only learn from you."

[Talon]

“I forget that you don’t know what that means. Not truly.” Aoren ran a hand through his hair. The silent stare had not been lost on him. “I did not know what the Bond truly meant until I had it. Now I can’t imagine my life without it. Without him. Nor do I want to.”

He gave no inclination as to whether or not the permission to approach Talon was granted. Asher moved past him regardless. Aoren momentarily stiffened as the Kathar approached Talon but he relaxed when he saw the open display of affection that was given. The Synnekar made no outward reaction except to stare at Asher blankly as though waiting for instruction. Gone was the intelligent spark in his silver eyes, which now appeared little more than flat planes of dead grey. The once midnight black hair upon his head was now a stark silvery white, perhaps evidence of the trauma the artifact had inflicted. There was no accompanying brush of lips or tender caress from Talon. He simply stared and then went back to eating the remainder of his food as he had been told to do.

“I don’t know.” Aoren examined his own feelings over the situation that they found themselves in. Nothing about it was simple or straightforward. “The Synnekar are a culture that encourages love in all its forms. Talon is culturally expected to have not just one consort but several given how difficult it can be for us to sire children.”

He could not sort through all of his feelings. They were both too simple and too complex at the same time. He had so many other things on his mind that the thought to be hateful toward Asher was not something he could immediately process. So he did what he had learned to do while among the Synnekar, he spoke his thoughts aloud in order to sort through them.

“At first, yes. I was angry that the empire would seek another male to mate with my husband. Why not me? I still don’t know their reasoning behind it. Perhaps as another form of torment. I took small comfort in the idea that maybe it would be a male that they made into an automaton. But Talon never would have partnered with such a man. Not unless they forced him to.” He walked up to where both Asher and Talon were. He knelt down and ran a hand over one of Talon’s wings.

“If it can’t be me, I am comforted to know that it is you.”

[Asher]

47th of Searing, Year 122

Asher had only one reflex that he employed, whenever he heard information that was inconvenient, dangerous, or even hurtful to him: as quickly as the knowledge came, he filtered it through what felt like a grey canvas in his mind, until it was muted beneath new layers of colors and eradicated from any semblance of active thought. He did not allow himself to linger on the Bond -- what he might have missed, what he might be missing. Thinking on the Bond, ruminating on it, would either make him miserable or get him killed, or both. It was a sensation he would never have.

What was more tangible were the feelings Aoren held... for him, though that wasn't quite the right word. The feelings Aoren had about the multi-threaded confluence of factors that surrounded them, these threads he himself had been entwined with. Aoren wasn't angry with him, but angry with circumstance. He was not jealous, necessarily, only disappointed and -- seemingly -- confused.

It warmed him to know that his status as Talon's donor, or lover, brought his old mentor some degree of comfort. That it was a point of relief, rather than of shame or rage, released some tension from his temples and allowed him to more confidently meet the other man's solar-burning eyes, something he did as they both traced their hands along different areas of Talon's frame.

"He has asked me whether or not I believe we will be able to raise them," Asher said, withholding a breath. He was visibly perturbed by the thought. "I do not think we will. I try to comfort him by saying otherwise, but it is almost a certainty. If nothing else, he might be able to at times, but I will always be a shadowy figure in the distance. I will never know my sons."

The man grimaced, shaking his head.

"I am beginning to wish I had never been chosen for this duty. To feel... something approximating love, and family, only to know it will inevitably be stripped away... it is worse than if I had never known it. I am faltering, Aoren. I am furious. I have been dreaming of disemboweling my Handler, Calus, every night. What might I do? Even Talon and you are bound in chains."

[Talon]

Aoren did not envy Asher of his position. It was a precarious one. He had been ordered to engage in a moment of passion with a demigod. Aoren knew how he felt about Talon. He knew what his emotions were regarding the Synnekar down to his Core. He could only imagine how confusing this must have been for Asher, a man who had not the luxury of expressing everything he must have been feeling. Though both of them were collared, Aoren realized then the position of privilege he still possessed. He was allowed to have the feelings he did because he was tied so intimately to Talon in a way that not even the empire could break. They could manipulate it but it was beyond even their formidable powers to sever as far as he knew.

Asher did not have that luxury.

“I…don’t recommend doing that.” He gave a wry smile. As much as he wanted to encourage such a thing, he was not blind to the consequences of it. “You have a choice. Turn your back on what you’re feeling or don’t. I don’t advise trying to kill your Handler but sooner or later you need to come to grips with what you are experiencing.”

Aoren ceased petting Talon’s wing. He picked up the glass of water that was nearby. Gently he took the empty plate from Talon’s hands.

“Good job, love. Here. Drink this.” He handed the glass to Talon who immediately began to gulp it down. “Slow. Slowly. Don’t choke.”

The gulping ceased and Talon drank at a more even pace. Aoren picked up a cloth and wiped away some of the water that had dribbled down Talon’s chin. When the glass was empty, he took it and refilled it, returning it to Talon’s hand.

“Slowly. Drink it slowly. That's it, love.” Talon obeyed, taking measured sips from the glass as instructed. Aoren returned to the conversation with Asher.

“You’ve seen what’s behind the curtain, Asher. You’ve seen it and experienced it with a god. That kind of experience is going to stir something in you. Even if you turn your back on this and walk away from it, ask yourself, are you going to be the same?”

[Asher]

TIME STAMP

He had few words for Aoren. How could a man in his position even begin to respond? It was difficult to grasp it all, let alone to deeply ruminate on it, let alone to share it, let alone to dive into a meaningful conversation of any merit. He had been conditioned otherwise -- not only by the Empire, but by himself. Compliance was a mechanism of survival. Thoughts like the ones he'd been having were very much not risk-averse, and very soon he would have some sort of family, whether he'd be allowed attachment to them or not. Did he not have an obligation to live?

He pondered it all, wordless, staring at nothing; his eyes cast towards the darkly colored wall, lips sunken in, his expression more pitiful than a frown.

"I will not be the same, no matter what," he managed. It felt like he was choking on his own tongue -- there were so many words, half-formed, swirling into an empty void. He loathed these feelings, so unfamiliar, and so unkind. "The choice is whether I will survive this ordeal. Will I survive it, compliant but in pain? Will I survive it only if I take the path that men like you have? I do not know; I am afraid to know. There are some things not worth knowing."

He shook his head. "I was sent here to check up on Talon, but now I am veering far, far away from my purpose. It is, perhaps, best that I leave... Aoren. At least for today. Maybe I... will return tomorrow, but if I do... might we not linger on such things? They ripple against me; like, vibrations, undulating through me until they shatter my bones. I can't press on these things for too long. I do not have the fortitude to endure this trial -- not right now, and not yet."

[Talon]

He did not expect an answer to all of his questions. How could Asher answer them? It had taken him several years to fully come to grips with the myriad of emotions that had come with his freedom. He was still coming to grips with his imprisonment all over again. He had to remind himself that Asher likely did not view his life as a form of prison. Aoren believed it was. Talon certainly did. It was only once had had acquired that freedom to actually think and breathe and feel that he had realized just how much he had been robbed of.

“It is worth it, Asher. It is worth all the pain, the torture, the journey.” Aoren shivered. Once he had been among the most ruthless and brutal of the Kathar Legionnaire’s that the emperor called upon. He had been a killer, who had enforced the edicts of the Imperial Mandate with a cutthroat efficiency that ensured whatever task he had been bidden, was done. When he had snapped and finally been freed of the shackle around his neck, he had nearly gone mad with the weight of it all. Talon had pulled him to sanity. Talon had grounded him. When Asher spoke again and pointed out how far afield they had gotten, Aoren shook his head.

Slowly, gently, Aoren reached up and brushed his fingers upon Asher’s scalp. Where he touched, warmth blossomed as the Rune of Reaving upon his body reacted to the Rune that he had gifted to his erstwhile protege.

“You have faced trials that would have shattered lesser men before, Asher. I have many regrets but I do not regret my refusal to shield you from the truth. I did not lessen my blows then. I will not do so now. If this is not a trial you can face, then face it and be broken.” Aoren took the now empty glass of water from Talon. He brought his husband’s hand up to his face and kissed Talon’s palm. Pain flashed across his face when there was no response from Talon but it cleared.

“But perhaps you will not break. You will not know until you try.”