"Change Your Heart or Die" [Finn]

[Arvælyn]

"Change Your Heart or Die"
(Sequel to "Under Pressure You're a Diamond")
25 Ash 122
The Domus Sorokialis, Aurecine District

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Arry's very breath felt tentative as he left the Vigilia Argenti Prætorium after the most harrowing training session he'd had with Phocion or anyone else. It was, perhaps, the first time since arriving in Solunarium that he'd walked the streets without casting his eyes skyward in search of the Chiroptera Magna that roosted in the Umbrium, or the Dragons that so rarely soared the skies of the Luxium. Today, his eyes remained downcast. Ironically, he saw more fauna on the ground than he ever had in the sky- Lizards, scarabs and even a scorpion scuttled by on his commute from the Sub-Palatine District of the Umbrium to the Aurecine District of the Luxium.

Phocion had seemed pleased with how Arry handled his bloody test, but his delayed reaction to what he'd done seemed to make the Silver Elf uncomfortable. He ended their session far earlier than usual, which he'd never done before. Arvælyn had the sense that it was more out of an aversion to providing comfort, rather than genuine concern that he needed a break after what he'd just done. Phocion was cold comfort even when he tried, and he wasn't the one Arry wanted when he felt vulnerable.

Unfortunately, he and Finn were both being kept so busy in their different arenas. Arry had early mornings with trainers and tutors, while Finn spent late evenings entertaining the Umbrian elite in lounges and clubs he'd not have even been able to enter if not for Phocion's good word- Let alone perform in. Their schedules sometimes aligned enough that they could take their Vastian lessons together, or perhaps a spare hour or so to practise sparring between other obligations, but not as much quiet time alone as Arvælyn would have liked.

A servus opened the door as Arry dragged his feet up the path, and welcomed him home, but he didn't even glance up in response. Still wearing his training uniform, he merely marched over to the nearest longue and laid down to stare at the ceiling and try to push away the memory of what he'd done to those blameless humans.

[Finn]

Perhaps they were connected in fact.

Phocion had given Finn leave to drill down in a palatial courtyard, but hadn't invited him to train with Arvælyn. Their magical educations had been separated, as well, which made some sense as they were intiating the half-elf into magics deemed royal traditions whereas Finn was merely attempting to understand his own Runes better and perhaps magic in general.

In any case, he returned home not long after his favorite bastard did, beaming at the servus at the door and asking after some personal matter; Finn had made friends with the servi because of course he had. He supposed if he was going to laze about at home, he ought to write some music or—

He vaulted immediately from the door to his lover's side, twisting the slipspace almost instinctively, and then he was kneeling there, putting strong hands on the golden man, eyes brimming with unshed tears, heart brimming with shared emotional turmoil.

"Amatus..." He paused only a moment to consider, and then laid down beside him, conforming his body to the other, holding him close. He kissed his cheek.

"Do you want to tell me?" he asked quietly. "Or do you want me to just be here?"

Certainly, he could analyze the situation or rely upon intuition and empathy, and then make a choice. But too many choices had been made for his lover, and many more were being made by his royal Solunarian family. He wanted to offer him more agency than that, so that what they had was always a thing they actively chose.

Finn actively chose him everyday, and had even before he chose to follow him south across nations, seas, and half the desert. He kissed him again; once, twice, and then stopped, not wanting his instincts to make him feel bombarded.

[Arvælyn]

As Finn's arms wrapped around him, Arry tugged them tighter. This had been just the sort of comfort he wanted. He didn't answer the questions right away, unsure of his own preference as to the answers. Part of him thought silence might be best, but then he shut his eyes and the images that flashed through his head were recent, bloody ones. The way the gore had gurgled forth from the mouth of his victim... His first...

"...sacrifice." He opened his eyes. "I don't think I really understood the Solunarian concept of sacrifice." Sighing, "I'm not being clear, I know. Detail makes it feel more real, but..." He pulled Finn's arms even tighter around his belly- So tightly he thought he might bruise. He deserved that and more.

"It is real, so... In my lesson today, Phocion brought in two slaves. They were... Convicts, or something- Subjects of Lex Agni. They were instructed that if they killed me, they would be granted freedom. I thought he was joking, but he pitted us against each other and I... Gods, I did that thing you hate but more. I used all of my magicks in concert, but my Mesmer is still..." He shivered,

"It was me or them. That was the premise he set forth." He lifted his head to look over his shoulder and find Finn's cherished eyes, "And I'm still here." He searched Finn's face for judgement.

"It was so bloody easy, Finn, with no restrictions on what Craft I could use, it was over in minutes. Phocion said he never would have done that if he wasn't certain of my victory, but I was genuinely scared and then... Afterwards, I just lost it. I couldn't stop crying. I've seen so much death, but it was always inflicted by others. In the arena, at the reception, it's... So, so different." He shivered, and repeated the word that had started the whole rant:

"Sacrifice." The word felt like a millstone round his neck. "For Deus et Domina." That was the only way of looking at this that felt like it offered any semblance of consolation. That the blood he'd split was not for naught.

[Finn]

Finn obliged Arvælyn with the strength of his arms and the nearness of his warmth. Is magic reached out to gently soothe, though not overly blunt his emotions. If he had learned anything from Mesmer, it was that emotions needed to be felt sometimes. It was sometimes a disservice to shoo them away as though they didn't belong.

He was quiet and patient with Arvælyn's telling. If his own symphony took on a harder tone, it was against Phocion rather than the royal in his arms. When that golden gaze came seeking his face, all that was there was honest concern.

Finally, he kissed him, stroked him in the places and ways he had found most effective when comforting his lover.

"I am glad you are still here, amatus. I am sorry Phocion put you in that situation to teach you some bloody lesson... He forced your hand. There is no shame in self-defense. But... there is danger in games like these. Don't let them tell you who you are. You have done good things with your magic, as well. Brought people wonder and joy. You..." He sighed, sought the correct words; he would be a lousy bard if he couldn't communicate clearly and effectively.

"You are the protagonist of your story, my love. It is your narrative. Your character arc. Your plot. If the slaves are dead... you cannot change that. I suppose all you can do is learn the lesson... perhaps more than the one Phocion sought to teach you. Then their sacrifice might not have been in vain. Their deaths might mean more than some utilitarian ploy on his part..."

Finn wondered if a Master Mesmer couldn't force Phocion's hand, make him grant the slaves freedom or, if the law would not allow that, at least a mercifully quick death. Cithæra knew what she wanted Arvælyn to be; Finn was only concerned with who and what Arvælyn himself wanted to be. This was going to be an ongoing struggle, he could tell.

"I'll join as well. As a mock cadet. I won't make you face these challenges alone anymore."

[Arvælyn]

Arry sighed deeply and welcomed Finn's consonant descant as it wove into his greater Symphony. The bard had balmed his blights in the past, and this was particularly affecting. It felt like a dark rite of passage. Perhaps that had been Phocion's intent.

"Mm..." He allowed Finn's Craft to colour his words in a way that made them easier to receive. Letting the work of their Runes entwine unguarded, it was impossible to question his candour. "You should not be cross with Phocion." He reflex was to counter in defence of his martial and magical pædagogus,

"This was an inevitable lesson. He tried to explain..." It had been impossible to process at the time, and Phocion was far from a consoling figure, but Arry had time to contemplate on the road between the Prætorium and here. He tried to recall the precise words the Silver Elf had used.

"He said, 'A savage education is an Atraxian inevitability. Better you should be blooded in a controlled environment, rather than an organic scenario where you might hesitate and come to your education too late.'" He understood the meaning, now that he'd had time to process it. Phocion had stacked the card in his favour with opponents ill-equipped to handle a mage of Arvælyn's prowess. He'd hesitated to deal mortal blows. More potent rivals might have seized upon that lapse and his own blood... his own life might have been the sacrifice for this education in that scenario.

"Have I done good things with my magic, though?" He knitted his brow, "I... protected us at the reception, but even then..." His memories of that night came in fits and starts, but he was aware that he'd prioritised Finn's life and his own over those of the people he'd drawn close to use as shields. "Entertaining people with a 'trick' is all well and good, but have I practised my Craft for aught positive enough that it balances out the weight of two human lives? What even is good? Most people are terrible, aren't they? Perhaps those men were pædophiles, or murderers themselves... They were convicts, I know..." He slipped smoothly from genuinely questioning his own morality, which he very rarely felt inclined to do, to seeking out a rationale that might help him more easily dismiss the guilt of his actions- A more tried and true technique for the urchin of Antiris.

He shifted his body, so he could cup Finn's fair face in his palm and look into his eyes.

"The protagonist?" His eyes grew glassy, "Oh, but Finn, I was ever more drawn to the tragedies..." He bit his lip, "Are you sure you wish to join?" He shook his head, "No, no. You are innocent. There is no need for another set of bloody hands between us." He kissed him, adoringly, then drew back after a beat.

"I want your hands to keep at the lute. I don't know if I'll be able to perform again, so I want that dream to stay alive in you. Stay innocent and light... and sing of beautiful things seen through bright, beautiful eyes. This is my sacrifice. It needn't be yours."

[Finn]

Finn thought about everything his lover said. Now he was troubled; it seemed as though Arvælyn was stumbling through desert sands, the ground shifting under him as he tried to figure right from wrong. Solunarium was a maze; Finn didn't know how to answer these questions, though they felt wrong. Perhaps his sense of justice was the privilege of a relatively easy upbringing.

"My hands will stay on the lute," he said, "but I have already been training down in the Umbrium, often with your winged brother, in the sanctum of the Sentinels. They give me my lessons in language. I might as well be nearby to learn the same lessons as you. And if you think I wouldn't bloody my hands in your defense, then you don't know me very well. I might have not shown you that in Kalzasi, but I am stronger now... The Rune I was given to run... I'm using to fight. For you. For us. For as long as they let you keep me."

Finn tried not to let a discordant note sound, though he rather figured the tragedy might be theirs. There were plots within plots and he didn't know what Cithæra meant for her youngest child. She loved Arvælyn, but love was a word that covered any number of sins.

"And I suppose... you need to figure out what you believe is good and what you believe is evil. Right and wrong. I don't mean to say that I ought to be your conscience, but you should not take the philosophies of your family without a grain of salt. If I learned anything at the Academy, is that one has to listen and think critically in order to think for oneself." He reached out and touched Arvælyn's face. "And I don't mean to speak ill of your family, but what they believe is best for you might not be what you believe is best for you. And... I hope you will think about what is best for us as well."

[Arvælyn]

"I know that, amatus." Arry sat up, too much energy brimming in him to remain horizontal. "You've always been the strapping one between us, and I know you were training to fight even back in Kalzasi..." He needn't broach the wherefore, obvious as it was. Even if it was just beneath the surface, it was another matter to broach the minstrel's trauma outright.

He tilted his head at the mention of one of the two siblings he'd yet to officially meet. He had pieced together that in a literal sense he'd met Raithen on the day of the Mist Storm, but that had been one of the many odd coincidences that seemed to crop up in this strange land. Neither had known the identity of the other at the time, and when he'd inquired with Phocion he'd been given the impression that the other bastard had been off in the desert on some mercenary mission or another.

"I didn't realise he was back in the city. I still haven't even properly met him..." But that was neither here nor there, at the moment. He heard the vulnerability in Finn's voice and in his Symphony.

"Let me keep you?" He shook his head, and gathered Finn's hands in his. "No one will take you from me." He clenched his teeth and tightened his grip, "No one." His seemed to glint a brighter shade of gold at his emphasis.

"Let the mountain burst and fire devour this realm if ever it should fain sunder you from me, my sweet boy." He pressed a firm, feral kiss to Finn's lips, then rested his forehead against the human's. After lingering that way for a moment, he sighed and sat up- parting their faces enough that he might look him in the eye.

"I didn't mean to be dismissive. I was only trying to talk through what's going on in my head. Be my conscience, Finn- Please. Tell me how you see all this through your unclouded eyes. I don't know what's best for me, except you. The rest is... Everything is getting so fucking heady, now. It was fun to play at being a prince on stage. Wending my way through the highs and lows of a life in a matter of a few hours. Tragedy in small doses is rather enlivening, but this?" He stroked the top of Finn's hand with the pad of his thumb.

"I do think about what is best for us. All the time. And I'm anxious that you hate it here and long to leave. I don't want that to be your sacrifice to gods you disfavour..." He cracked a sad smile, "Even if they are my ancestors."

[Finn]

Finn smiled sadly as Arvælyn rested their heads together. The declaration and the kiss had stirred up things in him, but his lover had more to say. While they never seemed to have trouble communicating with their bodies, it did seem as though words were necessary here and now. He believed that Arvælyn believed nothing could tear them asunder, but for all the love songs Finn knew, he also knew that love might survive separation and death, but it didn't prevent separation or death of the lovers. The exigencies of politics were motivating people they knew and people they had only heard of and people they didn't know existed.

He knew that he knew next to nothing and that was a terrifying position to be in.

"My eyes are clouded too," he admitted. "They are full of you, so perhaps I'm just sunblind. I don't hate your family. I don't hate Solunarium. The fact that the two are inseparable, though... it suddenly feels like one of those tragedies of star-cross'd lovers. Perhaps that is why I can't marshal my fears. I respect your mother, though I don't know how to forgive her for what she has done to you, what she continues to do to you. Showering you with affluence, but withholding knowledge still. And I realize a great deal of that is dangerous... but still. And I genuinely like your brothers, but fear liking them too much and making you jealous... or... if they will befriend me in order to manipulate you... I'm not so good an actor as you, Arry. I don't know how to maintain whatever... role I'm supposed to play. I just want to embrace them as your family, but it feels like we're enmeshed in some plot, but then there isn't enough evidence of that so I feel paranoid..."

He stopped, breathed, sighed.

"I'm trying to be strong for you, but I think I need your support too, love." He placed Arvælyn's hands on his cheeks. "I will be your conscience as you explore the Varværyn religion and Solunarian culture. I will be your comrade-in-arms among the Sentinels. I will be your lover in public and in private."

Finn turned his face into one of Arvælyn's hands, kissing the wrist, then turning to kiss the other. A part of him wished Arvælyn could just be happy with expensive gifts from his lover, wanting no throne but his lap. But he loved Arvælyn, and that included the half-elf's need to know his family and his homeland.

But that didn't make it easy.

[Arvælyn]

"Sunblind..." Arry smiled, awed at Finn's extension of his metaphor. If Arvælyn was the better actor, then Finn was surely the superior poet.

"I'm glad to hear it. I know your feelings on both my kin and country are complex... I can feel it whenever we're in those situations with them. It's all so highly charged and tense. I don't even need to try to seek out your Symphony, it's as though it beckons me." But his mother was a Mesmer in her own right, he recognised, even if her Symphony was well masked.

"If you do join the Sentinels, their uniforms are laden with wards. It might be to our benefit..." He offered, as a tangential thought to their current conversation. "...and help to avert or at least delay a tragic terminus." He connected the thoughts, belatedly and listened on as Finn continued.

"Why would I be jealous of my brothers?" He tilted his head, perplexed and a bit put-off at he suggestion. "When have I ever been jealous when it hasn't pertained to that cun-... to your friend in Kalzasi? He undercut me. My brothers haven't. If they seek to bed you, let me know and I'll sacrifice them to their own gods, but beyond that-..." He let out a sigh, consciously choosing to lower his hackles. "I want you to befriend my family. Even my mum. I try with your parents, even though I don't think we understand each other."

Goosepimples prickled the skin of his arms as Finn kissed his wrists.

"How can I support you? What can I be to you to ease your path through the desert? I would be your oasis, but... Sometimes I feel the only things I know how to do to make you feel better are sex and Mesmer... Often in tandem. I am loath to ask you to further guide me by leading me toward helping you, but I am at a loss."

[Finn]

The human couldn't help but smile at the expected reaction, though he never intended to incite it.

"They haven't, and if they do, I will turn them down politely."

Finn didn't mind the idea of warded clothes to walk through the city in, though he thought they might be stifling with veils and all. But what did he know of desert life? But his face fell at the last.

"I'm sorry if I make you feel that way. My body and my heart and my soul just react to you... but I wouldn't follow a man to another continent for the sex. And I want to feel my feelings. I think I have to in order to understand this place, certainly in order to be your conscience." He considered. "Desert justice is harsh because the desert is harsh. I understand that. But I don't believe that elves are inherently better than humans, nor humans inherently better than anyone else. That is the sort of thing they believe in Zaichaer. I can respect their traditions here, but I cannot believe that. Perhaps in the eyes of their Gods, who were elves in their mortal lives. I just... Please don't lose compassion. Mercy. Softness. The desert is harsh, but if we are strong, then we can protect people, not just seek to rule them...

"I suppose I worry that one day I will look in your eyes, and while there will be love, there will also be... that you will believe that I am less than you for being human... or stupid for believing that kindness is a viable option."

He took those golden wrists, kissed Arvælyn's palms.

"Sing with me sometimes. Explore some part of the city with me, not for lessons, but because it is new... something we can experience together." Stay with me. But the time hadn't come to beg that yet.