Recuperatio [Khyan]

[Finn]

Royal Quarters, Palatium Umbrarum
59th of Frost, Year 122 of Steel

Being the amatus of a crown prince had many benefits. Finn rarely made requests, but because he felt responsible for Khyan and he wanted more time to renew their friendship, he asked that the servus be allowed to convalesce nearby so they could while away some hours getting reacquainted. Of course, he thought Khyan would appreciate being treated like a prince, as well.

After a fortnight to heal, Finn's arm remained bound to his chest in a sling to prevent undue movement. The necromantic healers and kinetic surgeons were wonders, but the body still required time and he was easily wearied when so many of his body's resources were being spent on mending. By now, he also knew the schedule of the various healers who came to check up on him and on his friend, and so he was able to time his visit for when he wouldn't be in the way.

Finding Khyan's symphony indicating wakefulness, he knocked upon the door before letting himself in. Khyan had never barred his entrance, so he didn't wait for a formal invitation.

Even below ground, the Umbrium was warm by Finn's Kalzasern standards. The heat of the volcano rivaled that of the sun—at least when the sun wasn't eclipsed by whatever had birthed those shadow creatures—and so the bard was comfortable enough in just a tunic, one shoulder left untied to accommodate his injury. There was still a bandage though the skin had knit quickly enough. The wound was coated in a salve that was supposed to aid the healing process and prevent scarring. Arvælyn did want his trophy flawless.

"Salve, amicus," he said by way of greeting. His good cheer remained, though he remained somewhat muted when compared to his former self. There were shadows around his eyes and shadows in his thoughts. The healers didn't worry about his mind after the horrifying experience outside the protection of Aværys' Sceptre.

[Khyan Nykara]

Khyan had never been wounded as grievously as he had at Melindranovispont, so he hadn't been prepared for a protracted recovery process. He knew of Solunarium's great healers and the miraculous work they could do. He hadn't realised, however that, though the arcane medici could have done their work more quickly, to do so would have been risky. He might have been a pristine corpse in a matter of days but, having been impaled by a mysterious shadow wraith, there were many measures to be taken into account. The High Sentinel herself had demanded to assess him for residual traces of the void before he would be permitted provisional residence so close to the seat of Umbrian power. Ultimately, he was cleared to convalesce in style.

It was an understandably complex position in which to place his legally acknowledge master, but not one without benefit for the young senator. Æros enjoyed regular access to the palace for visits with his servus, and Khyan's budding friendship with the Crown Prince's amatus had potential for political boons, even if it was a tad risky. Prince Arvælyn was, after all, known to be prone to bouts of draconic jealousy. Still, he seemed content with his initial ominous warning and the knowledge that, if Khyan strayed from his strictures, he would know.

As Finn approached his door, Khyan was in the midst of enjoying a saga portrayed via the artful illusions of a Masquerade Player. With his bedspread for a stage, detailed miniatures of the characters played out the tragedy of some ancient Aværyan scion named Cænth, whose exploits ended in a mystery the resolution to which would have to wait, it seemed. Khyan waved the mage away, and lifted his head to regard Finn as he approached.

"Good morrow!" He said in Common, "I practise my Common. Is better, no?" He chuckled and shook his head, returning to Vastian.

"Anyway. How are you keeping occupied today, my Brother in Boredom?"

[Finn]

"Gratias," he said to the departing mage. At this point, Khyan knew he didn't have to dismiss the man for Finn's sake, but he could imagine company being more distracting than a show.

Finn too had been thoroughly examined by Cithæra, and had even managed to blush despite blood loss. Her eyes saw too much and were too knowing for his comfort. But at least it had occurred to him to speak to her about some runeforged charm or another to protect him from "other" Semblers when he wasn't in his Sentinel blacks. Like it or not, he was liable to know things just from being in Arvælyn's orbit that they wouldn't want anyone to be able to read. He didn't worry about a secretive Sembler cheating him at cards, but he did worry one might use him to foil her plans, which might cause harm to Arvælyn. That he could not abide.

"Much better," he complimented. "You are a cunning linguist." The bard fell back into whichever language Khyan chose. He found that by the grace of Aværys, everyone seemed to understand him no matter what language he spoke. "May I sit?"

The chair beside his bed was carved from one block of ebony and gilt with gold. It creaked a bit under Finn's weight; he had put on quite a bit of muscle since he was a street minstrel with irregular feedings. He certainly looked to be the son of a blacksmith, the which he was.

"I had my morning visit from the necromancers, and everything seems to be progressing well. They say I should be able to play again, but... well, I am trying to balance hope with pragmatism. My hand was crushed once, and I fully recovered. I don't know when my luck will run out. But I still have my voice, and a wealthy paramour, so I shan't be penniless again." He smiled in self-deprecation. "I trust silk sheets remain a nice change from scrubbing the senator's chamber pot?"

There was a lilt in his symphony, trying to keep his words from stinging. In his heart of hearts, he hoped he would be able to figure out a way to get the Nykara family their manumission, at least, and their place in society restored, if possible.

"How are you?" The question was entirely sincere.

[Khyan Nykara]

Khyan giggled at the punny compliment and nodded.

"Of course! Sit, sit..." His smile didn't fade as Finn pulled up a chair. The bard tended to favour the chair over joining him in the bed as his dominus was wont to do when he visited. He'd never inquired nor attempted to assess the reasoning, but he suspected it had to do with the princep's notorious jealous streak or perhaps out of respect to Senator Len'Sælyan. He didn't relish the distance, but he understood it.

It was strange to look upon Finn anymore. He'd always been handsome, but having seen him bathed in the breadth of divine Majesty, he couldn't erase the image from his mind's eye. Even without seeking to find the Mark, he felt its presence now- even though he'd been wholly unwitting to it before he cast his light upon that foreign field just before disaster struck. He flushed at the memory, as he did every time, and felt closer to the Founders for being close to Finn.

"My wound is healing nicely as well..." Khyan had progressed enough at this point that he was long beyond needing to be bandaged up. His flesh looked perhaps more pristine than it had prior to the attack. The medics of Solunarium were no less æsthetically-minded than the artists or the priests, and so they made sure to smooth not just the wounded flesh but everything surrounding it for consistency's sake. Thanks to their ministrations his skin was clearer than he could ever remember- No pimple nor blemish interrupted the smooth sea of his dusky skin.

"Thankfully the senator never put me to such vile work!" Khyan wrinkled his nose, "I imagine the notion of his bedmate scrubbing at filth is as unattractive to him as it is to me. That being said, I fair well enough... I'm glad of your visit. Even with all the diversions of the Palatium at my disposal, it is still a monotonous thing to spend all day abed. Will you sing for me today, or would you rather play a game?"

[Finn]

Finn could sense a bit of Khyan's reaction to him even without directly assessing his symphony. There were things they understood without being said. Arvælyn was the first partner he had really had, and he required monogamy to feel secure, and so Finn gave that to him. He wasn't nearly so vehement about it when it didn't concern Torin Kilvin, which had more to do with his old friend Aurin than Finn himself, but such was life. He was occasionally physically affectionate with Khyan, at least where it wouldn't be scandalous, but kept things friendly and chaste.

He had a quip for the bedmate comment, but there were questions of consent that made it all seem uncomfortable to him even as he was growing more acclimated to Solunarium's culture, more understanding of why they were the way they were. Khyan could still be upset about his family's lot, but also enjoy some of the work to which he was put. Finn had asked Arvælyn to marry him; whether that would be a legally binding thing or not didn't matter to him. What mattered was that they considered themselves wed. Perhaps their friends and their Gods would recognize it, but Finn wasn't after Zalkyriax's crown.

"Why not both?" he asked.

While he couldn't play an instrument with only one hand, he let his body move in the chair, percussing with bare heel on the floor and hand on his thigh. He sang a capella and made delicate use of his Rune, not commanding any specific emotion but demanding that he open up to whatever feelings the music brought up.

► Show Spoiler

When he was done with his new composition, he didn't wait for applause or anything, but hurried right along to, "What game would you like to play that won't get me in trouble with Arvælyn?"

He winked.

[Khyan Nykara]

Khyan sat up properly in bed and rested on his left hip, knees and face shifting toward Finn as he began to percuss and then sing. The Mesmeric influence eased the acknowledgement of many emotions: Uncertainty, anxiety, obviously attraction, but the emotion ultimately brought to the fore most mightily was awe. Again, unbidden, his thoughts returned to Finn in all his Majestic glory. Not the mere human singing sentimental ballads, but the agent of Aværys Imperator Rex Regnum et Pulcherrimi.

As the song concluded, bashfulness sang loudest in his Symphony as he glanced down to fidgeting hands.

"The game I was going to suggest is Veritatem vel Provocatio, so... Whether or not we get into trouble is more in how we play it." He bit his bottom lip and rolled onto his back once more, sliding his hands behind his head and lacing his fingers together.

Khyan had gotten to know Finn better during their shared convalescence, but he didn't feel like he knew him well. He was at the social disadvantage, even if Finn was a foreigner, and so he'd been more deferential than might have been the case under prior circumstances. Even so, Finn's relationship to the royal family would have made things complex and challenging to navigate. At least with a game like "Veritatem vel Provocatio" he could feel things out as they went along and see how bold or bashful he wanted to be.

Arching his back, Khyan tilted his head back toward Finn,

"But I'm open to whatever if you have an alternate suggestion. You've just clearly led a peculiar life, which makes you a better competitor in this sort of game than the house staff. I don't know if you've noticed this, but the more estimable the household, the more boring the staff."

[Finn]

Before responding to the suggestion of a game, he felt he had to respond to what he heard in Khyan's symphony. He knew the man could sense things about him as a Sembler, so it felt like a fair tradeoff. The awe belonged to Aværys, at least to his mind, but perhaps the other things needed to be addressed.

"If things were different..." He bit his lip, fair cheeks flushed slightly. "I find you beautiful, as well. But I don't want to hurt Arvælyn, and I don't know how that would complicate matters between you and your... Æros, either. If 'tis any comfort, know that I will write paeans to your allure sooner or later."

In any case, the servus' response was helpful both in terms of their friendship and his craft.

Finn squinted in mock suspicion, but when Khyan rolled over, he stood up and gingerly climbed onto the bed beside him. He was sitting up properly to prevent any undue stress upon his healing shoulder, and crossed his legs at the ankle. This was fine. He was fully dressed—well, as fully dressed as he got when at home.

"Are the rules different here than the ones I know from home?" he wondered aloud. "The last time I played this in my village, we had a pregnancy scare." He laughed; thankfully, it had only been a scare or he might have become a blacksmith like his mother, never met Arvælyn, nor followed his passions—music, and then his golden prince. "At least there's no threat of that here, hey?" He laughed again, albeit gently. His shoulder ached. They could annihilate the pain, but it also dulled his mind to the point that it was equally uncomfortable. Finn would rather have enough of the pain to remind him to take things slowly than lie abed, a human vegetable.

[Khyan Nykara]

"Ugh!" Khyan flushed and covered his face at Finn's overt reply to his covert thoughts... Or what would have been covert in different company. His Symphony rankled as his desire to protect his own secrets swelled alongside the frustration at his inability to do so. Finn would read that this was not a novel annoyance, but one very much lived-in. His confoundment was not directed at Finn alone, by any means. If Æros didn't actively quell Khyan's vexation at being probed, this concern would be more present and less deeply set, but such as things were his embarrassment at Finn's giving voice to his internal thoughts was enough to stoke that particular fire.

"I am not without self-control, Fi-... Dominus." He corrected himself, archly. "A person can bear an attraction and elect not to act upon it. In other realms, such feelings might even pass unnoticed and remain unremarked upon, but alas this is Solunarium: Where the nicer the neighbourhood, the more wards one requires to sustain any modicum of privacy. And there aren't many nicer neighbourhoods than the palace, I'll be bound." He rolled unceremoniously onto his other hip, so he could more easily access the flagon of wine the servi kept filled at his bedside. It would be clear from his Symphony that this was not his first sip of the day, even if his oratory remained smooth and unslurred.

When he turned back round, Finn was seating himself on the mattress. He nodded approvingly, before clearing his throat to reply to the question.

"I do not know the rules you know from home..." He replied, somewhat amused that Finn would expect greater knowledge of the customs of Kalzasern border villages when he barely even spoke their Common Tongue.

"Tut! I would not put it past our mages to make such advances over biology, but in any event the rules here are simple. We each take turns offering a choice to the other. If you pick 'Veritatem' I get to ask you a question to which you must respond truthfully. If you pick 'Provocatio' I get to give you a little task, which you must carry out. Don't worry- I won't make you do anything your gaoler would gut you over."

[Finn]

"...so no paeans to your allure? All right."

Finn grinned, then held his hand out for the flagon. This sort of game wanted a bit of social lubricant even if they wouldn't get to use the sexual variety.

"Oof. Please don't give any ideas to Arvælyn. I don't want to ruin my figure with childbirth."

He considered.

"It seems silly to choose Veritatem when we could both read each other's minds, but since 'tis a part of the game and I'm certain we are both too polite to endart our eyes more deep than we ought... Veritatem."

Finn, at least, had made no promises not to demand things that would enrage Khyan's gaoler, but then he was generally considered a sweet and kind man. Everyone had their mean streaks, though. Idly, he wondered whether Aværys would enjoy Khyan's charms—or even Varvara. The pair might enjoy him together. Even Æros might approve, as sharing his slave with his gods would make him seem generous and pious.

He wondered, though, about conflicting loyalties. He was a Kalzasern citizen, a friend of its Shinsei and a demigod who, until recently, had been an enemy of the state and its demigods. He was the lover of the dragon prince. He was chosen of Aværys. He loved Aværys. That was becoming clear, as well. It was not a love that conflicted with his love for Arvælyn, and he hoped Arvælyn saw it that way, as well. Soon, he ought to ask about Arvælyn's relationship with Varvara.

Then there was Khyan: owned by Æros, devoted to the Twins, loyal still to his gens.

They wove tangled webs, these spiders.

Finn awaited Khyan's first question, his opening volley.

[Khyan Nykara]

"You keep your pæans to yourself, or you'll get both of us in trouble." Khyan suggested, through a chortle, handing the wine over as he was bade.

"Dominus." He bowed his head in jovial subservience, as if he was even expected to play the role of servus from his sickbed. In truth, a true Solunarian magnatus would probably expect as much and more of a wounded slave, but he'd spend enough time in the company of this peregrinus to know how soft-hearted and obliging he was.

"Ah, so you'd be the one doing the childbearing?" Khyan arched a brow, smirking, "That's one of my Veritatem questions off the table before we've even begun..." His amusement was deferred by the talk of mindreading.

"I do not practise my Semblance upon my betters without explicit permission, Dominus." He said through clenched teeth, "That would be both unseemly and illegal." Also impossible if Finn were in his Sentinel blacks, but such as things were one had to rely upon a bit of decorum.

"Veritatem..." Khyan repeated Finn's selection aloud, both to confirm and to stall for time as he pondered what to ask. He truly might have inquired about Finn and His Exalted Highness' sexual positions and preferences, if Finn hadn't seemed to answer the question already.

"Your Emblem..." Khyan began, pausing and glancing to the place at Finn's brow where he'd seen it glow on the day of their mutual misfortune. "The Radiant mark is the stuff of legends. It hasn't been known to the world in ages, and yet... You bear it. Tell me, in veritate, what is your favourite of its endowments?" Khyan had read accounts of the powers proferred by Aværys' favour, but no one alive truly knew what they were or how they operated. There were sundry second-hand accounts of how people responded in the presence of the Radiant, a few essays written in the hands of Majesty's wielders, but the texts were archaic and poetical. Here he was, a lowly slave, in the palace of the dragons asking questions the loftiest theologians would kill to have answered... all whilst in the context of a silly drinking game. Even at its most abject, Khyan's was a charmed life.