An Unexpected Gift

[Sivan]

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75th of Searing, Year 124 of Steel
Tavárinoikos, Silfanore

everything in its right place.
everything in its right place.
everything in its right place.
everything in its right place.

Today was the day. Today he would see whether his cleverness had paid off.

While he wasn't senior enough to have the secrets of mithril's creation safeguarded with him yet, he had assisted the alchemists with their part. He had noticed that a minuscule portion was always lost, and took it upon himself to investigate. It hadn't taken much effort to find a metal elemental willing to work with him; they were all eager to work where mithril was concerned.

Deep in meditation, his senses embedded in the fabric of the workshop's aether, his mind and Pewter—the shorthand nickname he gave the elemental—traveled the halls, the work rooms, the storage rooms, collecting priceless detritus. Their communication lacked words. Pewter magnetized herself, carefully attuning to mithril and pulling each particle possible out of wood grain, air, and anywhere else.

There wasn't much, all told, and some of it had degraded without proper treatment or storage. Some of it had changed, the which he would study if he could put it in stasis. Pewter told him it was more alive than other metals in the material plane, and he could sort of intuit what she meant by that. What he knew was useless for creating or study, he gave to Pewter as a sort of present. It was always better to give a little more than he got when it came to spirits; they might not recognize debt, but they were more likely to work for him and work well if they knew he would treat them well.

The elemental spirit lingered to watch him work in his workshop. Sivan didn't mind the audience. Spirits were still easier to be around than people for him.

In Sivan's private work space—while among the most advanced apprentices, he was still considered an apprentice until he satisfied the chief arcanists of the house—he used every trick he knew and several that were purely experimental to bring his motes of mithril together, separating them out per their state, salvaging as much as he could for use, and preserving what he couldn't for study, both his own and the other apprentices.

Finally, he had a pearl of liquid mithril floating in aerosol metallurium in a stasis vial.

"Fyraea's teats," the chief alchemist had blasphemed when she held the vial in a careful hand. But there was a flicker of newfound respect in her eyes when she could pull them away from his offering, and she had told him to prepare his notes on the process to share within the week. He hadn't expected her to hand back the mithril and tell him that he should plan a use for it.

And so he had worked with master alchemists to prepare the mithril for fabrication and the process was both exhilarating and frustrating as he was overseeing the project, but parts of the process were kept from him. He understood. As a traveler, he would be a target if people thought he held one of the keys to mithril. He wondered if that was why the king had called him to the palace...

"Sivan."

His use name being used by a Maker startled him out of his reverie.

Today was the day. Today he would see whether his cleverness had paid off.

He stood immediately from the beautifully carved bench in the hallway, smiled nervously. At the Maker's gesture, he preceded them into the meeting room.

Later that day
Royal Palace, Silfanore

A courier from Tavárinoikos was treated with respect even in the highest echelons of elven society. A note had begged the briefest of audiences not from His Royal Majesty, but from his nightshade knight. The Len'Hytori apprentice arrived early, cooling his heels until the prince deigned to see him.

[Rhydian ValKor]

"Today?" Rhydian confirmed icily to the messenger, as he glanced up from the note. He'd met this courier outside the door to his apartments on his way back from a meeting to change for his afternoon training session, which was to refresh his body to the feel of plate armour. He rarely donned armour, preferring the freedom of movement granted by more pliable trappings. Plate armour was unforgiving, but had its uses and it was worth preparing for those eventualities, should Hytori phalanxes need to be formed at some point during the centuries of his natural lifespan.

He paused to ponder his itinerary for the remainder of the day, and renegotiated the ordering of some of his routines, before replying:

"Fine. I will receive him here." He gave a time, and marched into his residence where his valet was waiting to help him into his armour.

After a lengthy session, Rhydian returned to his residence and was informed that Sivan had arrived early and awaited him within. The prince pursed his lips, nodded and entered, metal clanking with his leaden steps.

"I had hoped I would have time to change before you arrived." His free hand grabbed the helm he had tucked under the opposing arm and handed it off to his valet, as another servant moved to unfasten and remove his cloak.

"I keep my days quite full, but... Well, you said you wished to see me briefly, so let's get to it, shall we?" He lumbered over to the sitting area, and gestured for one of the sturdier, simpler chairs to be brought over, as he wasn't sure how the upholstery would brook his current garb.

[Sivan]

The Len'Hytori artisan's posture straightened immediately upon the prince's. He was nervous, and his thoughts had been racing; however, the sight of the slender sword of their sovereign in elegant plates of steel gave him pause, derailed those thoughts, and he tried to imagine how he would alter his technique to account for both the loss of dexterity as well as the gains in durability.

Sivan had learned the blades, but Laurevere had never even let him wear padding when they sparred.

Recovering his questionable aplomb, he bowed.

"Your Serene Highness," he said formally. "Thank you for granting me this audience on such short notice."

Following Rhydian toward the sitting area, he knelt before his chair. There were formalities to these things that must be observed, at least within the martial lineage he found himself. He didn't know if the Val'Kor warriors had the same rituals or different ones. The Hytori had fragments from so many parts of their history, many contradictory, many without proper context, but all cherished.

"Briefly, my thought experiment at Tavárinoikos was successful and I was rewarded with the small amount of mithril I recovered and encouraged to lead a group of Makers in the construction of something knew. I know not from whence the inspiration came, but it became this, which I offer to you."

He set a simple, polished wooden box down before his knees, opened it, and carefully scooped out his prize.

Sivan presented a sheathed tantō. The sheath was made of fine metal, matte and simple, thick enough that he could have it personalized at will. The dagger itself was simple enough at first glance, superbly made, as was to be expected of any product of Tavárinoikos. Sivan shifted so the hilt—a fine steel mesh that would grip well—rested upon his upturned palm, callused from the hilts of blades and the tools of his trade, and the blade resting upon his closed fist, facing downward.

A fine, simple blade.

But it sang to him. To the sembling eye, its edge caught, gleaming in the mysterious, complex aetheric patterns of mithril as Sivan had alluded to. The making of the metal was a well-kept secret by a select few, and even for them, the making was difficult, the process laborious, and the chance of success never perfect.

The blade sang to him, though to truly unlock its potential, he might have to ask the Phoenix King, or other great magi, for guidance. On the more visceral level, it would cleave his plate mail like warm butter, but there was nary an aggressive twitch from the stoic artisan at his feet.

"It would honor me for you to bear it, Serene One."

Though he was suppliant, his eyes were not downcast. He would not dishonor the work, the gift, or the receiver.

[Pharaoh]

Rhydian’s scanty expression was slightly more of a scowl than usual as he sat stiffly in the chair. He was no stranger to straight backed posture, but the lack of give to his extremities was very strange in a social context. It made him glad that this was not a frequent ceremonial uniform he was expected to don.

He listened as Sivan got to the reason for his visit and only did his stony countenance register any shift at the mention of mithril. And, for Rhydian, it was a rather large shift— the stark arching of one eyebrow as his eyes darted to the box being produced. He accepted the sheathed blade with an inaudible gasp, his wrist quivering for a moment until he consciously willed it still before unsheathing.

“This is not meet.” He whispered, as if chiding Sivan for naïveté. “I am not a worthy recipient of this gift. Surely there is another, more appropriate figure in your life.” It was not that Rhydian did not want it. Quite to the contrary, it felt like it belonged in his hand. Like an extension thereof. Like it had been made especially for him, and it seemed perhaps it had. But had he let enough of himself be known to Sivan for him to glean enough to craft such a perfect fit?

He pulled his eyes from the metal to the man who’d bequeathed it as, at last, he began to see what his betters found remarkable about this half-blooded elf— Grandmasters, dragons, even the King of All Hytori had seen fit to grand audience and more to Sivan.

“Do you offer this bequest in full understanding? I will not be offended if you would fain rescind it.”

[Sivan]

The pauper didn't flinch at the prince's initial reaction. He knew better than princes the value of mithril; though he couldn't craft it himself, he had now worked with it, coaxed it into shape. Rhydian took the blade and Sivan felt a sort of completion, as when he poured aether into a circle of sigils and the circuit completed.

Self-awareness was not his strong suit, so he couldn't begin to name what he was feeling. All the same, he smiled softly.

"At a certain level of enchanting," he said quietly, somehow balancing proper humility with unshakeable certitude, "one can but nudge the magic. There are decisions it will make for itself as if it had a mind or a soul of its own." That wasn't outside the realm of any elf's understanding; aether made up everything from mundane to arcane, from lifeless to soul stuff.

"I could give it to a friend or I could give it to one of the master Makers of the workshop or I could give it to His Royal Majesty, but it wants you."

That was certainly true. It was a suitable bridal gift for a princess if Sivan had such designs, would assure a faster track to being acknowledged as a Maker himself, or might earn a boon from their Dream King. A paranoid mind could seek reasons why he might give it to a prince who ruled no principality, but it would spin forever in search of an answer. Even a sembling eye would find no hint of deceit, nor even of regret, though when his eyes fell to the blade, Sivan gave it the strangest of looks.

Here, mortal magic edged upon the power of Creation.

[Rhydian ValKor]

“Even Mithril grants you more than a passing greeting.” Rhydian mused, making no effort to conceal his befuddlement with these revelations nor his awe with this gift. It would have been one thing if Rhydian had been present and the blade sang or danced in his direction, but knowing that he had been selected in absentia meant something altogether different. It meant that Sivan’s facility in the arcane arts exceeded Rhydian’s presumptions and far surpassed what even an exceptional pupil of his age might ken. Either that, or the blade was particularly emphatic in its desires and that he deemed to be a doubtful prospect.

“Your gift far overperches any recognition owed me, and I accept it with immense gratitude, albeit unburdened by debt, despite of this marked disparity.” Rhydian had spent too long at court not to state his boundaries in this circumstance. Though he was impressed and fonder of Sivan than he’d been when the artisan first inserted himself into his daily schedule, he would not let it be presumed that any favours were owed in answer to it. Though he anticipated no such deception from Sivan, many a calamity had been catalysed by the giving of a gift. Besides, whatever he might expect from Sivan was immaterial, when Sivan had surprised him on more than one occasion.

“I might at least offer you a cup of tea.” Rhydian suggested. “Would you be scandalised if I stepped aside to doff this armour while it was being brewed?” While he would not have favours expected of him, Rhydian was at least moved to willingly offer the lofty boon of more unscheduled time taken out of his prescribed routine. It may not have been mithril, but it was no small thing in the knight’s reckoning.

[Sivan]

"Thank you," he said with simple sincerity. "I will accept gratitude, but not debt."

Back straight, he didn't rise once the ritual was complete. It was not humiliating to kneel comfortably when a prince sat.

"If I can accept tea with gratitude but no debt." Sivan regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth. He was not a humorous elf, but he did so wish he was quick with the quip like other people he admired. His eyes dropped immediately to his hands.

"Of course, as you wish." But then he looked up, purely curious about the workings of armor which he didn't understand. Torin forged the stuff and Sivan supplied alchemical solutions for certain aspects of his process, but he had no real experience with crafting, wearing, or fighting with armor. "Are you able to do that without help?"

It took a moment for one part of his mind to catch up with the other and he realized without further context the prince might assume Sivan gave him a princely gift in order to get him out of his armor for prurient interests.

"Pardon my ignorance. Laurevere showed great neighborly philotimo in teaching me how to defend myself abroad, but we practiced mostly in his yard and usually when he caught me in my garden." Which was to say: not wearing much. Sivan wasn't exactly a naturist, but he maintained a balmy atmosphere for his sanctuary and some of the work he did required heavy lifting.

The elf would happily assist as it would be a learning opportunity, but he daren't offer. Rhydian was even more aloof than Sivan himself had been accused of being. But whereas Sivan was just uncomfortable around people, especially people he didn't know, he didn't know Rhydian well enough to know if it was anything but the justified pride of a Val'Kor warrior prince.

[Rhydian ValKor]

Rhydian blinked, incredulous at Sivan’s afterthought about the tea.

“Of course you won’t be indebted. It’s… tea.” He replied, completely earnestly. Recognising the edge in his tone after the kindness he’d just been dealt, he softened his expression.

“I shall see about that.” Which was executed with a glance that set a servant into motion. “Do not worry about the armour.” He said, rising with a clangour.

“You are my guest here, not my valet. If you will excuse me.” He marched out of the room and into another, where he was met by his actual valet who made quick work of getting his master out of the armour. It was an old suit. Ancient, in fact, but even when it had been constructed there had been masters of their forges who’d incorporated little shortcuts so he wasn’t standing by as the plates were removed piecemeal. While he couldn’t remove the armour himself, it was not so laborious a process that it took him more than a minute to remove. Still it would be five minutes before he returned, by which point the tea had been served with a raised tray of nibbles.

“Better.”

Now wearing crimson robes that danced the line between leisure wear and courtly finery, Rhydian sat and a footman moved to serve him. He waved them off sharply and reached forward to pour for himself, as Sivan had already been served.

“Now, then. How much longer will you remain in Silfanore?” He gently lifted the cup from the saucer and drew it to his lips for a delicate sip, then placed it back down with a clink. The saucer was then returned to the tray and Rhydian’s gaze to Sivan.

[Sivan]

Sivan thanked the servant for the tea, but didn't touch it until Rhydian returned, whereupon he rose until the prince had made himself comfortable.

"Of course," he said, half to himself, "there are release locks and..." He blinked and smiled, slightly embarrassed. It wasn't clockwork, but Sivan had a need to understand how things worked, especially magical things.

"I had intended to spend the summer season here. My business partner wanted to see Sol'Valen and I had unfinished business. My business is complete, but the Makers at Tavárinoikos want me to stay and complete my apprenticeship as an artificer." He sighed. "So, I suppose next season I will have to split time between Kalzasi and Silfanore. The business won't run itself, but I suppose I owe it to my old Master to complete that training."

He paused, trying to explain why Silfanore was difficult for him without opening himself too much.

"My Master was kind, wise... and saw things in me that I did not. I want to do right by his memory, but he haunts his old workshop. It is strange, and now I have responsibilities elsewhere." There was also the fact that going back and forth between Karnorian and Turothi capitals would cost him in time and gold, but he didn't want to complain because he had the time and gold that most people did not.

Sivan sipped his tea, blue eyes darting up to meet the prince's. He wondered whether the knight had similar feelings for his blademasters, but daren't ask.

He daren't wonder if he had things in common with this highborn elf. Some of this he recognized as complications of his complicated relationship with his father, and some seemed inextricably bound in who he was as a person. It was easier to communicate with spirits and chalk up any misunderstandings as understandable given their wildly different minds, or to work aether into new shapes that benefited people but didn't require that he interact with them.

"Did you enjoy your travels abroad?"

[Rhydian ValKor]

"Business, business, business..." Rhydian repeated the word, which had been said thrice within the matter of a few seconds. He didn't seem to realise he'd spoken aloud until a beat later, at which point he blinked at himself. "Apologies. Go on." He sat back, adjusting the fabric of his robe with his hands to accommodate the crossing of his legs.

"We will be content to see more of you. His Majesty seemed... not unimpressed with your deportment in the presence chamber." He canted an eyebrow as Sivan's focus shifted to another master, and he spoke on his sense of duty to the deceased cynosure. If Sivan had been tacitly inviting Rhydian to share his own feelings, he'd either missed that or denied it just as tacitly. It was only when a direct question was posed that he spoke up again.

"Ah, yes. I spoke with Her Highness, the Princess Akantha shortly after returning, and remarked that it helped me to better appreciate Mother Sol'Valen. I've always had a great love for this place, but it is different when you are able to compare it against other places... to contextualise it through a broader scoping perspective. There was much I found intriguing elsewhere, but nothing so compelling that I would be eager to linger longer than I did. There are certainly places to which I'd gladly return for a visit, and places I'd still like to see that I didn't chance to on his last expedition..." He trailed off.

"And what of you? How are you finding your time abroad of Kalzasi? I sense that you are not altogether comfortable here. I am certain your feelings on the matter are complicated."