Given Freely [Aurin]

[Torin Kilvin]

36 Frost 120

After the second free meal offered him by the generous staff of the Velvet Carabet, Torin Kilvin made his way out and then around, to the alley between the building and the next. When he came out behind the Cabaret he made his way to the little cabin he was beginning to grow fond of. He knocked, for the second time that day, and, finding no answer still, removed his mittens, setting them on the doorstep.

Finding the axe and pile of unsplit wood where he had found them on his last visit he set to work. After five minutes he pulled off his thick outer coat and laid it too on the step. Letting the rhythm take him he swung and struck, placed a new piece, swung and struck. His mind wandered as he worked, to the first two days he'd been allowed into the now locked cottage, to the man who owned it. He was beginning to realize that there was more to Aurin than what he appeared to be. Also that he appeared to be different things to different people. To Torin, he was a magnanimous mentor who managed to remain personally aloof while not making Torin feel rejected or unwanted.

The large apprentice had never felt more natural or at ease than when he was spending time with the flame-haired man. Knowing this, he cautioned himself to be wary. Aurin had been more than generous with his time and his help, never making the blond feel stupid for asking questions or not already knowing the answers. He knew he was giving away more than he was being given by way or personal information, but he was also receiving far more than he was able to give by way of help and care.

It seemed fair trade, or even skewed his way. While a part of him realized that his errand there today would mean he was giving away something that was not only valuable but also had great personal worth, it felt like Aurin's due. Of all the people he'd met since leaving home, which was, admittedly, not many, Aurin was the only one he would be sad to lose. He'd been trying to wake himself up, make himself participate in his own life but it had often felt like a chore. It didn't, any longer, and that was due to his new friend.

His only friend, really. There were other apprentices that he got along with well enough, and his master wasn't harsh with him, but none of them made him feel as though he was safe to care for them. It was unlikely that he was safe caring for Aurin, but he had stubbornly decided that he would rather have what they had and hurt for it than not have it. If he got hurt, he would learn from it. Pain was better than nothing at all. He hoped it was.

He was sweating through his shirt when he heard footsteps crunching through the snow towards him. Turning he grinned and lowered the axe.

"Hello." He said, with all the earnest eagerness of a puppy trying to hold still to balance a treat on its nose.

[Aurin]

It had been a long night in the Low-City for Aurin Kavafis. The wages of his night were hidden—some muffled under his cloak, others shrouded in his mind. He dealt in secrets. It was the overarching career he had chosen for himself that connected to his work in the Velvet Cabaret, but extended much farther and wider than that in the end. He coughed and cleared his throat. The air was cold and his breath blossomed in steam before him, ephemeral and gone as quickly as it arrived. The sound of chopping wood didn't register until he turned the corner. It was late enough in the morning that all manner of sounds echoed down the streets, the cacophony of life in the city. When he could see down the alley that led to his cottage and the service entrance to the Velvet Cabaret, he saw someone skulking about his red-roofed domicile.

It didn't take long to recognize Torin. Nobody said anything about Aurin stealing his wood from the Cabaret's supply, but nobody chopped it for him.

"Hullo, Torin," he said, a bemused sort of smile softening a strange tightness about his features. On a normal day, one might have called his looks vulpine—red fur, clever glances, sharpness. Today, he had more of the wolf about him. Moving around under his cloak, a key appeared. "I'll just be inside."

He didn't know if Torin wanted to chop more or what. He hadn't really clocked the progress; he was more focused on the human body near his home. But it was Torin and Torin was safe. But it was an implied invitation to come inside whenever he was ready. Once Aurin was inside, however, he winced as he shrugged out of his cloak and hung it from a hook in the wall. He winced as he leaned down to remove his boots and leave them by the door. One hand clenched his side as he walked gingerly toward the table. It hadn't shown out of doors, but now with nobody to fool or impress, he allowed his body to express its discomfort, its pain.

A bare foot snaked out to hook the leg of the chair and pull it out so he could carefully sit down. He could take care of this. He would take care of this. Aurin just needed a minute to breathe, to relax, to feel safe in his den. And then he could see to the damage done by a successful night.

[Torin Kilvin]

Aurin looked tired, the eager smile faded from the apprentice's face replaced by mild concern. He had sort of hoped to find the sharp man drowsing in his bed so he could join him again, perhaps that could still happen.

Putting the axe away he slung his coat back on, not bothering to close it, stuffed his mittens into its big pocket, and gathered a double-arm-full of freshly chopped firewood. Following the other man inside, he knelt, stacked the wood by the fire, not initially noticing that anything was wrong as his concentration was on the task. By the time Aurin was lowering himself into his chair, it was obvious that something was wrong beyond a night without sleep.

The big apprentice frowned, his brow furrowing in a little of concern so obvious it was almost comical.

"Aurin." He moved, still on his knees, over toward the older man. His hand lifted but didn't quite touch, unsure what might make the problem worse. Big blue eyes moved slowly over the body showing pain in its lines until he found the hand pressed over the side. Torin had never tended wounds on anyone but himself, which had mostly been burns or small cuts. He didn't know how to help directly, but he could at least try and make the situation more comfortable.

"Let me get the fire back up," It had burned down to glowing coals since it had been last tended, "I'll see about hot water." He remembered people wanting hot water for wounds.

He moved about, head always turned slightly towards Aurin as he raised the fire with the expertise of a life spent around a forge, poured water from the waiting bucket into the kettle, and hung it where it would heat quickly. This done he moved back to kneel at the other man's feet.

"Can I help?" He wasn't demanding, he would sit and watch and Aurin tended himself if that was what was wanted. More than anything he wanted his friend to know he wasn't alone. There was nothing in his head to explain to him that sometimes a wounded animal wanted to be alone.

[Aurin]

"Thanks," he said when Torin found a way to make himself useful rather than crowd him as he was trying to think through the pain. Then, of course, he was back like a loyal dog or a concerned puppy. Aurin handed him the key. "Lock the door, please."

Then he hefted himself up and fetched his bandages and such. Crouching down by the fire, he held a slender needle in the fire until he could feel it through his calluses and set it on the table. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. He would have to decide if it was worth sneaking it into the laundry, whether he would have to explain the blood or could mend the tear before the launderers noticed. For now, he had to tend to the tear in his skin. His ribs had deflected the worst of it, but he didn't like leaving holes in his hide. He grabbed his shirt again and used it to daub up the congealing blood around the wound so he could get a better grip.

Then he threaded the needle with silk thread, tied a knot at the end to catch, and began to sew up his own skin. He hissed once, then just grit his teeth through it. Embroidery wasn't his passion, but he managed clean, even stitches. He was sweating by the end of the procedure, though. At the end, he let the needle fall against his side. There was more to do, but...

"I just need a minute."

Whether he was talking to Torin, to himself, or to ghosts from his past, though, was anyone's guess.

"What's up, kid?" Pain was evident in the furrow of his brow, the tightness around his eyes, but he kept his voice even as if to keep a child calm through a crisis.

[Torin Kilvin]

Torin nodded, took the key, took the bucket, filled it with clean snow from just outside, and returned to lock the door. Setting the key carefully on the table to watched Aurin, studying his actions.

The large boy winced as the other man began sewing his own flesh back together, but otherwise remained silent, only blinking more often than he might have normally. The kettle began to steam and he pulled it off with a hook, pouring some into one of the mugs they had drunk from several times together and dipping the cleanest part of the bloodied shirt in it he held it to catch the additional vitae as it seeped from the wound. It was bad, but not deadly bad, not so long as it was kept clean.

While his concern and worry were plain to see, there was also the fascination of learning something new; a look Aurin would already know well. When his friend stopped he took what was left of the shirt away, rinsed it as best he could, and returned to clean the wound with the delicate care of a man who spins steel into filagree. When he could clearly see where the skin had parted he tilted his head to one side, examining.

"I work with leather, sometimes as soft as living skin. I have some skill in it. Would you like me to finish?" When he received assent he scooted closer and, with his characteristic care, he tied off the suture with a knot that wouldn't tear the skin any more than it already was. Looking down at the bandages and supplies Aurin had fetched he opened the stoppered bottle and sniffed it. He started back a little at the strength of the alcohol smell, but knew its use. Holding the shirt under the wound her poured carefully, not flinching or stopping when Aurin hissed again. When he was sure the wound was clean he corked the bottle, laid aside the shirt, and fetched a handful of fresh snow from the bucket. Holding it to the wound with his hand it let the ice leech some of the pain out. When the handful had melted to water he got another and did it again. Only when some of the pained posture had faded from Aurin's stance did he unwind the bandages and wind them around his ribs, reaching around him, careful not to touch more than was needed.

He spoke while he worked,
"I finished my project. I said I'd visit you when it was done. I took longer than I thought it would. I guess I also changed some of the design as I went. I think I did well though, my master looked the piece, or pieces really, over once I had done. Well..." An odd expression somewhere between sorrow and shame showed in the firelight, as the curtains were still drawn shut.

"I needed the rest of the day to recover when I was done but then I took it to him and he approved." He didn't know if Aurin knew the importance of a first solo project, start to finish, of your own design, to a runesmith apprentice. "I can start taking my own commissions now. It's all still my master's equipment so most of the fees will still go to him." There was nothing bitter in his voice, it sounded like he believed this to be the right.

"Anyway, I wanted to see you." He swallowed, "I missed you." Now that he was with Aurin his original plan, which had been to just blurt out how much he missed him when they were apart and excitedly present him with his gift, felt off. His new plan, not associated with the gift, was to talk while he worked to give the red-haired man something to concentrate on other than the hole in his body.

"I wanted to show you what I made. If you'll let me. I understand if now isn't a good time." He thought about making the last sentence a joke but abandoned the idea abruptly in the middle so he ended it with a sort of little huff that might have been the start of a laugh.

"There," He said as he tucked the end of the bandage into itself neatly, and sitting back on his heels. "That should hold for now."

[Aurin]

Aurin watched Torin work with a critical eye. It wasn't that he didn't believe him; it was just that he was used to fending for himself. He looked after the artists and other employees of the Velvet Cabaret, of course, but Gods forbid anyone attempt to return the favor. But he did manage to finish up without causing undue pain, and he cleansed and numbed things rather well. Even the bandaging was probably neater than he could have managed on himself.

As he listened to Torin talk, he tried to ease up on his unblinking gaze. He could feel its intensity, fueled by pain. While he would occasionally want to scare the kid to keep him from getting too attached, he didn't want to right then. He nodded where appropriate to let him know he was listening, that he understood. He appreciated the distraction almost as much as he appreciated Torin asking no questions. It meant he didn't have to lie. Well, he wouldn't have to lie. He would just simplify the narrative. Change names to protect the guilty, himself included.

While he had never lived the life of a runesmith's apprentice, he knew about watershed moments in a career. He managed something a bit more smile than smirk for once, nodding approval.

When Torin tied off the bandage, he reached out with his hand—opposite his wounded rib—to brush his wheat-colored hair.

"Thanks, kid. You're a real help. Now show me this masterpiece of yours." He paused and let his hand fall to his lap. It had been a long night and he was tired, but he could stay up for this. He rather owed him for the medical help. "Must be good work to win your master's approval. Congratulations on a job well done."

[Torin Kilvin]

Torin lit up, but quieter than he usually did. His smile was still bright, but the intense energy that usually came when Aurin praised or touched him kindly was muted. Not painfully muted, it just felt better to be slower, softer, right then.

Standing up he went to where he'd hung his coat by the door without even noticing he'd done it. Reached into the breast pocket and took out a small bundle, wrapped in what looked like a clean handkerchief. Bringing it over he went down on one knee and unwrapped it with almost reverence. He had made this thing himself, he knew that it was sturdy, much stronger than the pieces looked, yet still, he felt like he was revealing something precious.

He would make many things in his career, had already made many things. This felt different because it was the work of his mind, not merely his hands. When the wrapping was off he held an identical pendant on a chain in each hand. They were matte steel, without shine, and the chains weren't forged, but carved, all of one piece with no breaks. They were long enough to fit over the head of a grown man, but not much longer. The pendants were circles, like large coins with carved edges and intricate detailing all over the front surface. If one looked closely at the carved edges it could be seen that they had once been a single piece that had been cut apart down the center. The backs were simple, except in the center of each there was a small raised circle, about the size of the top of the smallest finger of a young child. The circles were hollow and had intricate detailing all along their tiny surfaces too.

Licking his lips, mouth suddenly gone dry, he wasn't sure if he should explain what they did or wait, let the other man look them over and ask what questions he would. Deciding on sort of the middle, he handed one to Aurin, slipping it into the palm of his hand on the uninjured side.

"They aren't very pretty. I didn't want them to stand out. If you wear them with the runes on the inside it just looks like a disk. It'll stand up to a beating though. You could probably use it to hitch a horse to a cart without it getting a scratch."

He slipped the second one into the same hand after letting Aurin inspect the first for a moment. The two weren't actually identical, they were mirrors of each other, down to the smallest line.

Sitting back on his heels again he waited, loving that Aurin took his time instead of just glancing at them with a compliment.

"I thought about you, when I made them. Or, " He flushed, "I thought of them when we were talking in the dark the first time I was here. Not right then but thinking about that later, it was like a seed in my head. Then, later, when I saw your rune, I guess it connected the idea of you and the magic in my head. I know it's not the same kind of magic. I mean, I don't think it is. It just fit, when I was making the diagram for it. So, thanks. Without you I don't know when I would have come up with something good enough for my first solo."

He had gotten the same level of impression he got off runes on most people, which, admittedly, hadn't been often. He didn't think Aurin's rune was for Transposition. He felt like it would be rude to ask. Glancing up helplessly he could see the rune now, a bit, in the painful way Aurin held his arm away from his side. Looking back to the dark eyes reflexing the firelight he waited, for comments, or questions.

[Aurin]

"They are beautiful, though," he said slowly after due consideration, looking up from them into Torin's expectant eyes. "Not pretty like an ornament, but elegant like a tool." Or a weapon. He murmured something as he looked down again, threading the needle of his rune with a bit of his own aether. They blossomed with an aetheric light in his eyes. That they were magical in nature was immediately apparent, which was no surprise given he knew Torin to be a runeforger and not merely a blacksmith.

As he looked deeper, though, he could see how it was made of tougher stuff than it appeared, or that it had been strengthened, which Torin had admitted as much. It was helpful, he thought, to know what he was looking at, the better to identify it on his own in the future. As for the type of magic imbued, he could not say. It didn't feel like the magics he knew: to see, and to alter what was seen.

Aurin held the little marvels out, offering them back to their maker. When his Vision cast up to Torin, though, he caught the corruscating patterns of his own aura, which he was slowly becoming accustomed to. Perhaps now, if he were bound and his senses muffled, he might still recognize Torin in his mind's eye.

"Like you," he mused aloud, "you could be pretty in an ornamental way, but you're more elegant, like a tool. Someone that creates things that weren't there before. That's beautiful, too. Taking a night spent with a bad man and turning it into your first masterpiece. Well done, kid."

Then, the questions, "What do they do? Will you sell them to start your nest egg or keep them for sentimental value?" The sort of questions a father might ask—practical, challenging—as though he wanted to be sure Torin had thought through everything and would make wise, well-informed decisions with his life and work.

[Torin Kilvin]

Torin beamed at the praise, it was just the sort he wanted, detailed but not flowery. A shiver passed through him as Aurin activated his magic; the boy did not know that it was happening, but his body, his aether reacted instinctively to the movement of the power that close to him. Typically when he felt it he was needed to shape it, or, at least, to be paying enough attention to learn how another was doing so. He remained unaware of Aurin's abilities, generally and currently, but was content to let him observe as much as he wanted.

When he himself was described he flushed from pure pride, joy. If he'd had a tail he would have been knocking the furniture over wagging it. He didn't know about being pretty, but he wanted to be useful, he thought of himself as a tool, sometimes a conduit; hearing it from another, particularly another who he respected, felt like being understood, known.

When the older man moved to give them back Torin only took one, leaving the other.

"I think I want to keep one of them. I thought..." Instead of finishing the thought, he turned the one in his own hand upside down to show the tiny circle.

"If this is touching your skin, while you wear it around your neck, or, it would probably work looped around your arm too?" He thought about this a moment, "I think it would, I'll have to test it. Anyway, if you do and you use the activation word, whoever is wearing the second one, assuming they are wearing it touching their skin, it'll vibrate enough to feel. If the second person feels it and also says the word then it'll open a tiny portal, in the center of each."

He moved the pendant he was holding in the light so it could be seen that the covered hollow of the front when through to the back, creating a tiny cage of sorts. "You can speak through it. Any sound nearby will pass through, and air, of course." Sound wouldn't carry without air. "The range isn't unlimited, I haven't tested that either, but it should be a few miles. They only stay on for a little while, several minutes, and you can only activate them once per day and once per night. You can't activate them at like half an hour before dawn and then right after dawn again either, it has to be a full half-day between."
His tone was more confident as he explained his creation, his product in theory.

"I thought they'd be useful for scouts, so they can explore and report back; or if someone got hurt and they had one they could let someone else know."

He scooted a little closer, unconsciously, gazing up at Aurin, "Or, if you just wanted to talk with someone you didn't get to see very often."

His lip was bitten as soon as he finished the sentence, from nerves or just to make himself stop talking. After a moment of quiet, he went on from the sentence he'd cut off earlier, "I want you to have the other one. You could help me test them, if you wanted to. I'd be grateful, and since you gave me the idea I thought it was right that you should."

He kept the rest of his motivation inside for the moment. The daydreams he'd fostered of being able to report back to his friend, just hear his voice, every day. His decision in this wasn't particularly wise or well informed. It wasn't impulsive, not exactly, it was meant to fill a need that had, of late, been more on his heart than the practicalities of his future.

[Aurin]

Though it took Torin a while to get around to it, once he took just the one, Aurin knew where he was headed. His smile was pleased and always amused. His little pup came bearing gifts now, and useful ones. All the same, he listened to the instructions for use since he knew it was going to be offered to him. When it was, he didn't pretend at surprise, but he held it out again more, insistently.

"Put it on for me?"

Once Torin had accepted it back for a moment, he carefully leaned forward. It was a practical request so he could move less to do it, but it was also an intimate invitation. He wasn't trying to seduce Torin like some blushing maiden he wanted for his bed. He was seducing Torin the way conspiracies swayed the impressionable to their cause. Aurin was the cause, of course, but he would help Torin in the process. The boy needed a bit of direction, a bit of ambition. His master seemed content to teach and utilize his skills, but such a master would have no reason to ever let him go. Not that Aurin would let him go, either, once he was his.

As Torin placed the chain around his neck, his hand came up to clasp the smith's wrist. Hazel eyes came up too, quite close now.

"Thank you, Torin. For the firewood, for the first aid, and for the gift. And your discretion. There's a lot going on in this city—under the surface. Any city, really, with enough people and enough competing desires.

"But I trust you," he said. "I can see your work without one of those special lenses. That's one of my runes—to see. I can see you, too. More of you, anyway, than just with my eyes. You're made of stronger stuff. Like these chains."