6th of Frost, Year 119
Eikaeus
Eikaeus
That night - after their time together at the Stone Crown - the two of them lingered for a while upon the edge of the stone balcony crafted by the exterior of the cave. They let the chilled air dance between them, though even with the Beacon's warmth Taelian found the touch of frost upon his wet skin to be disarming at times. He made sure to dry himself not long after rising from the springs, and after a little while longer of talking, Riven offered to take him home. He accepted, and towards his wooden hovel they zipped across the night sky. It was exhilarating, and terrifying, and something he wished to do again. And he did - once more, at least, two nights after.
The third, fourth and fifth had all been spent with the near constant frequency of proximity. The two men were within feet of each other for what felt like all but moments of each day, though in reality they often separated to perform their tasks and duties. One thing he liked was that a lot of Riven's time was spent out in the field, independently; this allowed Taelian to tag along if he wished, and the same went for him with his own profession. Unfortunately, the Ebon Knight found no prey for them to hunt together, though he wasn't sure if Riven really wanted to fight a Dranoch by his side. He hadn't, perhaps, made it clear enough just what he was doing.
They talked a lot, and stayed silent a lot. Most of the time, when they spoke, it was about random things of little importance. Hobbies, stories of old things that no longer mattered. Taelian talked a little about Aldrin and the Black Remedy, and he even told the man the unbelievable tale of his hunt for Lady Glairen, a story that he still felt would be remembered in the books... if the Black Remedy won. Riven told him some about his profession, the things he was researching. Taelian feigned interest in most things, though they resonated with near perfect symmetry when it came to their interest in the people around them and how the world continued to transpire.
One thing he was glad to know was that the other had also traveled through Daravin at one point, though they spoke little on it aside from the surface. Considering it was the Elven homeland, Taelian felt strongly over it -- very much so. But he did not know how to word his feelings with any solid rationale. Most of his thoughts, if truly expressed, would sound more like racially charged rants demeaning humans; he supposed he still had the ignorance of his people at heart. Though as his eyes opened, these things began to change.
They trained together for a time, sparring with blades a ways away from the city. They continued to chatter about after they did, and occasionally kiss and with a variance of passion and duration. They were distracted often, though the helping hand generally made up for it.
On the night of the fifth, as they prepared to part ways with their traditional evening kiss goodnight, Taelian posed that they meet the following evening for a date, without seeing one another from 'now' until 'then'. His reasoning was his desire to make their relationship - which they both appeared to understand it as, now - more publicly open, rather than sticking to the backwoods and hilltops and occasionally the tatami mats of Taelian's humble abode.
He wanted them to be seen together. He wanted it to be known: that Riven and he meant something. It was a juvenile wish, conjured by youthful images of what seemed normal and right, but the other man did not seem to explicitly mind the idea. They agreed to meet, and the two of them together determined a place: one suitable for a first true date, a hole-in-the-wall inn known as the Gemling's Grin. It was an odd name, and one could only expect a gaudily decorated brothel in envisioning it. As Taelian had seen before, however, it was a charming place with an attractively foreign red-brick exterior and an interior of dark brown leather, mahogany wood and exceptional drinks.
The two of them set a time. Twenty hours in the evening, once the sun had long since set. Taelian prepared himself for the date, getting together the best outfit he possibly could, though he only borrowed it from another Siltori who had been stationed as a liaison of the Remedy. The outfit included a loose, silk-like white shirt that bore open much of his chest down to his lower abdomen, parted at the collar. It was short sleeve but he wore a silvery, somewhat shimmering jacket over it, quilted with the same sleek material. His pants were simple grey slacks with loafers at his feet, no socks or long pantaloons concealing his ankles. Taelian looked fairly industrial in appearance -- like a man from Lorien would. It wasn't intentional, but he found his outfit attractive, and to top it all off he carefully combed back his silver-blond hair to display some level of sophistication.
His ivory eyes, reflecting in the mirror, ran all over his body. He felt... confident. Really.
The Siltori moved throughout the city, though the inn wasn't very far from his home. It wasn't an incredibly classy establishment, and mostly served as a hub for foreigners who were not used to Kalzasi's uniquely distinctive culture, preferring the spirits and familiarity of home. Taelian was among those people, and once he came upon the inn he smiled faintly as the comforts of old already smoothed through his nostrils; their scent. The food, the drinks, even the charcoal scent of the fire. It was nice.
He waited for Riven to arrive. The Knight would've complained of the man's lateness, but in truth it was just that Taelian was very early. He was so excited to see him, he could wait no more.
