Dropping By, ii. [Arvalyn, Lyra, Torin]

[Finn]

...continued from Dropping By.

Ale'Ephirum, Plaza of the Jeweled Arches
52nd of Ash, Year 121

The trek from the Low-City to the Plaza of Jeweled Arches was a bit of a blur. Even with the gentle gait of the mare, he couldn't relax his posture or the pain would intensify. He couldn't lean back into Arry or the pain would intensify. Of course, the Mesmer was trying to distract his symphony from painful jangles to pleasant memories and it did help, but he was also fighting it somewhat. Things were wrong. Torin was in pain; first, channeled from Finn to Torin through Arry's strange new mastery; then, channeled directly from Arry to the poor smith.

He didn't understand Arry's anger or his violence until it suddenly settled in. Pieces of the puzzle came from Arry's narrative and from Torin's, but nobody had told him enough to put everything together until now. Torin must be the dastardly fellow who had co-opted the affections of Arry's red-headed friend from the Velvet Cabaret. He didn't know Torin well, and the man hadn't made any passes at him, but Arry had also spoken to him at length about his jealousy issues, and so he had some idea what might have happened, though of course, he hadn't been there.

But as they arrived at Ale'Ephirum, he came to. Torin looked quite unlike himself, wrapped up in his own thoughts, and Arry startled as though he had been sleeping.

Arry snapped an order and Torin took him bodily out of the saddle. He didn't fight it; fighting would hurt more.

"Please stop hurting him," he begged, a mournful oboe lowing in his symphony. "He's my friend. He didn't hurt me." He thought he might disrupt what Arry was doing, but that could cause damage to Torin's psyche and he couldn't imagine Arry not acceding to his wishes. But he didn't like this sadism he heard resonating through his rune, nor the masochism he heard from Torin. At least, if he was hearing them correctly through his own pain that was only deflected by Arry's distractions.

"I'm sorry, Torin."

The man had done nothing but come to his aid and now he was suffering because of Finn, which hurt in an entirely different way. Last night had been awful; today was worse.

But then Torin was carrying him toward the door. He didn't know if Lyra would be at the front desk, but if she wasn't, the others knew him and would surely see them directly down into Lyra's workshop.

[Arvælyn]

"As you wish." Arvalyn withdrew from Torin's symphony in an abrupt sforzando- as sudden as the spears had launched to tyrannise Torin's tones in the first place. Despite the coolness of his verbal reply, the only coolness he projected into Finn was balming. With his full aetheric attentions upon the minstrel, he was able to soothe him to a greater point of relief- numbing the wounds and relieving the worries.

A sudden tinge of sharpness pierced from Arry's symphony to Finn's, as he bade:

"Do not apologise for me." There was an intensity to the instruction beyond that which he'd learnt from Finn when they'd practised exploiting his chest voice for a more commanding sound. His voice and aether softened as he added, "You do not understand." And he left it at that for the moment, stepping aside to make way for Torin (Which was becoming more of a habit than he'd have liked.)

He followed the other two into the Ale'Ephirum, glancing sharply about. He knew of it and of its proprietress from Finn's anecdotes. He'd gathered from the minstrel that Lyra was a potent Mesmer in her own right. For that reason he'd likely have dropped his influence upon Torin of his own accord ere setting foot in her shoppe. That would have been no way to make the acquaintance of such a one- Too little context.

He sighed, and focused his energies on easing Finn's path into the shoppe and wherever he was conducted within. As he projected respite into Finn, a needling began to prickle his nerves as he realised there would be consequences for what he'd just done to Torin. He mouthed a Mythrasi curse, as it occurred to him that this would, not only complicate things with Finn, but would likely get back to Aurin as well. The two stars in whose orbit Arvalyn shone would both be knocked off axis, unless...

Arry arched an eyebrow, and began to quietly hum a mollifying melody that sounded in his symphony as well as his voice.

[Torin Kilvin]

The smith did not understand the conversation passing between Finn and Arvalyn, he simply tried to minimize the pain when he could do it while also minimizing the additional damage moving his injured friend would do.

"It's alright." He managed, though his tone sounded anything but, "You don't need to apologize. You aren't hurting me, Finn. You aren't doing anything wrong."

Simple sentences were best with badly injured people. They were also about all he could manage. Torin did not understand why seeing Finn in the state he was had broken open his own memories but, in a way, it made sense. He had been beaten badly, his mother had, his master had died a violent death. The fact that he almost never thought about these things anymore wasn't something to be proud of. How dare he forget? Shame filled in the little parts of his mind not already overfull with hurting.

His body had stopped hurting in echo of Finn's, which was no kind of relief. None of that made sense, but whatever really had to the village boy? The steady growing of pain stopped abruptly, but what was there already did not dissipate.

The man in his arms flinched, as Arvalyn spoke again. Some of the internal damage must be paining him. Torin was useless here, except as a beast to carry the weight, and it seemed he wasn't even doing that with enough care.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, "I'll be more careful."

Pushing into the shop with his back to avoid bumping Finn into anything he called out to whoever was tending the shop,

"Hello? We need help. Is Mistress Lyra in? She is needed. Tell her Finn is badly hurt, please, quickly." Despite the urgency, the words implied his voice was still empty, still not loud or agitated, it sounded weighted.

[Lyra]

A woman with dark skin and blue patterned robes sat behind the desk. When she heard the door open she looked up and smiled, but the welcoming expression quickly faded as she stood at the sight that walked through the doors of Ale'Epherium. At first, she looked confused, but concern changed to understanding as she saw who it was that was being carried. They had not worked together often, but Emma had seen Finn enough times to know his connections with Lyra. Wordlessly she shuffled off with a limp to disappear beyond a door partway down the hall, but returned quickly with a frowning Lyra at her heel.

"Be'lafel, I had not expected..." her words trailed off as she slowed to a stop several paces from the three men that stood in her shop. Lyra's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed as she saw the arm Finn cradled near his chest. Around her neck Artur raised his head to stare at the group as well, his tongue flicking at Arvalyn and Torin in turn.

"Tell Remus to unlock the back room." Lyra said, not looking at Emma, "Have him prepare droughts of bitterweed and thistle branch, the one from the strain with blue petals. He will know what to do from there."

"Alright." Emma nodded and then turned to disappear into the workshop once more.

Lyra's eyes washed over the three, pausing on Torin as she tiled her head, listening to their symphonies for several seconds before waving a hand at Arvalyn, "Enough of your meddling child. I will take over from here." Her eyes glanced at Torin again as she approached, but she did not remark further.

When she was within arm's length Lyra would reach out, eyes cold but her touch was soft as she brushed the hair back from Finn's features to examine the swollen eye and cut lip. She did not linger here, however, and quickly moved down to touch the wrist of his injured hand. She brushed the edge of one swelling knuckle with a nail before pulling back with a deepening frown.

"You two." her voice was ice as she directed her words at Torin and Arvalyn, "What happened to him?"

Leaning close Lyra breathed out, a thin line of black smoke flowing into nose and mouth, whichever was exposed or accessible on Finn. She placed a simple melody in it. A dampening tone, pure and sweet but soft as feather down against his fragile nerves. The melody played on an eternal loop, muting all sensations while Lyra focused on examining the outer fringes of Finn's mind. Her probing was gentle as well, though her whisper would keep Finn from overly caring about her prodding. She would wait in silence while Torin or Arvalyn explained what they could if they knew anything at all.


Lyra's Appearance

[Finn]

For as wary as Finn had been of Lyra when he first met her, the mere presence of the woman now was so soothing that her magic only augmented this and Arry's own attempts to soothe him. Emma was a known quantity; even Artur no longer raised an atavistic reaction along his spine. He still hurt, but it didn't bother him. He knew it should; he knew he should be bothered by what Arry had done, how he had reacted to Torin's presence. There was a certain clarity to all this, but he didn't think too much on the future. It would happen or not happen as it would and he would be or not be.

A niggling part of him knew all this was wrong too. He ceased to care about his own injuries, which could lead to their worsening. He didn't care about his career, his lover, his friend. In fact, he found himself leaning his head against Torin's shoulder, his body weary from poor sleep and so many resources being poured into its own repair. But aspects of the previous night's experience played out before him like the allegory of the cave, responding to her superior mastery of Mesmer.

He wondered if he would ever achieve her skill. He wondered how Arry had become so powerful so quickly. As long as Finn had known him, the half-elf had been stronger, but lacking the fine control that Finn had learned in secret from Zef Mirlind. Now even his edge in practice and practical knowledge was so far outstripped by sheer power that it seemed a miracle. He wondered if Arry was keeping things from him. He didn't care, though he knew that was wrong.

Instead of retreating from the trauma, he recalled his performance from the previous night and thought critically about how it might be improved in the future. He did have a song to finish for the Shinsei, after all. It was unimportant now, but it was something to pass the time. He didn't even react to the memories that followed—the sudden awareness of danger; the beating; the loss of his instrument; the ruin of his hand.

Lyra would take care of things in one way or another.

[Arvælyn]

Arry's eyes snapped to Lyra as she made her entrance and barked her orders. He registered the command hurled at him belatedly, focused as he was upon relieving Finn. When he did process the instruction, he narrowed his eyes at the characterisation of 'meddling', but he obliged nevertheless. The vanguard of his symphony that had been harmonising with Finn's cautiously withdrew in a gentle decrescendo- It was not the jolting button with which he'd concluded the discord sent into Torin's, but rather an easing away. As the energies receded and his rune dimmed, he let out a slow sigh. Something had changed within him and he'd been too busy practising his Craft to process it. He shook off the notions and concerns, to focus instead upon Finn.

When Lyra's sharp tones were shot at him once more, he blinked.

"I..." He flushed immediately, "I don't know. Torin was tending to him when I arrived on the scene and since then I've been about the work of assuaging the pain- too focused on that to inquire after its origins." He knew he should know. He ought to have asked Torin what he knew, but even now the thought of asking Torin for help made his blood boil.

"He is... my beloved. Please tell me that you can help him..." With his mind free enough to focus upon the situation at hand since the first time since he'd walked in to find Finn in this state, he recognised the gravity of all this. What if Finn were hemorrhaging with some fatal wound... what if he would be lost to Arry forever? His golden eyes glistened as he began to quiver. He quickly braced himself against a table, as his knees threatened to buckle. Now weeping, he steeled himself with resolve and straightened his spine, looking Lyra firmly in the eye.

"Is there aught I can do?"

[Torin Kilvin]

As the mistress of the business appeared Torin did his best to simply stand as still as he could, the better to support Finn without jostling him. His symphony, though he could not hear it, was akin to a country ravaged by long war. It was as if, after many battles, peace had come and the land had begun to heal only to be suddenly ripped apart again. All the old hostilities and damage swirling back to the surface in an instant to wreak havoc in his psyche.

Outwardly he was silent and still, wide arms and chest forming as close to a cradling posture as he could without adding to the pain his friend endured. To one who was familiar with such things, he looked like a man in shock, or battle fatigue, eyes glassy. While he bore no outward sign of damage, he was a broken thing; a toy pulled apart by an angry child with no other outlet for their rage.

When the question was asked his eyes cleared a little and focused on the raven-haired woman who was, blessedly, taking control of the situation.

"He told me he was playing at a party last night and was attacked on his way home. He had no weapons, since they weren't allowed at the gathering, and it doesn't seem like the ones who did this had any either. I don't know how many but they beat him until he fell and kicked him on the ground." Finn hadn't told him all of that, but Torin's washing and inspection of the wounds had told their own story.

"There are broken ribs for sure, and his hand, I don't know enough to tell if he's concussed but his scalp is split. I cleaned off as much of the blood as I could, but there was a lot, and more on the floor. I gave him water, only water. I was worried that the dehydration might do more damage."

His mouth stayed open for a moment as if he might say more before snapping shut abruptly. The truth was he didn't know anything more; he suspected some other things about the injuries but Lyra was a healer, and a blacksmith's clumsy guesses would not help her.

[Lyra]

She wasn't a healer. At best Lyra considered herself an expert in direction, in the creation of her living dolls. Her eyes narrowed and Lyra shook her head at his condition and the words Torin spoke. Broken ribs were of no concern, and a concussed mind would be easily seen and corrected given time with her magic. As her eyes trailed to the mangled hand though the woman's lips tightened.

His skin was slightly feverish beneath her fingers, something that was noted with a 'tsk' before the hand was removed.

"Follow." a crooked finger beckoned the three to accompany her into the connecting workshop, but Lyra did not turn back. The next room had its walls lined with shelves and long tables filled with inks and paper of varying types and qualities. Large dragonshards sat on metal pedestals along the right wall, and before them, a woman with red hair stood with her hands neatly folded in front of her. As they entered she quickly shuffled out of the way, making room for them to walk around the large table that took up the majority of the space in the workshop.

Lyra lead them around the table and to a door at the very back that was difficult to look at for all save Arvalyn. The glyphs carved along the edges of the doorframe made the eyes and mind wander, and the harder one tried the more difficult it was to remember there was a door there at all. When she opened the door the spell was broken, and she walked them down a long set of dark steps and out into another space below.

Greenery filled the open lab, plants, and herbs of various types cluttering shelves and in the corners of the room. Sharp earthy scents filled the lab, and soft warm light came from ensconced lighting in the ceiling.

"Lyra, I have prepared the potions as you asked." an older Hytori man said from the other side of a long table at the center of the large room. He was nearly hidden behind the tall glassware sets that covered the table from one end to the other. Liquids bubbled in different shades of green and blue as they were piped through tubing, and some gave off a fragrant fog that spilled out onto the table.

Taking the vial that was handed to her Lyra turned to pass it back to either Torin or Arvalyn, whichever would accept it.

"Have him drink this. It will put him to sleep." She looked to Remus, who now stood with hands-on-hips, looking at the scene curiously, "Tend the shop. I do not know how long this will take."

With some hesitancy, the old man nodded and turned with a flourish of his red robes. Lyra watched the man go, staring at the steps until she heard the sound of the door above closing with a soft click. With a snap of her fingers, a door made of dark wood opened in the back wall of the lab, leading to a room that was stark white. Inside the lights were brighter, and there were 2 large stone slabs covered in scrivening marks, one on either side of the room. Marbled stone pedestals lined the walls and divided the room in two, all with their own unique scripts on their surface. Shelves were lined with books and scrolls, though their bindings were old and cracked. Dark stains dotted the floor near large drains set into the floor. On counters on the back wall were instruments that glittered metallic in the light. Blades, knives, and other piercing and cutting utensils.

"Lay him on the table." Lyra said, undoing the ties of her fine robes and letting them fall to the floor. She wore simple trousers and shirt beneath, but quickly took an off-white robe from inside the room and donned it as she walked into the room. The front was stained brown, despite the robes being clean.

"Have you used a lorestone before Arvalyn." She asked without looking up from where she was collecting various tools onto a tray. The name had come from the memories that trailed through Finn's mind when she examined them i the room above.

[Finn]

The back rooms of Ale'Ephirum weren't strange to him any longer; at least, he was somewhat familiar with them by now even if he hadn't the faintest idea what anything was for. His mind was filled with shoulds now. He knew he should still be concerned about Torin, he should be explaining things to Arry and to Lyra, and he should be worried about himself, but Lyra had seen to it that he wasn't. Arry was here, he was physically safe in Torin's care, and Lyra would see to his future ability to play. He thought that she might be a little bit invested in him bringing the Leh'anafel back into the world, after all.

"It was at the chapterhouse of the Order of Reconciliation," he informed them, sort of sing-song. "The party. I was attacked on my way home. I want to say it was them... that they didn't like my songs... too political... but I have no proof so it doesn't matter. Hm..."

He glanced at Remus, pondering his red robes. "Remus, do you know Zef Mirlind?" But he only glanced at Finn before Lyra ordered him back out to the shop. Her vial made it to him; at least, one of them held it for him to drink. He didn't fight it. He saw no reason. Yawning, he noted that his jaw hurt, though no worse than anything else. "Ow. Hm. A nap would be lovely..."

But he was still awake when they entered the white room. He knew he should be nervous here, as well, surrounded by sharp things and Lyra with her work robe stained with something that might just have been bloodstains.

"You're strong," he noted as Torin gingerly set him down on the slab. "Makes sense. I'm sorry about all this. You're a good man. Arry doesn't have faith in me. It's probably my fault. I'll figure it out and he won't be jealous anymore. Am I supposed to hear a buzzing...?"

But as his head moved to track Lyra, he found he didn't have much control over it and it lolled to the side. His blood was buzzing in his veins, perhaps. It was the oddest thing.

His vision narrowed and he could hear them speaking around him for a little while before that too was swallowed by the abyss.

[Arvælyn]

Arry obliged Lyra's instructions with utter deference. Finn's talk of this woman had left its mark and the young Elf was markedly intimidated by her. She had been invoked when Finn spoke admiringly of the 'Leh'anafel'. She had been the one who told him of them, as he'd mentioned on more than one occasion. Of the people in Finn's life he had yet to meet, Lyra was second only to Talon in intimidating him.

He snatched the proffered vial before Torin had a chance, and took a few steps closer to Finn to tip it against his parted lips.

"Drink." He whispered, placing a light, possessive kiss against his cheek. When the vial was emptied, he stepped aside to get out of the way. When Lyra instructed them to move Finn to the table, he just looked sharply to Torin and gestured for him to obey. His eyes darted to Lyra as he invoked his name.

"You know who I am?" He tilted his head, but then shook off his distractedness. "Sorry, no... No, I haven't." The sound of Finn's voice drew his gaze toward the table where Torin was laying him down. His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. First he seemed to be flirting and then, once more, he waxed apologetic on Arry's behalf. He did not regret what he'd done to Torin, he only regretted that it might complicate his relationships with both Finn and Aurin. He would mitigate the former by clouding the memory of his involvement, much in the way Lyra had manipulated the door with her glyphs. He would eclipse the incident in a nebulous swamp so the confounding human would remember the feelings but be rendered unable to focus upon their origins. But that wouldn't help with Finn. If the gods were kind, the minstrel's memory would be similarly clouded by the shock of the whole incident.

Still, Finn's words angered him. He told himself it was just the potion giddying his mind, but that did nothing to quell the rage that churned like magma in his bowels. The rune at his wrist was alight again, though he was present enough not employ it just then.

Instead, through clenched teeth, he muttered:

"Hush, Finn. Hush and rest so Lyra can be about her work." He looked to the woman, "Is there aught I can do to help?"