35th of Ash, Year 118
Liam de Neime. Beloved of Valran Renfier de Neime; husband of this house. Liam was an Elf, one who appeared to originally be from Sil-Elaine, like Taelian. Of course, this naturally made the Siltori intrigued by the presence of his peer, who he thought may have carried mutual understanding with him. Who, perhaps, knew of Silfanore well and could relate his experiences to Daravin, with a unique perspective forged from time. Unfortunately, whether or not Liam truly was from Sil-Elaine or not, he was inconsolable at the presence of Taelian and would not let the other Siltori even near him.
Envy was the source, of course. He was thrown into a jealous rage at what he believed to be the coming of his replacement; another Siltori around his age, but apparently, more attractive. Skilled a warrior, with the masculine charm of an Ebon Knight. There were things to fear from him -- the end, most of all. But Taelian wasn't interested in Renfier, so it did not matter.
Where did all of this even stem from, he wondered? Was it affection, or was it purely transactional? Did Liam actually love Renfier or did he love the opulence -- the starting of his fashion line, the dwelling in the home of an esteemed Valran, the ascending to the upper echelons of a society not mired by filth and ruin? He supposed he could have loved him and also loved his rise in station; it was possible to do both. Renfier was a good man -- a handsome and charming man. If Taelian was capable of feeling, really, at all... surely he would have considered feeling something for him.
But fortunately for Liam de Neime, those feelings would not come. And so he was jumping at shadows, violently.
It wasn't just Liam, either. Leliana had given Taelian several cross looks; spiteful, almost. The household was too large to expand, for them to consider new... acquisitions.
"I am mended, Taelian," the Halamire stated. He was no longer wearing his armor, instead bearing the eminence of a satin black tunic with golden embroidery; it was effectively identical to his armor in coloration, though it ran not far above his knees and, short-sleeved, revealed the Knight's definition. He was fairly burly, though not unattractively so. It was the likeness of a soldier, one who held value in strength over mobility.
"I'm glad," the Elf replied. He was, sort of. Taelian did not particularly care for most people, but Renfier had been undoubtedly good to him. It was impossible not to grow some form of attachment to the man that had saved his life.
"Come," Renfier called. "Let's spar in the courtyard. I want to see your skill with a blade."
"...Alright," Taelian flatly replied. He did not see the purpose of such a thing, but he supposed it couldn't hurt to see what sort of style the Halamire employed. It could prove useful in... later battles, in less generous portions of the Empire.
