Ard Fuil

[Taelian]

45th of Frost, Year 119

"I don't even want to look at it," he said. His palms were pressed against the edge of his drawer, the Siltori standing up and looming before the mirror, with the reflection of Lethiril from behind him clear as day.
"What?" the Dratori asked.
"The letter," he replied. "I can't imagine what he would want to say. I've... basically been keeping my head down for weeks, now. Two magics later, here I am. But in this area -- in all things personal -- nothing has changed."
"Read it, Taelian. You'll sod yourself with anxiety, otherwise."
"I know."

And so he did. The Siltori peeled the edges of the letter with his fingertips, and unsealed it, pulling the parchment from its sleeve and unfurling it before himself. He scanned it with his eyes, which appeared quite unfocused; he spent so much of his mental energy assuming what it would say, that he had a difficult time actually absorbing its contents. Finally, though, he looked to the ink-inscribed letters and was given the simple notice that his sword was ready.

"My... sword?" he asked himself, aloud. "Oh. Right."
"Your sword?" Lethiril raised a brow.
"I forgot that I had commissioned it. It's been... far away from my mind, really. I'm amazed that he even put the effort forward to work on it, and for five weeks at that; the last time we met, I was rather dismissive towards him. Cool, distant, and the closer I came the harsher I raked at what appeared to be his insecurities. It wasn't intentional at first, I just--"
"You told him the truth," said Leth.
"Right," Taelian replied. "But I suppose doing so -- suspecting what I did -- was fairly... novice of me. By approaching him in the manner I did, I confirmed my suspicions; ones that worried me so dearly. I placed a barrier of doubt over my relationship with Riven, even though I want to believe that barrier has not held us back. I began to worry of what would be; would I not be enough? How integral was I, compared to such a permanent companion? Even now, Lethiril, I cannot answer these questions. But they grate on me. I worry."

The Dratori sighed. He stood from the chair in the corner of the room and offered Taelian a pat on the back, even going so far as to hug him. The Siltori accepted, though it was brief before each of them simultaneously pulled away. "You forget yourself, Taelian," he said. "You are a handsome man, like your father was. A talented mage, like Eloise; a man filled with as much love to give as he has stories to tell. And your stories... they are many, and they are wonderful. You are a jewel, my old friend. And one of its kind, at that. You could never so easily be replaced."

He could admit that the words were uplifting. He looked back to the mirror, and examined himself. The subtleties. He had never really been concerned with his appearance before Riven, even though he knew the man would find him attractive no matter what. But still, he wanted to look better. To act better. To hold himself with greater poise, to stand on higher ground and to wield better control over his emotions. He wanted to be a mage to surpass Eloise -- to be worthy of legendary acclaim. He was no longer the young man who had left Sil-Elaine on a rotted, rust-covered train seeking only to fulfill Aldrin's will.

Taelian was beginning to change. He wanted... so much more.

"I'll go and see him," he nodded. "I have nothing to be afraid of. I know that. I'm a better man than I was even a fortnight ago; you have helped me grow. And Eloise. Thank you, Leth."

"It's no issue, Taelian," he softly smiled.

With a smile in return, the man prepared himself for the brief journey to the Skyforge. He left his home, wearing much the same in casual garbs as he often did, his Beacon allowing him to wear little more than a cloth tank-top despite the wintry conditions. He made his way to the Plaza of the Jeweled Arches, ignoring the odd stares that had begun to accumulate as he did. His Rune of Transposition was now open to bear, though he knew that wasn't all of why people stared. It was the clothes -- or, lack thereof. It was, after all, the dead of winter now and a particularly cold day. The Avialae were themselves often under dressed, but others surely wondered if he was attempting to imitate their winged kind.

He found himself at the entrance of the building again. Taelian stared at the entryway sign, with the shop's ground-level storefront betraying its full size. He pushed the door open and stepped through, glancing around as he entered the dimly lit room. Taelian stepped downstairs to the Forge, imagining that Talon might have been there. It was where they had last spoken, though he found himself unmoved by the familiarity.

"Talon?" he called out. "I got your letter. I'm here."

[Talon]

Talon was staring at the carefully made scabbard that he had commissioned to be made from the leather worker. His fingers brushed over the smooth supple material, tracing over the runic lettering that trailed down the interior. The scabbard was heavier than a simple ordinary leather casing. Its interior was lined with lead, the only material that would be able to holster the blade without being sliced to ribbons. Even then, Talon had taken the time to reinforce the structural integrity of the scabbard with just a little tweaking on his runesmithing anvil. He had poured every bit of skill he possessed into the creation of this sword, it was only right that it had an appropriate casing.

He turned his head slightly as he heard the door to his shop open. It would be one of the last times that the door to Skyforge opened for quite some time. The bulk of Talon’s wares had been packed up. The majority of his supplies were being hefted into crates. The items that had lined the walls and shelves were either being wrapped in burlap and twine or placed in specially made cases. He heard footsteps. He knew already who was entering his shop. He’d sent for him and truth be told, Talon was excited to be able to present to him what he considered to be one of the finest works that he’d ever created. As he heard Taelian descend into the softly lit interior of his lower workshop, Talon didn’t turn from studying the sword that was laying across his workbench.

It was only after Taelian spoke his name and stated the obvious that the Avialae turned from his workbench. He was wearing a simple cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The thicker leather pants tucked into heavy boots that were customary in a blacksmith’s workshop were all he adorned himself with. His hair was tied back in its usual ponytail. Only a few strands were out of place. Talon’s grey eyes settled upon Taelian and immediately he opened up his aura sight. Taking in the scope of Taelian’s aura, Talon quirked a brow as he noticed differences from when he’d first beheld it. It didn’t seem as subdued and there was the distinct scent of...something Talon couldn’t quite put a name to. It evoked the sense of far off places. He didn’t linger there however. His assessment took all of a breath to complete before he blinked and let his vision settle once more.

“Welcome back.” Talon rose from the stool where he sat. He grasped the blade, safely tucked into its scabbard. Walking up to Taelian, Talon felt a slew of emotions. There was no anger. He couldn’t hold on to that. There was no jealousy. Talon felt he had made peace with the reality that lay before him. There was some hope that there might be no animosity between the two of them. He was not leaving Riven’s life nor did he want Taelian to. The elf had become integral to his partner and Talon would not see Riven suffer due to his own pig headedness, not anymore. He extended the blade to Taelian, presenting the hilt to him.

“Your sword. It’s my finest work. You won’t find anything like it in all of Ransera.” And that was true. No other blade had been forged exactly like the one presented to Taelian. Certainly there were likely artifacts out there that could mimic it but this blade was distinctly Talon’s just as much as it had been made for Taelian.

[Taelian]

It did not take long for their eyes to meet, nor for the two men to gain full view of one another. Though it was odd for the Nobility, and certainly for a man who was essentially a royal, Talon wore his typically mundane attire. He looked like a grease-subdued commoner, though in some ways Taelian respected the humility he demonstrated in the casual form of his clothes. He had almost, somehow, forgotten what the other man looked like. It had been several weeks, and he had attempted eagerly to scrape all uncomfortable thoughts from his mind. Upon second glance he recalled what he had noted before; Talon was a handsome man, one who looked very unique. He could not deny that many of his features were certainly Siltori, and the Elf recalled all of his many Daravinic friends, halflings like him. In any other circumstance, he would have been glad to see a man like Talon as the heir incumbent of a foreign throne. But somehow, this whole . . . mess with Riven had really set him awry.

He couldn't deny that while the other may have moved on, there was still something in him that felt the petty twinge of what he would have almost described as hate. But it was not that; it was far more shallow. It was an emotion driven by fear, even though he was not the one who had been 'slighted' by all of this. It seemed like none of them had true romantic experiences before the one they were embroiled in, and whether by inexperience or as an aspect of his cynical personality, anxiety and doubt were an ever-present companion. Though they were never as prominent as what he knew to be love; the commonalities of affection shared between he and his arlaed, who he knew would not actually leave him abandoned with such ease. So he questioned, constantly, why it was that he felt like this. His questioning was never more present than now, when he was caught face-to-face with the other man.

Welcome back, Talon said. Taelian wanted to say nothing at first -- but more than picking up the weapon commissioned for him, he wished to make amends. Or even make war. Anything more than this quiet, loathsome discontent.

"Thank you," he simply said, for now. Talon had begun to bear the blade and prepared to present it to him, and so Taelian decided it was best to remain quiet for the moment. He looked upon the scabbard; it was immaculate in quality. Incredible, in fact, like something among the legendary weapons wielded by the Black Revenants. He could almost feel the weight of it from a distance, and before long it was presented wholly by the other man, who offered Taelian the claymore's equally finely crafted hilt.

It was incredible. A long red blade, like a ruby, with a pattern of veins and a gem within which something was meant to be stored. The edges of the blade were like black obsidian, the hilt itself - upon closer inspection - looked like the maw of a dragon. He had only ever seen one for a single glimpse, looming above the Dusk Palisades, staring at the Pyred Bedlam with ire. Somehow the hilt seemed to catch that great beast's full complexion, so finely detailed.

He took a grip of the hilt. Immediately, he felt a sense of overwhelm, as if he were absorbing or somehow connecting to a font of magical power. His Beacon commanded its own touch, and so he offered it; within seconds the blade became Enkindled, and the otherwise transparent Silvain Runes upon the length of the sword began to grow a crimson gold. Now Enkindled, the divisive veins near the hilt glowed with a molten-like appearance, and cracks of amber-gold flame appeared across the length of the weapon, especially upon the hilt, the dragon's brazier-like appearance awe-inspiring.

It was... truly incredible. And it was -- him. In every way, though Talon did not know him, Taelian felt that the blade suited who he was. It was a wondrous thing.

His finest work. Talon truly had put everything into this weapon -- and Taelian could not help but feel grateful. He felt himself warm to him, some. The fact that he had been willing to put so much into a gift for a man who had done him nothing, if not less than nothing, showed a virtue to his character that the Siltori was reluctant to accept. But... he did accept it. He could only admit; Talon was perhaps not so bad a man, as much as he would have craved him to be. So that he could, rightfully, keep a distance. Now... he wasn't so sure.

"It's... incredible, Talon," he finally admitted. "It's like nothing I've ever held. Even the Ashwraiths of the Citadel Gallows don't get weapons like this. I feel honored. Thank you, Lord Novalys," he said, offering a fairly weak but authentic smile. He supposed it was likely that the other man would not appreciate the formality of his title, but... Taelian wanted to be respectful, even if he was poor at demonstrating any form of deference.

"I already have a name for it in mind," he said. "I thought about it on my way here, but now that I've seen it, I believe in the name. Ard Fuil; Our Sword. Yours, mine, Riven's... a symbol of what could be. An olive branch from you to me, and -- me, to you, in return." It would have been enough to say, he thought, but Taelian knew that eventually everything would need to come above ground. He paused for a moment and pondered, evidently hesitant, but before a pace longer than a few drawn out seconds his gaze returned to look softly at the other man's.

"I hope that you do not worry of me as much as I've worried of you. The things I have feared... existential, and very real to my mind. What I failed to mention the last time when we met, was that Riven is the love of my life. One day, I hope to marry him, and call him by my name. Your presence, Talon, has brought me such dread... and I fear that you are not even at fault. But, I have lost many things in my life and if there is one thing I refuse to surrender, it is him. And so--we are where we are. I only hope..."

He frowned, half-grimacing, and lowered his eyes. "...I hope it does not have to be this way. I can't say that everything will be as we want them to be -- but they don't need to be any worse than we can control. I hope we can both at least sympathize with that."

[Talon]

He watched as Taelian reached for the sword. There was a moment of anticipation as Talon saw the elf's fingers wrap around the grip. Everything that the Avialae had worked to complete came down to this moment. And then the blade was drawn cleanly from the scabbard with the practiced ease of a man well acquainted with swordcraft. He observed how Taelian's lean but muscular arm remained steady, denoting his strength and confidence with the sword. As his workshop was filled with the amber gold light of Enkindling mixing with the inherent power in the sword, Talon's mouth slightly parted.

It was one thing to think, theorize and envision what all would occur with his work. It was another thing to actually behold the manifestation of it. His awe was quickly shaken off as Talon opened up his senses. His aura sight beheld a different kind of vision.

"Hold it steady for me." Talon gently guided Taelian's arm so that the claymore was held straight out in front of him. He listened to the words that Taelian shared. First his gratitude and then what came after. Talon let them sink in as he inspected how the magic in Ard Fuil mixed with Taelian's power. Seeing the blending of the two powers brought something distinct to his attention. While this was obviously some manner of fire magic being used by Taelian, it was not Elementalism. He'd seen that used by Riven enough to know the difference. He made a note of it but the difference didn't seem to be interfering with his enchantments. Quite the opposite, the two powers were nearly seamless extensions of each other.

After a few careful passes over with his sight, Talon turned his attention back to Taelian. Gently he urged Taelian to lower his arm.

"If you believe that I would take Riven from you, you do not know Synnekar Avialae." He spoke softly and without malice. There was the softest hint of a smile on his face.

"You are bonded with him. I can feel it. It is a lighter bond than what I share with him but if what you say is true, I doubt that will remain so for long. Unless you choose for it to remain that way." Talon turned from Taelian. He dragged over a mannequin upon which was a breastplate made of well wrought steel.

"My fears were simple, that Riven wouldn't love me now that you are in his life. I've since discarded that silly notion. It is not true. He simply loves me differently than he does you. The bond is sacred. He has accepted you into his which means I'm partially aware of the feelings you two share." Talon grabbed a plain steel longsword and propped it against his work bench. He then turned back to face Taelian, folding his arms over his chest.

"I know many of us look it in form, but Avialae are not just humans with wings. There is a power in us that connects us deeper to each other emotionally and to those we accept into our lives. It is sacred, more so when forged out of love. This power is the whole reason our people went to war, fled Lorien and built a life for ourselves here in Kalzasi. So my hurt was realizing that I would have to pull back from Riven to allow him to fully focus on you. A feat that is contrary to everything the bond urges me to do." Talon sighed and smiled at Taelian.

"The bond would move me to open up to you on the same level you share with Riven. Why? Because my partner, Riven, feels such joy with you. A joy the bond would see grow. So it whispers gently to me to move in ways that bring warmth and comfort to my partner and his Other. Like a living fire, it burns brightly and always works toward bringing those connected by it even closer." Talon shrugged. He didn't know how much of this, if any, Riven had explained. He wouldn't be surprised if the answer was none. Riven was Kathar and while he'd gotten away from Lorien he still wasn't as exposed to the acknowledgement of the bond where Talon had known it his whole life.

"So, cast your fears aside Taelian. It is not mine or the Synnekar way to break up love. We are made stronger by it, in ways that are hard to explain to an outsider." With all of that said, Talon studied the Siltori elf to gauge his reactions. He wasn't sure how much Taelian would understand, if he wanted to at all. The bond was a goddess given gift. It lived and thrived as its people did.

[Taelian]

I'm partially aware of the feelings you two share.

Taelian exhaled, softly; it was the best he could do to restrain the many mixed emotions that swelled within him. He could feel it too -- something, inside of him. A sort of tether that allowed him to catch even the smallest glimpse of what Riven felt for Talon. And behind that more complex understanding... was a fortress of simple affection. An unimaginable bulwark of love and -- perhaps understanding -- that he felt he would never compare with; that he could never compare with, as a condition of who he was. He began to breathe heavily; the weight of those emotions upon his Famished mind were a great deal to bear. And they weren't like the ones he felt Riven have for him; inlaid with that rosy feeling. The love.

No -- these emotions that he could peer into through Talon's flesh were not meant for him. They were for another man. And that, certainly, was a painful shock to bear -- he was quick to do what he could to almost... shut away the Bond, as he did not like to know the extent to which Riven's heart bore out for another.

It pained him to admit, but unlike Talon who was seemingly so content to follow the benign compulsions of the Bond, Taelian did not feel that... innate desire to grow closer to the other man. Perhaps in glimpses; like only moments ago, before he allowed another worry to dig into his thoughts. What he felt instead continued to be fear. Many of Talon's words appeared kind and gentle, but within his words was a truth the man did not overtly try to express: that Talon's bond was even stronger than his. That he was still loved, only differently. That he would still be there; always, even if Taelian and Riven devoted themselves to one another for a lifetime and more.

That he was a permanent fixture, as Taelian had called him before, in Riven's life... and therefore his own. An addition that he had not expected, and certainly had not wanted.

But one that Talon felt -- and perhaps Taelian, too -- was necessary to deal with. If only to not act in a way that brought his arlaed pain.

But--

"No," he whispered. Taelian's eyes cast downwards, though only for a moment, before they peered into Talon's with no hesitation.

"I don't feel that way, Talon. I don't feel that... longing to be nearer to you." He shook his head, slowly, as if the thought perturbed him. "I fell in love with Riven not because of some innate magic, tied to his biology and given to me, but only because of who he was. The man that touched my soul, who peeled away at the shell that hollowed me and filled me with bitterness and doubt. While I know this Bond is powerful, and I am so glad to have been given an even wider array of emotions, I am far from compelled to follow its yearnings."

His eyes narrowed. Taelian's fingertip tapped at his upper leg; he was all nerves. None of this was easy to say.

"Your life," he began again, "...is fundamentally incompatible with mine, Prince. I am a Knight of the Pyred Bedlam; an arbiter of justice for my kin, enshrined for their squalor. This decadence within which you live -- it disgusts me. I do not see the majesty in this place; I see only the filth. Filth more putrid than any of the Sundered waste left to fester across Sil-Elaine; I see the ambitions of the wealthy to acquire more. I see the inaction of the lower class to stand for anything more than the mundaneness of their life. I wish, Talon, to leave this place. And to take Riven with me. To go to Atinaw, to acquire power, to go to Daravin and topple it all; to aide my kind in rising again to their place upon the gilded throne of Elaine Indorin, which the humans so ignorantly dub 'Arlain'. And so, while your Bond appears to wish for you to draw nearer to Riven and I, mine appears to willfully desire to push you further away."

Every feature upon his complexion was utterly intense. The glint within his eyes spoke of one thing, and one alone: a proposition.

"I will be leaving this place soon, and you should join me, Talon. If you want... to explore the potential of friendship and whatever else this Bond may prescribe, then come. You, Riven and I; we can all go south together. Perhaps, away from the symbols of your power, I will learn not to fear you. Only then, Talon. Words alone will never suffice."

[Talon]

“You are right to feel that way, Taelian. You still have your own mind. You have every right to follow it.” Talon smiled. He didn’t expect the Siltori elf to understand fully. Not yet at least. Nor did he want Taelian to feel as though the Bond was something that forced its agenda on anyone. It didn’t. It merely provided a stronger avenue through which those connected by it could grow closer. He stiffened however at Taelian’s description of his home, eyes narrowing as the elf continued describing Kalzasi in such a raw and harsh light.

“You speak so unfairly of a place that seems to have given you so much. Kalzasi is not perfect but it is far from the mire you’re trying to paint it as. Are there flaws? Yes. There are. To say I live decadently is to make me out to be something I very much am not.” He gestured to himself. There was dirt upon his form. His clothing was not grand or regal. There was the remnants of sweat upon his brow and the muscled physique that he had gained was not born of playing at war. Talon was a warrior, one who had fought and bled to protect his people from very real and present danger. Danger that was necessary to sustain the very lifeblood of the city. He inclined his head to Taelian in the direction of the very sword that the elf now carried in his hands.

“Was it not my very mother who guided you to me? Her reasons may have been her own but she welcomed you into Kalzasi. Without hesitation she offered you hospitality. Have I not gifted you with an artifact well beyond what I could have? I did so because I do not want to see you come to harm, Taelian. Yes, you are important and beloved by Riven. Yes, that is part of the motivation by which I forged such a gift, but it is for you that I have made it. Your description of Kalzasi, of everything that it has apparently done for you, and the sacrifices that my people make to keep this city and the outlying areas safe does us a harsh disservice.” Talon was not naive. He knew that there were flaws in the way that Kalzasi functioned. But the picture that Taelian was trying to paint as though it were some festering pit of rotted ambition was so vehemently against everything Talon loved about his homeland, it insulted him down to his core.

“You call me Prince as though it is a vile thing. Instead of spitting on the conditions of my birth, learn by my example. Better yet, if you are so convinced that my home is so repulsive to you and everything you stand for, show me the ways. You are in a position where you could affect change for the better.” Talon shook his head with a very weary sigh. This whole situation was taxing on both his patience and his mind. His head roiled with many thoughts, things he wanted to hurl at the elf for his abrasive words but Talon bit his tongue. He’d said enough. Maybe that would be enough.

“The bond, as you’ve described it, doesn’t work that way Taelian. You are the one who wants to pull away. You have every reason to, it seems. Even if I think you aren’t being fair to me or to my homeland.” When Taelian spoke his offer, Talon listened for a few moments. He was silent. He looked around at his beloved Skyforge. The crates that were being packed up, the materials being placed in containers for safe transportation, everything that was being put away as Talon readied himself for a life elsewhere. Was Talon not leaving? He was. But his reasons for doing so were his own. Besides, while Taelian’s offer was very tempting, Talon disagreed with the reasons behind it. He shook his head.

“No. You do not get to come in here and dictate such terms, Taelian. That is not fair to me. You have convinced yourself that I am something or someone that I am not. I am an Heir to House Novalys. I am a Prince of Kalzasi. Those are things about me but they are not who I am. I am Talon. A blacksmith. A runesmith. A warrior who has bled for his country to protect people. If I were to go with you under these conditions, it would forever be under the pretense that I have to prove something to you. That is no way to live. It would do nothing but poison us against each other.” Talon rubbed his shoulders and looked away from Taelian.

Talon wasn’t entirely sure what to think. It appeared as though the two of them were at an impasse. Talon did not believe that the elf in front of him was being altogether fair in his assessment or his terms. It was up to Taelian to either agree or disagree with that. It wouldn’t change the giving of the sword nor would it stop Talon from explaining its powers if Taelian allowed it, but Talon would not be made out to be something he wasn’t.

[Taelian]

He sighed, when Talon's inevitable backlash came. He... expected it, and some part of that fact was that he knew that he himself was not being logically consistent. His characterization of Kalzasi was... fairly unkind, and Talon was not incorrect in stating that the city had given him much. But there was so much that went into his description, and so much of it, a man like him would never be able to understand. Not even if Taelian showed him; it took a lifetime of true squalor to really understand why one would imagine everywhere else to be so filled with decadence. Of Daravin, and of Atinaw, and of Zaichaer, he had thought the same.

"My description is based on my own perception," he replied. "I am not stating anything so damning as you think. I am not asserting this... supposed truth of mine as the foundation upon which reality lies, Talon. But to me -- based on what I have known, through... everything, the whole world outside of Sil-Elaine is much as I describe." He frowned. The Elven man appeared to be speaking from a place of emotion, of grief and even envy. And he was fine, knowing that. It was a shame to him that Talon took it so personally, and so directly.

"It... sickens me to see so many millions of people living as they do while my people continue to suffer for their sins. It was humans who unleashed the Sundering; humans, and a human Empire. And yet they, and their spawn, are all over... living in prosperity, while my kind continue to act as ornaments within their cities. Or, conversely, they live at the very top of society but refuse to do anything to help their people who die every day, forlorn. I value your mother's deeds in aiding me, but I feel she has lived in embroidered silks and fantastic opulence for far too long. I feel the same of all of my kin who live here -- including me. Because somehow, the moment they taste freedom, all of the heat broiling within them subsides and they grow content to live a normal life. To abandon the hope that we all had for them; that going out into the world, they could find us help. That someone would care."

Taelian lowered his gaze, and slowly began to shake his head. His lips were quivering. The Siltori was beginning to grow . . . somewhat, angered. Not at Talon, though; the initial words had not been directed at him, either. If there was one thing he was disappointed with, it was that Talon decided to perceive anything he had said as a personal affront. It was less directed at him, and more the circumstances within which both of them dwelt.

"There is nothing for me here. That is all. It has nothing to do with you, or the people here. I hope they continue to enjoy their lives. But I cannot participate in the illusion of peace offered here; my home still follows me. Only some days ago, a Dranoch tried to slay me in the night. That is what I mean by decadence -- for a Siltori, and certainly for an Ebon Knight, the world is a warground. I cannot any longer awaken, surrounded by the guise of simplicity. That, to me, is decadence."

He shook his head again. Talon perceived ill intent where there was none. "I called you a Prince neutrally; there was no venom in my tone. It is your title -- it is what you are. I am not one to doubt others for their bloodline; I was born to filth and muck, but my mother was a Sil, just as yours is. Aldrin, a man who I greatly admire, is also a Sil. A Prince can only be determined by how he wields the crown, when it comes to him, Talon. I haven't made any such judgment on who you are."

The other man continued to speak. He was upset. It seemed like everything Taelian said agitated him -- everything. If the Siltori was being completely honest, it was somewhat tiring. This was how a number of people had often replied to him, due to his callous approach to dealing with others. But most of those people did not matter. He never had to manage the complexity of their emotions; their offense, their perceptions, anything of the like. He could tell them to sod off and they would -- or they would try to fight. And he was alright with that.

But this was different. There was no escape. Only miscommunication, or... whatever this was.

"I didn't dictate anything to you," he said, his brows furrowing and drawing nearer to the crease of his eyelids. He looked either annoyed, or confused; or both. "I asked if you would like to come south with me. And that I don't particularly enjoy the differential in our position. That you and I would have a far better chance growing on one another if I did not have to worry that you, or your family, would have me beheaded for supposed infractions. You may feel the privilege to act offended by the idea, but it is a very valid fear for a peasant like me to have. I've seen plenty of Nobles act kind -- until they don't. And by then, it's far too late for conversations like these."

The Siltori did not have any desire to relent. He was here to make amends, but if it meant lying and playing into suspicions and insecurities, then he would not. He came here based upon the will of what he thought to be his conscience, and he would continue to do so.

"Even then, there was no term, and only one request: that you and I, along with Riven, go to Atinaw. That such a journey provides us the opportunity to grow with one another, from a different context; one where I do not need to be interrogated by guards merely to say 'hello' to you or the man I love. If you believe that our societal distance, our hierarchical gap, has had no impact on our relationship... then you are simply wrong. That is all I am saying; it is an observation, not a term, not a condition. A statement of displeasure, again based on my own opinion. Am I not allowed those? Or are you going to willfully attempt to perceive everything I say as if it were venomous or mired with ill-intent?"

He placed the blade upon his back, and sighed. It appeared their meeting had the opportunity to end in far less fruitful terms than he had hoped, but he supposed it was his fault. He had never been skilled in filtering his words, in applying tact based upon who he was speaking with. Talon was, in his view, fairly sensitive. Those two things were not a particularly adept combination.

"I have no ill will towards you, Talon. I appreciate the blade, and your concern for my wellbeing. And the fact that you haven't sent me to the gallows. But -- I am not charismatic. I speak from my volatile, rot-infested pyre. All I meant, by everything I said, is that I am unhappy here. That I will be leaving, and if you wish to come with me, then perhaps we might grow fond of one another. But I do not particularly need that, either. And..." Taelian twisted the corner of his lip. He turned his head, slightly, to face towards the stairs he'd once left before and with such hostility. He felt none of that hostility now.

"...I guess that means that things don't need to go any further than this. I don't hate you, Talon. But that's as benign as I can be. Perhaps we will one day regard one another as friends, but that day does not appear to be today. I think it is best if I go."

And so, yet again, he turned away and began to step towards the Skyforge's exit. Taelian really had nothing more to add -- that was as far as their relationship ever needed to extend, in his mind. At least he knew that, flawed as his efforts were, he had tried his best to make things improve. He'd never been good at that, though; only with Riven. Even then, not always.

"Bye," he said softly, and guided his feet back towards the Plaza.

[Talon]

“Taelian, wait.” Talon stepped forward. He didn’t touch the elf. He wouldn’t violate the man’s personal space as he felt that there was too much tension between them already. There was much that the two of them didn’t know about each other. He knew nothing of the real trauma that the elf professed to have experienced. Talon had his own demons to deal with but he did not know this life of squalor that Taelian spoke of as reality for all of his people in Sil-Elaine. Was it truly that dire?

“You are…” Talon searched for the right words. “...blunt. And from your initial words, I took more affront than perhaps I should have. Kalzasi is important to me. It is a city and way of life that is important to many people.”

Talon sighed. He was perhaps revealing too much but he felt it appropriate to give context to why he felt the way he did so that Taelian might understand.

“I love my people, Taelian. I love my city. Because we are all that’s standing in the way of Zaichaer lording over this whole region. It might seem trivial but if we bowed down to Zaichaer in everything it wanted…” Talon’s gaze cast outward toward the Plaza. “...many lives would change. I don’t think for the better. And to say that our two cities are not friendly toward one another is to put it lightly.”

He straightened and again tried to marshal all of his social skill in order to properly convey what he was feeling. He recognized that there was some element of oil and vinegar to the two of them. Talon was passionate. He was a man who lived following the creed he’d been raised to understand as given to them by the Goddess Naori. The freedom that the Synnekar and by extension, the people of Kalzasi and those who enjoyed his city’s protection, had was something that he realized he’d taken for granted in the context that Taelian provided.

“My people, the Synnekar, were little more than slaves in the Kingdom of Lorien where we came from. Children born of us are taken from their families and put through brutal conditioning to either serve the masters there or be discarded as waste. We fought, died, and traveled to build Kalzasi as a haven for the freedom we now viciously protect. A freedom that is threatened every day by a hungry city-state with ambitions of conquest.” He drew in a deep breath and continued doing his best to implore Taelian to understand.

“You may have used my titles and your words neutrally from your point of view, but the words themselves and how you used them were hard to take that way given the context.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Your proposition may have been open ended but given the circumstance, it felt like an ultimatum. In so many words, it felt as though you were saying I either come with you and Riven and prove I mean you no harm or there will be nothing at all. Nothing except for this apparent unhappiness and confusion.” Talon stepped forward. The feathers of his wings puffed up slightly then settled. It was not out of agitation so much it was out of the difficulty of navigating such a precarious emotional situation. Talon wanted things to work out with Taelian, not just for Riven’s sake. That was not any way to proceed in the situation that the three of them were in. He did not want Taelian to live with a worry that at any moment he would have his head lopped off for a perceived slight. He did not want Riven to live knowing that the two men he cherished most in his life were at odds with one another. More than that however, he did not want the two of them to part ways on such a rough note yet again. Talon had made up his mind that he would do what it takes to work things out with Taelian and at the first sign of their differences it seemed his rancor had come bubbling up. He would have to work on that.

“We both have no ill will toward one another. We both want to...to move forward. As what? That’s for us to decide. But it doesn’t go anywhere if we just walk away from what we are both feeling and what is a miscommunication.” Talon swallowed. He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands as though he were trying to appear non-threatening.

“You meant nothing by what you said, except to express yourself. I understand that, now that you’ve explained why you feel as you do. I don’t agree with everything you’ve said but I do not want your unhappiness, Taelian. Nor your animosity. So, let us take this conversation for what it has been, a learning experience.” He dropped his hands then extended one to Taelian with a small smile.

“Come. Let me at least show you what your sword can do. I don’t want you walking out of here ignorant of all that you now have at your disposal.”

[Taelian]

The other man was kind. He had never been able to find a reason to call him otherwise — they had their moments of tension, disagreement and difficulty (as they did only moments ago), but Taelian was often more irked by his own poor tact than by Talon’s reactions to it. He was fairly patient, and he tried to be understanding. These were qualities so rare in others, but when they presented themselves, he could not help to admire them. But that… was a part of the problem. Ultimately, that was what it all came down to; the fact that the man who had such power to take from him was one so difficult to despise or reasonably act against, it was difficult to swallow.

As Talon explained everything, he felt that he understood. His offense was for… a solid set of reasons. Taelian loved his own homeland, even though it was rife with endless problems that festered to the core of his society. Even though that same homeland needed to be torn down and rebuilt.

But… that was all irrelevant now. Talon was willing to move forward, and Taelian had little desire to carry on a worthless debate. He came here to extend an olive branch himself, and he would be a fool to deny it now.

The Elven man sighed. A significant part of him still did not wish to accept the other man's hand -- taking it offered Talon a sort of... legitimacy within his life. The Elf realized his hesitation was largely drawn from monolithic greed; the desire to be the most important man to Riven, who he so dearly loved. But whether that was Talon, or him, the truth was not determined by his validation or distaste for it. Talon would be important to his arlaed regardless of what he did, and so by extension, Talon was important to him.

Taelian closed his eyes, for a moment. He allowed himself to calm. All of the negative emotions he had allowed to compound needed to be expunged; everything that made him so willfully antagonistic towards the other man, even without his intention. Perhaps it was unrealistic to consider withholding disdain to be such a grandiose commitment, but Taelian felt the pressure of a burgeoning weight between where his mind was now and the place it would need to be in order to take Talon's hand.

Even though he'd come here to supposedly make amends. Even though he wanted to, or claimed he did; even though not making amends would only make things considerably worse, and he would only be more miserable.

He nearly scowled. In some miserable, loathsome way, this handshake was accepting to his own heart that he would never be the sole eye of Riven's affections. And that was all he wanted to be. It wasn't about Talon; it was about him.

"Fine," he responded. The color seemed to almost drain from his face. He felt sick, and worried, because he knew... he could feel the intensity of Riven's emotions for Talon, and even a small glimpse was enough to understand. He wanted to go south -- but he felt that Riven wouldn't so easily come if Talon wasn't also there. An obstacle of a man... an obstacle, indeed. He frowned.

And took the hand. It was warm, he supposed; Avialae scarcely appeared to be cold. But that did not matter.

"Tell me what the blade can do, Talon. After that... I need to rest. This has been -- quite a lot, for me. There is much on my mind."

[Talon]

For a moment, Talon thought that Taelian would deny his offered hand. The elf seemed to be having some sort of internal conflict. Talon could just make out the edges of it in the wisps of Taelian’s aura. Whatever was going on in the other man’s head, it seemed to be quite a battle. He worried that the two of them would fall back to square one if this opportunity to make some form of amends passed them by. And then Taelian took his hand. Talon shook it loosely at first but then firmed his grasp. He smiled and there was hope in his smile. He felt a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding, bleed out of him. It eased in his shoulders. His wings settled more comfortably and the two of them could move past the convoluted discussion that had so weighed on them both.

“I will try not to keep you.” Guiding Taelian back into his shop, Talon brought them to the mannequin upon which the steel breastplate rested. Talon grabbed the ordinary longsword by his workbench.

“I collected all of the reagents to forge Ard Fuil, myself. It took time but it was worth it, I feel.” There was a mark of pride in Talon’s voice. He was well aware of his abilities as a runesmith. He was one of the most skilled and capable enchanters in all of Kalzasi, surpassed only by a smattering of others. Bringing up the longsword in his hand, Talon swung it with the practiced ease of a learned swordsman. He brought the edge up against the steel of the breastplate knowing full well that it would do nothing but leave a scratch in the armor. Sparks flew briefly where the edge of the sword met the metal of the armor.

“The sword I hold is ordinary steel. The breastplate that I just struck is one that I have reinforced with a basic enchantment to make the metal more resilient though not by much.” Talon turned to face Taelian and beamed. He pointed at the blade sheathed across the elf’s back.

“Ard Fuil was forged from reinforced steel and silver. It was enhanced using the bones of an earth elemental and its metal is bound together using my own kinetic magic. The blade is nigh unbreakable. Only a stronger artifact has any hope of competing against its strength and those are few and far between.” He stepped aside gesturing to the mannequin.

“Break the breastplate. I think you’ll find it will be easier than you think.” Talon would be the first to admit that he was eager to see what the sword could do in the hands of a skilled bladesman. From the way Taelian held the sword and how he had handled it so easily, Talon knew that he wouldn’t be disappointed.