Legend of Ransera

Arvælyn removed a slip of paper from his pocket before allowing the servi to help him out of his jacket. He let them take that and his boots, but waved them away as he padded to his big, neatly made, empty bed. He unfolded the note as he turned to sit on the edge of the bed with a sigh. He regarded Finn's handwriting and traced his fingers across the matted surface of the page. The prince still got anxious when Finn went off on his campaigns of the heart or sense of duty. This one was particularly treacherous, as it would span time, space and other dimensions in pursuit of one of Ransera's most powerful sorceresses and whatever allies she'd amassed whilst they were working at other goals.

He lifted the page to his face and perhaps he could smell Finn's faint scent or perhaps he merely wanted to, as if that would suffice for a goodnight kiss and a warm back at his front. He placed the paper on the nightstand, and did the rest of his undressing himself before slipping under the covers and shutting his eyes. Sleep didn't always come quickly to the Prince Regent of the Umbrium, but tonight it was upon him in the matter of a few breaths.

With Finn on his mind as he crossed the threshold from the waking world to the dreaming, it ought to have been Finn who met him on the other side, but it was not. As his head lay in the Umbrium, it rose on a plainer pillow in another place. Sunlight poured through the crack between the curtains, causing him to squint as he rolled onto his other side to retreat from its glare and there, he found Aurin's face. Blinking in surprise he sat up, and he felt lighter... his balance was off. He glanced over his shoulder and no arcing wings loomed behind him. He ran his hand through his hair and no horns obstructed its path.

"Wha-..." He looked around, recognising the place... Aurin's cottage behind the Velvet Cabaret. He looked to his apparent host who, by now, was stirring to look at him strangely. Had he sidestepped into another reality, as Finn had done? A simpler life that followed closer to the path he might have expected, and certainly more aligned with what he sought in younger days. Pangs of old feelings merged with new ones born of the present circumstances. If this wasn't another dimension, it was surely his subconscious pressing issues he neglected to resolve.

Aurin parted his lips to speak.

Arvælyn woke with a bitter ache in his soul. There had been more to the dream, but here and now he couldn't recall the details, only the feelings. Emotions that he'd felt so strongly in another life were back with a vengeance and present circumstances made even the happiest of those memories sting. Young and busy, he rarely had time for nostalgia, but it seemed part of him demanded it when he was in no position to dismiss it. Perhaps it had been Finn's note that put him in mind of the tapestry of Fate and choices made that had the threads of other lives he might have led. Were he and Finn fatalistically bound together in every version of the world? Or were there realities where he'd never met Finn? Where he'd been enough for Aurin? Where he hadn't so jealous a heart and could brook sharing him with another? Even now, having no claim, his choler burned at the thought... at the memory of being undercut. He'd never felt like less, and he'd had far greater cause to. He sighed out a puff of smoke and wafted it away, rising to draw a dressing robe over his slim form.

"Draw me a bath and send for a Traverser."

Some time later, he was in the Plaza of the Jeweled Arches, his Sentinel escort veiled and warded to blend seamlessly into the surroundings without attracting attention. He used Aurin's 'trick' to conceal his wings, horns and fiery eyes and to make himself appear as he had when he'd left this place. He couldn't, or at least didn't, hide the effects of the time and experiences elapsed since he'd been Arry of Kalzasi.

He found his way to the Velvet Cabaret, lowering his eyes at the string of bad memories that assaulted his thoughts as he looked to his former home and place of employment. Dipping his head, and using his Capital Craft to dissuade bystanders from paying him any mind, he slipped around back. He didn't know if Aurin's cottage was still standing, and he certainly didn't expect the human to still be living there, but the dream had made him feel a pull to see what of that reality remained in the present day. If Finn could flit off in search of alternate realities, so too could Arry, after his fashion.

He smiled to see that the structure still stood. If anything, it looked better than it had, though that made his smile more wan. He wondered who lived there now. Part of him wanted to knock on the door and find out. But no, that was a bridge too far. He turned from the cottage and, after taking one step, heard the creak of the door behind him. He glanced over his shoulder...

Aurin would not see the tightening of Arry's lips, due to the angle of his face and the angle of the sunlight above, but he would see a slight widening of eyes of a gold not yet molten.

"No stalker, I..." He protested, a bit more coyly than his usual wont of late, "You'll be happy to know I even refrained from exploiting my 'trick'." It was only then, that he slowly turned his body to face Aurin directly. If Aurin did not exploit his own trick to see through the illusion, Arvælyn would appear as a reverie of his former self. More like the Arry Aurin likely imagined and certainly the version of the half-elf's form with which the impresario was most well acquainted.

"Oh, don't worry about the chill. I churn my own heat, these days, though it still rarely touches my extremities..." He hesitated, before accepting the invitation that had been fair dropped at his feet as the host stalked away. Sighing, he glanced behind him and waved a gesture of dismissal to his furtive guards. They would wait without as their charge stepped through the familiar threshold and, as his eyes adjusted, they darted first to what was new, for that offended the sense of nostalgia that had drawn him here. Reminded him that those memories were just that, never to be recaptured. A pang of something washed over him, and he turned sharply to shut the door behind himself pausing for a minute to process these unwanted emotions while he was still facing away.

"It has been too long since I've paid you a visit. It is strange... Finn doesn't mind such things, but I would if he stopped in to see-..." He winced, before turning back to face Aurin. "Well, do unto others, hm? In which case, I... shouldn't be here, but I am." He crossed his arms or, more to the point, he hugged himself.

"But I didn't come to see you, not really..." His eyes fell to the bed. Not their bed. His jaw set. He'd never had any claim to its predecessor, in truth. It had been Aurin's bed, just as this one was, except that this one had never borne his weight. "I suppose I was feeling nostalgic about scenes and settings once familiar, now..." His gaze rose from the bed to its owner. "...strange."

His sense of smell was better than it had been, now that he’d adopted the attributes of an apex predator. None that showed through his current glamour, but his keen sense of smell only made the sense memory that much sharper as the tea’s bouquet wafted toward him.

“You brewed that for me the morning after I’d had too much fine wine at my first opening night at The Golden Peacock…” He recollected, “You said the cure for good wine was good tea…” He gestured to the empty chair, and it drew back from the table as he approached to claim a seat diagonal to Aurin.

“I had very good wine last night.” He noted as he leaned over the cup that had been poured for him, closing his eyes to take in the smell with more focus. He closed his hand around the bowl of the steaming cup and drew it to his lips for a savouring sampling.

“Ah, straight to business, then. Thank you. In truth I don’t know half the things my mother gets up to. It’s stressful enough to know what I do, and she’s very good about protecting me from things that needn’t concern me. That may sound naïve to you, but it only came with hard earned trust.” He took the scroll and tucked it away as his eyes danced about the room.

“I didn’t think you’d still have this place… or, if you did, I didn’t imagine I’d find you here. I thought it might be a forgotten asset…” He looked from the new rug to the new weapons,

“Or a bedding-down place for some kept creature you collected in your expansive travels.” His gaze found its winding way toward Aurin again, though it didn’t linger on his eyes.

“But here you are, alone. How auspicious for us all…” He crossed his legs and took another sip of tea.

"I don't believe you." Arry replied with a wan smirk. Perhaps part of Aurin wished for that, but like so many things with the human it was compromised or filtered in some fashion. "But it is the sort of thing one is supposed to say." He sipped the tea.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're still savvy enough to change your ciphers more than your addresses." The golden elf sniggered as he placed the cup back down.

Had he been asked pointedly, Arry wouldn't have been able to figure that out himself. If his tongue was sharp, the vitriol was not premeditated. It was opportunistic, rather like this entire encounter... At least so long as one didn't dig too deep beneath the surface of the ostensible motivations, and Arvælyn was not introspective about such things.

He glanced over his shoulder, finding that sliver of sunlight through the curtains that had fallen over his eyes in last night's dream. It was so like that vision that it made it feel less like a dream and more like a memory. Was it possible to relive real moments in dreams? Aurin's question drew him out of his reveries upon reveries.

His eyes widened slightly.

"Oh, I hate that. Hate that. Are you serious, or is that a joke? If that is a real thing, it illustrates why I trust my mother to withhold certain intelligence she's gathered for my own good." He hadn't stopped talking long enough for Aurin to answer, and even now he only paused long enough for his smile to broaden.

"If that is a real thing, I will clear my schedule and you'll escort me to the matinee where we will sit in the shadows of the rearmost box and make catty jokes the whole way through!" His smile faded, "No... no, that's awful, isn't it? I've forgotten what it is to be an actor on a stage... is anyone I know playing the lead?"

"I didn't. Zaichaer didn't really start mass producing refugees until after I'd left..." Arry wrinkled his nose, mildly disapproving. "Don't tell me the cast a human and put him in Elf-ear. There are more than enough actors in Kalzasi with elven backgrounds and the elven eye can spot distinctions between the races beyond just ear shape." But then, perhaps Gerhardt had been the other kind of Zaichaeri refugee from before their Blight. Whatever the case, he supposed he oughtn't begrudge an actor an opportunity if he was worth his salt. Arry himself had come from humble beginnings, even if they'd been manufactured somewhat.

He thought, for a moment, as he stared down at the tea in his cup.

"All right, fuck it. I don't have anything today that can't be rescheduled. I shall leave the Senatus in suspense and indulge this whim." He rose to his feet and stretched his arms over his head as he sauntered to the pantry.

"I haven't broken my fast. Do you keep any food in the house these days or is it still all exotic oils and sex toys in here?" He smirked. He was in jest about the sex toys, but it was true that he didn't remember Aurin keeping the pantry well supplied when he'd been here more often.

"Oh, if I was able to put up with you for as long as I did in the past, what's half a day?" Catching his reflection in a window, Arry was startled to see that he was still holding up the Masquerade he'd worn in public. He'd forgotten he was doing that, and wondered what it suggested that he was maintaining it now that he was in private with one who knew better than most the ruse it represented. Still, he held it up, thinking it would be a strange moment to drop it now, as he opened the pantry and perused the shelves.