• Open • [The Gleam] My Rose

[Varthakh]

15th of Ashan 719

Following the disaster at the Shanty, or so the common people called it, Fridgar had elected to travel in his Willow Redbear form. He walked on all fours with a small gait, standing twelve feet tall and stretching perhaps twice as long. His fur, which was a matted mess of amber, did little to make him look any smaller and instead bestowed an illusion that he were far more bulky than he truthfully was. Atypical to another member of his species, his claws reached far further than normal from his paws and appeared much sharper. The same was true for his teeth, which curled and extended to a more vicious, savage visage. Beneath his fur, along his back, branches of colorful, vivid tattoos stretched and sprawled across his dark skin; the brand of becoming. Along his underbelly, a web of brilliant, blue lightning extended from either end of his torso; the mark of palenon. Both were concealed by the dense forest of matted red fur, but could be discovered if anyone would happen to brush and part the fur. In his mouth, he carried a large leather bag. It didn't inhibit his talking as he'd permanently echoed the Lothar totem's speech.

The sun burned its last few bits of amber light on the streets of the gleam; which appeared to be the spoiled rich kid's part of Quacia. Finely-cut brick roads rolled on for as far as he could see before the distant mist blocked his vision. The houses all around him were made of similar bricks which reached so close to the sky that they might as well have broken the clouds. All around him, the image of their even, unnatural structures closed him in and stole his view of the horizon. Even the wind was different here, carrying a foreboding air of rot and decay. The lack of green here made the very feel artificial and undesirable, especially not to a bear of his tastes... But still, Alistair apparently lived here now. Why anyone would give up their beautiful, lush green home in Gauthrel for a prison block in a fake, bleak land like this one, he couldn't understand. Bellator, who walked as fast as he could at Fridgar's side, didn't seem to mind the steady flow of the buildings.

The young Lothar's wide eyes scanned the streets, taking in every detail he could while they walked. Instead of disgust, like Fridgar might have expected to see on the young Lothar's face, he was more... intrigued, awestruck by the lay of the land. Fridgar turned his massive head to look at the boy, then furrowed his brow. "Are you cold, little cub?" He asked. The boy was shivering with his hands tucked beneath his leather-wrapped armpits, puffing a steady stream of condensed, white breath with every exhale. The boy managed to peel his eyes from the stone walls long enough to nod shakily to the bear. Fridgar came to a halt suddenly, then lowered to lay on his front. The boy, who had traveled long enough with the bear to know what he wanted, gripped his thick fur and pulled his own body weight up on the bear's hide. Fridgar, thanks to his impressive endurance and thick pelt, remained warm enough for the both of them. So, when Bellator finally laid on his back, he waited for his quiet "Oke!" before he slowly rose to his four feet then began to walk. He could feel the Lothar's small, cold hands tucked underneath his fur and pressed against his skin. The fact that his hands felt cold to his hide meant that his body was warm to Bellator.

To carry him also meant that he didn't have to shorten his pace for the little one to be able to keep up with. So, with less restraint on his gait, he built into a brisk walk, then a light jog while he traversed the streets of this alien land. Bellator squealed with delight while perched in a nest of his red fur and the two took to the night.

Eventually, Fridgar found the building he'd been looking for. This... Square, flat, blocky pile of brick, redder than his fur and seven times uglier... This was the Ashvane Estate? The place Alistair had taken up as his home? "...We der yedt?" His boy asked with a yawn, breaking Fridgar's train of thought. "I think so, little cub." He spoke with unease. It was all so hard to believe; after nearly two long arcs, he stood before his beloved's home... What could he even say when he spoke to him again? What if Alistair's new mate was the one to answer the door? Alistair had said the man, Abaddon, was a Lothar. Then what? He'd have to assert himself right of the bat... And upset Alistair? The bear hung it's head and sighed deeply. All of this was so... Hard. "Are you ready, my boy?" He asked, keeping his head low. "Mhm!" The young Lothar's voice sounded from atop him. His Lothar totem pushed to reclaim his body and manifest, and he let it.

Quickly, Fridgar shrank and his fur withdrew into his form. His facial features shortened and shrank into his skull while his ears drifted down to either side of his head. His black skin changed pigment and texture, melting into scarred, tan skin, wrapped over bulging muscle. As his hair grew from his scalp, it tied itself into a ponytail with the organic bauble he'd assimilated. Draped over his back and shoulders, which Bellator still clung to, was his feldorei pelt. Over his head, the same feldorei's skull built up like a helmet and between his legs, an extremely comfortable Stekir skin loincloth sprouted. These were his finest clothes, his only clothes. The bag he carried dropped to the floor when he opened his mouth, then he carefully removed his skull helm and stowed it within while he waited for Bellator to dismount. When he heard the boy's tiny boots meet the cobble, he gently rose to his feet, holding his bag in one hand and holding Bellator's with the other. The two walked across the street together in the dark starry night and stopped before the door.

Fridgar waited while his stomach twisted in knots. "...Why don't you go ahead and knock, little cub?" He asked at last. Fridgar's hands were full anyway. "Oke!" His boy spoke happily, then reached his hand forward and knocked as hard as he could on the door three... four... five times with no discernible pattern. All of time seemed to slow while he waited for a response, each trill spanning an eternity.

[Alistair]

His boy laid before him, quietly, staring into his eyes. And from the magister's lips came not just a smile, but a song, as Kleine sat beside him and observed the two bonding. He hoped to soothe the young Asher to sleep, and the mage's voice had never been all too bad - merely unpracticed.

"I will now tell you
The story of the crone

Within Skalden's murky waters
She lives, we atone

I heard her voice, myself, as a child

And the darkest whispers of nightmares...
Against her, were mild;
she said,

Call upon me,
Feel my name

Make a wish
For power, gold or fame

Children fall
And rise in blood

Justice shall remain
In their hearts, in the mud

Suffering comes, the pain one day goes
For the living that live those Sheoran woes

Magic is not right
But magic has might

And so we all fall prey
To the dying of the light"

The song concluded. He vividly remembered it, from Skalden, in Oakleigh. It was so long ago, or at least it felt like it. It wasn't all too long after Fridgar disappeared, when he first heard that song. His wounds were still so fresh.

The mage wondered what happened to Clara, the Bard who'd sung it. Krona, as the Witch called her; she was a kind soul, inherently, with a lot to offer the world. It would have been a shame if the Mantis got to her. Or if she got to herself.

The only thing that snapped him back to reality was the quick slap on the arm by Kleine, who hesitantly, almost teasingly glared at him. "Really, Alistair?" he questioned, rhetorically. "A song about the vices of magic, dead children, a Kingdom lost to genocide and deals with the dark arts? To a baby?"

"He doesn't even understand Common!" Alistair snapped back, grinning as he rolled his eyes. Asher was enthused by the song, engaging with his typical giddy baby sounds that both expressed delight, and requested an encore. The father had no encore to give, however, and instead he kissed the tired Asher on the cheek, whispering a silent 'good night'. Kleine would stay by his side.

Standing from his stool, the mage stretched his arms, and exhaled. It was finally starting to get warmer - he wouldn't need to wear as much clothes around the house, he hoped. For now, though, he'd need to swap out of his day attire and into a proper robe for sleep. The mage smiled faintly at Kleine as he brushed past him, saying his typical warm 'good night', as he opened the door and stepped across the Upper Common Area and towards his room. The estate was largely quiet tonight. Kaelrik studied in his room, Daniel sharpened his weapons and polished his armor... and probably did something wood-related. Asher was on the verge of sleep, and Kleine would help him there. The mage didn't know what Abaddon was doing - he was often the most difficult to keep track of, for all his ambitions, and waking dreams.

It was nice. Alistair's palm gripped the smooth wood of the stairwell handle, and sighed. Things had finally begun to look up, lately, after so long. And to know that Fridgar was out there... and that he'd be here soon, if everything went well and the letter was received, it--

A few quiet, weak knocks sounded against the door. A less perceptive man might have not been able to hear them, as they were dull and were placed with little force. But even the tiny, fragile taps against the smooth stone attuned to his ears. He could hear the little hands beating against the door, though he had not an idea as to what the sounds really were. They sounded like thumps. It could have been the wind; it was a windy night, after all. But they were so precise. And after a moment of standing, pausing from atop the stairwell, he heard more of them. This time... they were louder.

The mage quietly stepped down the stairs, one deliberate movement at a time, as the soles of his feet met with the mahogany wood. The closer he drew, the weaker he felt. He was afraid, but elated, too. For a thing he felt he could never had; for a relief he felt he'd never deserved. When he finally met the door, he paused for a moment, and did what he could to feel what might have lingered on the other side. He could almost feel Fridgar's warmth through the door, though he knew it was an illusion. With his luck, it would be some courier, seeking to deliver him the news of how Woodstock Hall would be blown up by explosive kegs to make room for a new Royal Dance Hall.

He exhaled. The man couldn't have looked more different than when he and Fridgar last saw one another. His hair was beginning to change back to its natural color, at least; it was now a light brown. But before, it was long and wavy, and his face was generally clean shaven. He was blond, and athletic, but not to the point he was at now. He looked, now, like a shorter Fridgar in terms of his body. How would the other take to that? Would he still find him attractive?

When the mage opened the door, he felt his throat close up. Only an instant, and the visage before him had managed to throw him into a loop, like he was trapped staring at a frozen image. A letter sent to him from afar, with the paintings of the love of his life and their son before him. Fridgar, and Winston, side by side. The small little boy was being held in his father's arms, ready to knock one more time. Alistair's eyes were quickly filled with moisture, as his face froze, his lips beginning to tremble. Were moments like this real?

He felt that if he reached out and touched them, they would disperse. The anticipation he'd garnered from hearing the first knock... it had made up images of them that had no form, or figure, or body. Fridgar looked so handsome; even more than when they'd last seen one another. He had an air of confidence, and pride as a father. And his son--their son--was so satisfied. To be here, right now, a small knot that would unite their family.

If he touched them, they'd fade away. He was certain. But he had to try, and so he outstretched his arms weakly, and wrapped them firmly around Fridgar's back as the three of them embraced, his little boy pressed snugly against his chest. They didn't fade. Instead, he felt an incredible warmth, as he weaved his fingertips across the texture of the man's skin. He was real. He was really... really real.

"My havendal," he cried, squeezing the other man tighter. But not enough to hurt his little one; he would never, ever hurt him. Kleine stood at the top of the stairwell, looking down at all of them, and smiled warmly. He said nothing, though, as this was Alistair's moment. It was all of theirs.

"And my little Winston," he whispered, beginning to sob. Wet tears sprawled across his face, and mixed with a thin layer of snot that trailed from his nostrils. It was pathetic, and dirty, and gross. But it was the happiest he'd been in... right. In his entire life.

[Varthakh]

Nothing seemed to follow after the boy's first knock... Perhaps it was too quiet? Perhaps too late? Maybe everyone was asleep in the house? "Worry not, little one." He assured with a shake of his head, then lifted the small Lothar off the ground and cradled him in his arms. "We'll knock together this time, ready? On three..." Bellator was still learning to count, so Fridgar took the time to clearly pronounce each number from one to three with gentle knocks that barely even touched the stone door. He watched his boys eyes as he did, making sure that he was paying attention to his lesson, then knocked with a lot more force. Bellator followed his example, knocking with all the strength he could muster... Silence came their response. Fridgar exhaled hard through his nose. Did he have to break down the damn door?! The hardy Lothar rolled his neck and shoulder, popping any trapped air from his joints in case he really did have to break down the door. As if sensing his father's tension, Bellator lifted his knuckles to the door once again and tried to knock... Only the door opened before his knuckles met the stone. Fridgar's glowing brown eyes snapped to figure in the door, then widened while his whole body was stiff.

He was face to face with... Another Lothar? The man bared Alistair's facial features, his bone structure... But that was about it. If this was Alistair, which he wasn't entirely sure of, then he'd somehow changed the color of his hair, grown a few inches and... Bulked up considerably. Had the mage somehow found a way to change his very race? A short breath through his nose filled his senses with Alistair's being, a scent he'd not smelled in nearly two arcs now... It was faint and somewhat altered, but it wasn't a scent he could not easily forget or dismiss. And despite staring into the eyes of this man he barely recognized, his mutated mind didn't set him off in a blood frenzy, as it did with anyone else that dared stare back. His spark accepted this man as his kin... which could only mean...

With watery eyes and a shaky lip, Fridgar dropped his bag and wrapped the Venoran noble in his arm and held Bellator steadily against him. He gently kissed the man's scalp while he held him close and took another deep breath of the man's scent through his nose. He filled his lungs to the brim with the scent of his beloved and even more tears welled in his eyes. Even through all the artificial nonsense the man had used to paint his hair, he retained his scent. This was truly Alistair, not a figment of his imagination or a construct in his dreams, this was the true, flesh and blood proper Alistair Calder. "My rose..." He whispered softly with his low, supportive voice. And even though his throat burned and his eyes watered, he wouldn't cry. He held strong for the human to lean on, to cradle him in his warm, protective embrace. Then, Alistair called their son by that silly human name, 'Winston'. The Lothar resisted a roll of his eyes this once, but that instance alone further cemented his confidence that this was well and truly the real Alistair.

"It's been too long, my Kindal." He spoke as he pulled away from the embrace a little, then pressed his soft, warm lips to the mage's surprisingly cold forehead. The cold of his skin was noteworthy, but not all too important in that trill. They had a lot to talk about after all, the chill of his touch could be chalked up to many things. So, he didn't ask. Instead, he held true to his word and planted all the kisses he could over the mage's face. Peck after peck rained mercilessly on the human, until he stopped him, of course. Meanwhile, Bellator stared at the human with wide eyes, filled with uncertainty and confusion. The two looked so similar now, it was almost difficult for the small boy to differentiate them, if not for the difference in height. "Bear..." He spoke to the Lothar, asking his attention. "....Who dat?" The confusion on the small boy's face was clear, but it only made Fridgar smile more. He'd longed for the trial, the moment where he'd get to introduce Alistair to their son, conceived so long ago. Now it was finally happening, as vivid as the whole thing felt it was truly happening.

"This is Alistair, Bellator, your father." The Lothar explained with a tearful, happy glance to his son's eyes. "Udder bear..?" He asked, earning a sigh from the Lothar. The boy had never called him 'father', just as the bear that had saved him. To the boy, he was bear, his guardian, his protector. Perhaps the boy had gotten the idea that all 'fathers' were bears in his teachings? The thought alone caused him great stress. What if Alistair thought he'd done a poor job of trying to raise their child? Of all the things he'd been anxious of telling Alistair, this one had been the furthest back in his mind.

[Alistair]

At first, Fridgar stared at him with a look of almost confusion, as if he did not know who he was. Knowing Fridgar, he was prepared to sock him, believing him to be another man in the magister's home. But then, before long, a look of knowing came as their eyes continued to meet, his brown irises trained upon Alistair's watery vortexes. He remembered that the man had a difficult time retaining eye contact with others, and would often lash out against them if contact continued. But with Alistair, it was never the case. Never, never.

And so, he brought him in warmly, his eyes beginning to soften and moisten as tears brewed. But he didn't fully cry, no, he kept that within. Alistair could feel his struggling to do so... it was in his flesh, in the tensity of his skin. When their bodies met and he smelled his hair, the mage warmed into him, and though his sobs continued he began to feel an almost overbearing peacefulness smooth throughout his body, flattening his nerves. Eventually, the crying began to slow. My Rose, his havendal whispered. The mage smiled, hearing those words again. He'd read them in the letters, and remembered the tone with which his Fridgar used to speak them; unilateral, and loving. Like nothing in the world mattered more to him than Alistair.

He felt that again. He felt it all again.

It's been too long, my Kindal, he said. The mage only nodded, unable to deny that fact. So much had changed since then, and so much pain had been felt. A lifetime of it, weaving through every motion and rippling through his every action. He'd been a man scarred, lost to grief, feeling more than anything that he would never reunite with his family again. Not the family he'd been born with, but the family he'd found.

"It has been, my Havendal," Alistair whispered back. "Have you..." he started, his lips curling over his words. He did not know what to say; there was so much he wanted to ask. Some of them were awkward, unnecessary pleasantries. It had been so long without his havendal's closeness, that he'd almost forgotten how to be around him. But he would quickly re-learn. "Have you been well, my love? I've... managed, all this time. It's been difficult, but I've done well for myself. Still living like a Noble, despite... everything that happened. All of my own work; my own volition. I suppose I should be proud," he spoke, softly, with a downcast stare. Though as he looked down, his eyes only met Winston's, or so he still called him.

Bear, he called Fridgar. Alistair's brow rose as he looked to his havendal, a strange glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. Bear? He could only wonder why he'd called him that. Had Fridgar not taken the role of his father, yet?

Of course, he wasn't surprised that the small child did not know who he was. This was their first meeting, between father and child. The first their eyes would ever meet. And what a precocious, precious child he was. The mage's eyes glimmered jovially as he looked upon him, a loving grin breaking through his lips. He appeared ultimately happy.

Bellator, Fridgar called him. The mage knew they would have to speak on that name at some point, considering it wasn't Lotharen, or particularly nice sounding... but he would withhold that conversation for now. Now was about healing, and meeting, and being together again. All of the rest - their many complications - would be for later.

Though he did question being called another bear. What was with Winston and bears? Of course Fridgar's child would call every paternal figure a bear... of course. What else could he possibly expect?

"A father is a man who brings you into this world, Bellator, and raises you with love and wisdom. I am your father, and Fridgar is your father. A bear is... a different sort of thing. You will learn of all of these things now that you're here," he whispered. The mage did not speak to him with the chattering of a baby, or an inexperienced maid. He spoke to him like a wise and precocious thing, for that was what he felt, and that was what Bellator - Winston - would become.

Beckoning the two inside, he would close the door behind them, locking it as they would be gripped by the warmth and opulence of the Ashvane Estate.

"Welcome home, my love," he whispered, happily. "I have much I need to show you. Our son, Asher, is here as well. And Kleine... I know you remember him. He's missed you dearly, and will be glad to have you here again. Damien's coming too; he'll be here in only ten trials. I can't wait for everyone to be together again. For so long, I've waited. I..." He almost cried, once more. But he did not. Seemingly, Alistair was ready to move on, rather than writhing in his sorrow any longer. He wanted Fridgar to become acquainted to everything again - to his new life, and the many changes that would overcome them, and the futures they'd develop. There was much to share. And some of it was dangerous, he knew that. Zarik would be... a debacle.

Still, he was overwhelmed with joy, and he knew that everything would fall into place. Perhaps before, an arc ago when he thought Fridgar was dead, he would've never thought such easily benign things. He would've expected for everything to crumble. But Fridgar's survival, and their meeting once more, only cemented to him that what they had was special - and would never truly fade.

[Varthakh]

Eye contact. Something that was so comfortable and natural to others was so dreadful to the Lothar. Naturally, his stature and thickness alone were enough to draw the wandering eye of just about any civilian, even in Uthaldria, he stood out in the crowd. And for some reason, his spark hated it. It was a gesture of respect, of understanding between all the intelligent races of Idalos, but his very soul writhed and protested even the slightest glance into another person's eyes. So many times he'd looked at someone too long, someone that had been, perhaps, too afraid to look away, only to paint the walls with their guts in a blind, terrible burst of rage. For the longest time, the only person who'd never angered him with the look of their eye was Alistair. However, Bellator was too free from his eye of challenge too.

In those few trills, however, he'd been uncertain if he would lash out or not. Alistair's gaze didn't anger him, but it felt so... Unfamiliar. The confusion of not recognizing the man that stood before him coupled with the anger that failed to broil within him... It was an uncomfortable sensation, intimidating even. But that didn't matter now. There he stood, holding both the tall human and Bellator in his arms, and for the first time in nearly two arcs, he was whole again.

The way Alistair spoke to Bellator put him on edge. He spoke without remorse or relent, as he would toward a fully grown Bellator... But the boy couldn't possibly catch every word he'd said, could he? To have his shortcomings in broad daylight before the ex-noble, it almost felt like he was being scrutinized for failing to meet Alistair's expectations. So, he merely held his tongue and looked upon his boy with encouraging, pleading eyes. "Fa... da...? Fada?" The boy asked before pressing his own tiny knuckles to his mouth, his wide eyes locked on Alistair. If the two were quiet for a trill or two, they might have caught the sound of his frightened squeak. As soon as Fridgar caught the sound, he drew the young Lothar deeper into his arms and held his head close. "It's alright little cub, Alistair won't shout at you either." He spoke softly in an effort to comfort the young boy. He furrowed his brow softly at Alistair while he cradled the boy, not with anger, but with remorse.

In time, he would have to explain how Bellator's masters had treated him poorly, teaching with lots of negative reinforcement, but that came on top of a pile of other things the pair needed to talk about. "Pwomise?" The little Lotharro asked as he looked up at the Protean. Fridgar smiled back softly as he met the Lothar's eyes, then nodded in affirmation. Bellator's eyes returned to the human, still somewhat afraid, but baring a brave smile. "Fadder..." He spoke quietly. Very carefully, the protean reached out his arms for Alistair to take the boy from him, it was only fair that the human had the chance to hold his son. Then, he entered the house as beckoned. Once he was inside, he undid the tie of his pelt and folded to together before placing it on a nearby piece of furniture. His eyes scanned the interior of the house. The room he was stood in right then was... huge. In the center was a massive, broad stairway made of wood, which was honestly surprising considering he'd seen very few pieces of wooden anything-at-all in Quacia up until now. Even the walls were covered in wallpaper, which he doubted existed in many other 'homes'. That was another question he had for the noble, in time. Where was the wood at?

A familiar face waited on the broad staircase as Alistair welcomed him to his new... home, as Alistair called it. It had almost been two entire seasons since he was last encased in stone walls like this, the thought alone somehow made him anxious. Kleine was there on the stairs, looking quite pleased with himself... Only it was hard to look at him without feeling bitterness or anger. The man had slept with his beloved, after all. He buried those thoughts as Alistair welcomed him, then turned his gaze to the human. And Kleine... I know you remember him. He's missed you dearly - He said, which brought on a tinge of regret to his heart. If that were true, then how could he hold such bitter anger for the man? Already, this was so conflicting. Still, Alistair was so happy, he couldn't ruin this for his beloved. "You've done very well for yourself, Alistair..." The protean said while he brushed at he burning warth in his eye with the tips of his fingers, minding his claws.

He let out a shaky breath before looking to his son. "The little one and I have flown very far and it's late... It might be for the best to let him sleep before we talk... Because there is something I have to tell you, my Rose." The protean said with a hard swallow. None of this was going to be easy, not even two seasons into the promise he'd made himself, he wanted to cry. A deep breath along with the straightening of his posture saw that his totems calmed in his bag. He had to remain calm for all of this, or he could quite easily bring the roof down on all their heads.

[Alistair]

The mage stared quietly at his child as he squeaked in what appeared to be... fear. Though the sound unsettled him for a trill, worrying the reason his own child might be afraid of him, Fridgar calmed his nerves and offered him the promise that Alistair would not... shout at him. For what, and why, he did not know. But the man came into his home and observed its shape and structure, and even though Fridgar had been with Alistair for a long time, he'd probably not seen a home so immaculate since the ball in Castle Andar.

He spotted Kleine, though with a look of apprehension, one that Kleine caught as he quietly receded from view. He tried not to meddle in their affairs, though the young Lotharro had much to share. A great number of things had happened in this place alone, and certainly in their lives. Kleine, and Alistair both, wanted to share all of these things with Fridgar. But . . .

"Thank you," he quietly replied, to the comment that he'd done well for himself. It was true; he had. He was essentially living yet again like a Grand Noble of Rynmere, anointed in the blood of the Seven and offered the inheritance to one of the Duchies. He lived lavishly like a King, surrounded by wealth and opulence, with two massive estates that consumed much of the Gleam to boast of. Financially . . . yes. He'd done very well. And in many other ways, too; he'd survived, despite all odds. He'd persevered, despite the pain of loss, and the inability to keep his child within his arms. He'd even had another child, one who he'd kept safely at his side.

Thinking upon it all, he supposed he had done well. But Fridgar... Fridgar... had he done well? Had his life been worth living? Was he still wrought with echoes of the unending pain of their loss?

Alistair's heart sunk at the thought, and at what pain he would soon inflict upon him when he told him... the full truth. Things he didn't believe were wrong, but things he could only imagine Fridgar would perceive as a betrayal. His heart ached, and his stomach seemed to shrivel. The mage almost began to cry, though instead he took the small boy into his arms and held him close, smiling faintly as their eyes met. The vortexes spun and seemed to intrigue Winston, though before long Fridgar recommended that they send him to sleep.

Alistair called for Kleine to return, asking him quietly if he could take Winston to Asher's room, where the mage had prepared a small bed for the toddler. Kleine eagerly agreed and safely plucked the small boy from Alistair's arms, soothing him as he rocked gently in his grip. Kleine ascended up the stairs, once more, stepping through the common room as he receded into the candle-lit room where Winston's brother resided. It would be their first glance at one another - their first meeting. The mage beckoned for Fridgar to follow him to his room, and climbed the stairs as well, gripping the smooth wooden handle until he turned straight for the bedroom.

It was very luxurious, largely crimson colored and dimly lit, with satin fabrics adorning the bed, the windows and the beginning of his wardrobe. An immaculate rug sprawled across the room, one that was immensely soft, as well as warm. Alistair took a seat upon it, inviting his havendal to sit before him.

"There is a lot I need to share as well," he said. "But for the night - out first night back together - I'd like to let you speak, my Thorn," he said, smiling softly. "Tell me..." he began, with an airy breath, "Everything."

[Varthakh]

It might have been for the best that Kleine left them, his presence only further agitated the Protean. Without him there, the totems in his domain bag felt so much lighter, calm again. The two had been friends at some point prior to his disappearance, but now he couldn't look at him. As upsetting as it was, they had bigger problems ahead of them now. His love thanked him for his comment, but the words came with a weight that carried thoughts unsaid. Perhaps neither of them were being too open right in those moments, but he preferred it that way. The Protean didn't want his boy to see him a mess like that, so asked for him to be put to bed... And Alistair agreed. The young Lothar yawned in Alistair's arms before being collected By Kleine. The little one was far too tired and worn out to argue, so just let himself be carried off - It wasn't as though Fridgar would let any harm come to him after all.

Part of him wanted to make a scene, to grab Kleine and rip Bellator from his arms as though he had no right to touch him, but he wouldn't. He couldn't do that to Alistair, ruin yet another moment of theirs. He looked to Alistair as he was beckoned upstairs, then as Kleine disappeared around the corner, Fridgar sighed, then followed after. He kept his eyes to himself as he walked the halls and rested his bag on his shoulder. Where could he even start to explain what he'd done over the past arc and a half? Perhaps he could start with Bellator and the boy's quirks? That might have been for the best. Before he had much time to think of what to say, he was already sat in Alistair's room. It was very fancy, typical to the ex-noble's tastes... Though it was nothing like their home in gauthrel. Perhaps that life just wasn't enough for Alistair? The protean waved away those thoughts, now wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity.

"...Well, Where do I begin?" The protean thought aloud, then nodded after a trill or two of thought. "Bellator. His masters treated him badly before I found him." Fridgar took a deep breath. This was perhaps the easiest topic he had on his list. "You did get all of my letters, right? Otherwise, this might not make sense... For the first few dozen trials that I walked with him, from Etzos to Gauthrel, he reacted to my teachings with fear and panic. I think he's come to associate failure with punishment, negative reinforcement..." His brown irises fell to the floor in thought before he chuckled a single breath and grinned. "He's getting better though, it only took him the most part of five bits to trust you... He'll be hard to teach, you must be patient with him, my rose, but he does like to learn." That had been the biggest link that Fridgar could make between the two. Even though Bellator wasn't related to Alistair by blood, they both seemed to share an affinity for knowledge. Alistair was the smartest man he knew, and Bellator loved the Protean's lessons.

The next thing he had to talk about was not so easy... That he too had been unfaithful, in more ways than one. "Before I tell you this next thing, my Kindal, I need you to know that I love you more than anything... That I cherish and adore you more than anything else in this world and I've never felt anything different this past arc and a half... You've been all that's kept me going.." Fridgar took another deep breath, then sighed before wiping his damp eyes in his wrist. "..But I faltered." It had just been a few bits of weakness, but it still happened. "...It was mid-Cylus, shortly after I'd finished writing my letter to you. It was dark, and cold, and lonely and miserable... And Sheila, the farmer's wife... We..." Fridgar stopped himself, Was that not enough of a confession? He'd slept with her, it was just too painful to say aloud. "...I wanted to bury it, forget that I ever betrayed you, so I didn't put it in my Ashan letter an arc ago. I was so ashamed until you wrote back about Asher and your new lover, Abaddon..." it felt as though he was taking more time to pause and think of how to word his next line than actually speaking. For once, Fridgar was being very careful with his step. "...I don't want you to beat yourself up over it, my rose. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I can also forgive you, I'm sure."

And finally was the matter of his revelation, which wasn't that big of a deal compared to the other two things he'd already revealed. Still, he let those two topics come to a close before he said "there's one other thing I have to tell you, Alistair. Do you remember the animal in the cage I dreamt of so often?"

[Alistair]

Alistair was not surprised to hear that 'Bellator' - or Winston, as he still called him - had been mistreated by his masters. They were masters, after all. All they did was mistreat. Negative reinforcement was to be expected, as they were attempting to mold him into a slave rather than a free man. What they did not know, however, was that Lotharen were determinant men and would scarcely allow themselves to lie in shackles, even those born into slavery like he had been. Winston would... grow out of his fearfulness, in time, and so rather than experiencing grief the mage simply nodded and listened to Fridgar carefully. He was happy to have him back, and wouldn't allow any abuse before their meeting to mar that feeling that he held.

"I got your letters," he replied. "And... I'm not worried. He'll be fine - he has strong, defiant blood," he said with a grin, referring to Fridgar being his biological father. "And besides, you said it yourself. Five bits to trust me, and a desire to learn. He'll be quite alright, Fridgar, now that he's here. Everything is going to be okay."

He felt the need to say that - to reassure him. Fridgar had worried for so long, both of them had. He'd traveled all the way from Gauthrel to reunite with him, after an arc and a half of struggling and wailing and loneliness. Alistair could only hope to assure him, over and over, that everything would work out. There was not a single doubt in his heart around Fridgar's intentions; he was a good and loving man.

And so, as he made his next disclaimer, the mage simply nodded with a small smile, as if to dismiss his worries altogether. Fridgar's words were sweet, loving, and true. He did care about Alistair more than anything - he'd kept trying, kept sending him letters. He'd even sent messengers to go across the world to find him, probably to no avail for many. Fridgar had devoted his life the past arc and a half to bringing their family back together; finding their son, finding him. And now he was here. There was nothing - no revelation - that would ever change that.

And so, the one that followed, did not even phase him. Alistair simply smiled warmly, and whispered to him. "It's okay," he said. "You did not betray me. There is... more to life than jealousy and regret. I feel no such things, and do not find your actions to be anything more than the seeking nature of a body in the rift of loneliness. I hope you enjoyed it, at least," he said, perhaps strangely. He was a Sesser - Alistair was not... particularly prone to painting lust as a foul thing, even to the extent of an affair. He made no attempt to elaborate further on his views, however, as that conversation would come later. It would... indisputably.

"As for Abaddon, don't worry about that," he dismissed the subject. "He is no longer involved in our relationship. Wavering men make me waver, too. But you - you are ever loyal, and always have been. No one else - no matter what they are or what they mean to either of us - will ever change how I feel for you. And so, I do more than forgive you, Fridbear," he called him, affectionately. "I welcome every aspect of you, including what you perceive to be your flaws. That's the bond we made."

And then... their conversation moved forward. The animal in the cage. Alistair vaguely recalled, and for some reason he tied the image inexplicably to Revelation. To becoming a Protean. Did Fridgar not have that temptation, long ago...?

Alistair bit his lower lip. Revelation was a difficult topic, if that was where this was going. It had the potential to change so much.

"Yes," he replied, his eyes lowering. "Has it broken free?"

[Varthakh]

Alistair's reaction to everything was... Unexpected. Once upon a time, the human had struggled with his fury, his anger. Hearing that Bellator, his son, was mistreated should have sent him into a fury. There were countless times in their past that Alistair had lost his temper with Fridgar, after all. That fiery anger that Alistair once had, he couldn't find a shred of it in his changed, vortex eyes. Fridgar stared a little while longer, looking for any of Alistair's passion at all. What had happened to his kindal?

He didn't even care much that Fridgar had laid with another. At first, this left him relieved, visibly so. It was as though a hard weight had been lifted from his chest, only as he laid back to relax, it felt as though he kept sinking. Alistair claimed that he was above jealousy and regret, that he didn't mind that Fridgar used another as his rock in the sea of loneliness and desperation. And somehow, he could relate. He'd have hated for Alistair to know that misery and loneliness while he was away. Thankfully though, he'd had both Kleine and this Abaddon to distract him from that void. Part of him felt he didn't deserve forgiveness. He'd faltered so early into being separated from Alistair, it wasn't fair for him to be forgiven so easily. He found himself wanting Alistair to snap at him, to become angry and shout at him, maybe even strike him. He longed for that desire that came with his jealousy, that raw passion that he seemed to be missing. But nothing came. Alistair didn't care enough.

What is more, Alistair had cut Abaddon out of the picture? Truly? Wavering men make me waver, too he said... Whatever that meant. Had Alistair just grown bored of the other Lotharro? Or was Fridgar the reason they'd broken up? As much as he didn't want to admit it, he hoped he was. Some part of him in the back of his mind that knew he was superior to the other men in Alistair's life, it longed to be chosen, to be recognized as superior. And he might have had just that with Alistair's next line- you are ever loyal, and always have been. Was he? No, he wasn't. Not by his own standards. If Alistair wanted to forgive him, so be it, but he couldn't forgive himself. Not for some time. "...I'm glad, Alistair. Healing will be much easier with just the two of us. But I'm sorry to hear that it didn't work out." Fridgar sighed.

"I... I did enjoy it, while I was caught up in the moment. I wasn't thinking, I just let go of all my inhibitions for once." The Protean paused, thinking for a trill or two. "But afterward, I..." he paused again, lowering his eyes in thought. "I hated myself, Alistair. I hated everything I'd done, what I'd become. I hated how weak I was without you, this... this writhing, miserable mess so deep in denial that I couldn't even see the truth; that you were gone." Fridgar's eyes lifted back to Alistair's as the air about him seemed to shift, his tone too. "...Shortly after writing my last letter to you, on the thirteenth of Zi'da, I accepted that you were gone. I wanted to die, to meet you in our next lives and start over, but I couldn't leave Bellator behind. So I resolved to change." Fridgar's brow furrowed while he paused, then he continued. "I couldn't stop existing, so I decided to stop being Fridgar. This miserable sack of shit, too weak to hold on for even his own young. So no, the animal didn't break free, I let it out. I let it consume me and destroy all I was, then build me back new, woven with its fibers."

Fridgar pushed his chair back as he rose to his feet At once, he began to grow rapidly and quickly filled up the room with his mass. He fell onto all four of his limbs as their bones shifted and elongated in parts to become digitigrade. His body was like fluid in how quick and smooth his form changed, no more snapping bones and breaking nerves. His thick, tan skin darkened to a deep grey, then sprouted a midnight black coat of fur all over his form, including the long, feline tail that had grown from the base of his spine. His ears drifted to the top of his head and changed shape entirely while the bones in his face stretched outward to form the visage of the Llewnos She opened her violet eyes while she towered nearly a full two feet above the human and filled near enough the whole room with her body.

"I became the Protean." Fridgar's voice sounded in an echo from the massive panther without any movement from her lips. "Now I don't have to be Fridgar, I can be Boomer, or Tharos, or Kleine... Or any one of my sleeves." She lowered her head to meet with the noble's gaze, her glowing, violet eyes gazing into his vortex-like irises. "What do you think?" His voice came, a hint of pride in his tone.

[Alistair]

Healing will be much easier with just the two of us. He heard those words and almost laughed, perhaps in denial of what he'd done - to them. He'd thrown them from a bowl of embers into the depths of a caldera. Instead of his menial bond with Abaddon, Alistair now carried a marriage with another man - and though he could excuse it with political claims, he and Zarik had become very close of late. Fridgar was ever the singular man. He was unilateral in how he viewed things, and too often refrained from the willingness that was necessary of an open mind. He would, he felt, never truly understand Alistair's reasoning for what he did. And he would never oblige the ways in which he'd changed.

So many ways. So many that he barely recognized himself.

Fridgar continued. He spoke of the self-loathing he felt, and the writhing mess, and how weak he was. Alistair empathized with his words better than he could understand. He had felt those same exact things, for far too long. The mage's eyes stared at Fridgar with empathy, a look of knowing that could only manifest from one who'd lived in the same shadow of sorrow and doubt. If there was any passion he truly displayed after his first tears in meeting him, it was now, as Fridgar lamented in what sorrow he'd endured.

He spoke of how he wanted to die, but Bellator... Bellator, he still refrained from calling him in his mind.

Alistair understood this well, but he too resisted, particularly now that Asher was in the world. And Kleine, Daniel, Damien... those dear souls that he loved like brothers. What would they do if he were to die?

But unlike his story, which resolved with coming to grips with loss and moving on, Fridgar's story took a darker turn. It became a tale of internalized hatred too strong to ignore, a darkness that could not be abated. Unlike Alistair, who had a strong support network, Fridgar was alone... and for the longest time. His empathy grew, and the mage's eyes began to gloss as if tears were about to flow. He frowned, and then Fridgar spoke of what he'd done to keep himself living. He stepped back and transformed before his eyes, becoming a massive Llewnos, large enough to threaten growing into his ceiling.

And then, with his voice, he spoke to him through the lips of the beast. He spoke with pride, of being a... a Protean. The first one Alistair had ever met, though from tales of the Bloodcaller he'd known what they were. It was a Revealed Becomer. Fridgar... had truly allowed the beast to roam free. The beast was his spark, and now he was one with it. Though it was Fridgar's voice that whispered, it was the pride of the spark that poured into his words.

But he didn't understand what he'd done, did he? Alistair knew, because of Effren... that a Lotharro who Revealed could not be Reborn. That they lost their life-bonds, and that they would not be called to them again in the next life. There would be no next life.

The eternity that was their love had died. When that knowledge gripped him, when he truly understood what had taken place, the mage truly began to cry.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered. "That you had to do this in order to feel strong. But you were always strong, My Fridgar. It is your example that allowed me to survive until now. But you... we... when the bell tolls and our lives come to an end, we will not rejoin in our next life, now. This is your final life on Idalos, Fridgar. Do you not understand...?"

He shook his head. He told Fridgar not to let it out. To leave it where it was -- where it belonged, a subject and servant to man. The shards of the Originals were darkly things, and now Fridgar had embraced one, and merged with it to his very interior. It was all... a lot to take in. Too much to consider.

The mage deeply sighed, as his thoughts weaved back into a proper shape. He did not want to make everything become so grim.

"It's okay, my love," he said. "What matters is that we're together, again. There is no time for pain, when such a long life sits ahead of us. We've lived in pain for too long. Maybe... maybe we can fix the life-bond one day. If not, then at least we can live fulfilling lives together, before the end. Not every marriage ends with eternal unity -- right? So, it's okay. I love you all the same as before." He said this truthfully, though in his mind his fear only grew. What would happen, now? If this life with Fridgar was to be his last with him, he did not want for Zarik's presence within it to end it all. Would the two of them need to feel pain again so soon?