• Mature • The Simple Things

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Continued from here.
Night, 48th of Ashan, Arc 719

Zarik settled Asher to sleep in the crib. For most of the trial, he’d spent it between caring for the babe and studying. Now that he’d Become, it felt there was even more to learn and yet… he found himself drawn away from the books, the manuscripts, and the notes. He sought to care for his child. He felt an intense purpose for Asher to be healthy, happy, and developing in mind and body.

While he bathed Asher in a little tub of fresh water, in the master washroom, Alistair joined them. Zarik knew whatever his husband had been discussing with Damien and Lucretia, it was important… but he displayed a sense of eager affection for Alistair’s presence. His eyes – iridescent in color – and his wings – the gossamer flitters of reflected light – both gave away his pleased mood.

Returned to his true form, he didn’t talk about the fact that he’d first greeted Alistair in the form of his sister, Kiara. While Alistair ate the meal that Zarik had prepared for him, the biqaj didn’t talk about anything but Asher. For Zarik had much to share: Asher had started to crawl faster and to babble actual words, not mere snippets of them. He tried to get their little miracle to example this for Alistair, but it failed again and again… until finally, while they moved to the child’s room, Asher smacked Zarik directly in the face and said, “Bye!”

Well, at least he’d said something. Zarik smiled at that. His wings fluttered and he hovered above the floor by a few inches while holding onto the baby. Zarik ducked his head near the doorframe, then gracefully lowered as he moved forward. In a fluid motion, he went from levitating into the room to a gentle landing beside the crib and settling Asher inside.

Their son fell asleep within mere bits, exhausted by Zarik’s fixated attention to the infant’s development. Still, the colors of the half-blood child’s eyes mimicked Zarik’s before shutting to rest. Zarik’s finger remained clutched in Asher’s little fist. He gradually drew it away without accidentally waking the baby. He turned to Alistair and whispered, “Let’s talk elsewhere.”

Zarik took hold of Alistair’s hand, then led out of the room. Once they were in the hall, with the bedroom door pulled enough to block light but not closed, he turned to face the tall human. He spoke in a hushed voice, “Wins- uh, Bjorn was asking questions earlier. About you, and about Fridgar. He seems… bored, perhaps. He keeps asking to go running beyond the courtyard, but that can’t be allowed in Quacia. So it might be best if we move the boys soon.”

The blond’s expression softened, then he turned and walked along the corridor. He passed through the common room, toward the master bedroom, though he paused as if in recollection. Zarik turned once more, then looked upward. He asked, “Perhaps we can go onto the roof? Or did you need to return to the study?”

[Alistair]

It appeared that Asher had already begun to acquire the teasing, sarcastic wit of his father. Alistair chuckled rather furiously in response to the baby's strike of his younger parent and the word that followed, freshly on the foot of Zarik's proclamation of his few words and improved functions. Still, to speak anything at all so young was impressive and the mage commended what must have been the intellect of his spouse, though he did not do so verbally. Instead, Alistair offered Zarik a friendly and affirming expression that spoke volumes of the way he felt - wordlessly.

And as Asher was settled into bed and subsequently fell prey to his fatigue, the mage nodded easily at his wife's suggestion. He moved to lead them elsewhere but was quickly reminded to take Zarik's hand in doing so. Pausing for a trill he allowed Zarik's fingers to lace within his own, before stepping out through the doorway at the behest of the biqaj. The two did not wander far before conversation ensued once more. Bjorn had been asking questions. Of course he had.

It was a tragedy that the young boy had the parentage and circumstances that he did. A father with little empathy and a heart filled with bitterness, a father who would have many more children and all with a different co-parent to Bjorn's own, and a beginning year of slavery and abuse.

As he often did when faced with the emotional consequences of his actions, Alistair brought his hands back to his sides and sighed at the situation that had been created. He bit at his lower lip and frowned. "We... we must bring them to Tyros," he said, doubtlessly. "And Zarik, I need you to do me a favor. An immense one. I need you to... be a parent for Bjorn. Fridgar and I are broken apart, and I know what it is like to be born and raised in a fractured home. He has gone through so much already, and... though Asher may be of my blood, Bjorn is my son. And I love him. I hope that you might as well," he explained, following the biqaj along as he stepped through the corridor towards their room.

He offered that they sit upon the roof as they speak, and quickly allowed Alistair the chance to return to his discussions if he so desired. But the mage did not.

"No," he said. "That will be quite alright. I'll gladly sit by you on the rooftop, though... I'm not sure of what we might speak of. I'm assuming you still aren't prepared to leave Ashvane behind? Perhaps I might assist you in improving your readiness. Also... I suppose I should mention that it was different to see you wearing someone else's face. Strangely, though, despite your change in physiology I still felt you there much the same. I did not feel as if I was speaking to Kiara or a stranger."

Alistair nodded, though his eyes quickly rose to the ceiling in recollection. "Not particularly riled by Kiara's visage though, I must admit. I duly apologize," he faintly laughed.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Zarik considered what Alistair requested of him; in regard to Bjorn – who had once been Bellator – who had once been Winston – who had been… whatever his slavers had called him. The poor child could not even keep a stable name, let alone a stable influence of household. Kleine had been caring for him in the past several trials, but now Kleine was comatose. Even Zarik’s visage had changed so as to reveal Kiara instead. He understood that the toddler, though the boy didn’t outwardly express confusion or distress, might be impacted by everything especially on the heels of what was likely a long journey to a place that didn’t have any true nature to enjoy.

His own heart ached in sympathy, but he knew… he knew that Bjorn was not his. Bjorn had not a drop of biqaj blood in him. He was Lotharro. He was Fridgar’s son.

Alistair agreed to move to the rooftop, but he tempered it with confusion as to what they had to speak about. Which Zarik responded with a look of disbelief: really? They always had something to talk about, it struck him as odd that Alistair would even say something like that. He raised an eyebrow, then narrowed his eyes with a playful look of suspicion to follow as his husband brought up whether he was prepared to leave Ashvane and offered assistance.

He knew that he was supposed to have already completed the move. But… Zarik found it harder than he expected to move from Quacia. The blond’s expression turned neutral, and he sighed as if turned weary by Alistair’s comment about Kiara’s visage.

“That’ll prove a problem when we are to copulate for the first-borns,” he commented in an airy tone, as he turned away. He walked over to the nearest window and glanced outside at the crimson-lit night. It had been lightly raining for the last break or so, but it seemed as if it had dried up some. Zarik looked over his shoulder and he said, “Hmm, if you’d join me, my love, a wander about the Gleam at night sounds nice. There are some things I wish to talk about, involving the move and Bjorn and… I swear to the blood on the ground, I will try to not speak of everything.”

Zarik still had his noble clothes on, though he had to roll down his sleeves. From a nearby coatrack, he retrieved his trenchcoat and cinched the dark black leather around his slim waist. He drew his hood up, covering his ice-blond hair from sight and his face became hidden behind shadow.

Once on the front step of Ashvane, however, he reached over and took Alistair’s hand again. He led their way, turning to walk away from the well-patrolled area of the Gleam that was kept safe by the Dragoons. Instead, he started down a familiar path of the Riovara – one that he’d taken time and time again ever since the first time he’d sprinted to reach the commission for the changeling interrogation in early Ashan.

As they walked, he started with the topic of Bjorn. He felt almost compelled to prioritize the idea of the child’s future over all other potential subjects of conversation, “What you ask for Bjorn, from me, is more than a mere favor. To take on Bjorn as a child, such a thing would last for many arcs if not forever. I will not think in such a way if it is meant to be temporary, because being a parent should not be temporary.”

“You know well, my dear, that I also come from a broken family, torn apart at the seams by choice, and so I understand…” he hesitated. His grip on Alistair’s hands, their fingers entwined, tightened and squeezed. His wings folded at his back, no longer stretched out or moving. They were barely noticeable against his trenchcoat except for the faint reflections of light. “I have considered in the past couple of trials, that, well, perhaps…”

Zarik took a swift breath. It seemed he struggled to find the words. Finally, he confessed, “Perhaps I have not been fair about how I… how I have treated the household. I had thought that if I displayed confidence with such a role, that others like Kleine would respect me, but now I wonder if in this attempt, I might have been trying to create all I’ve ever known – which is a meager, lonely home of only my father and I.”

“I’ve ever only known to share quarters with him, the only guests we ever had were those of his victims. I fear now that some part of me had been trying to recreate these conditions but with you. If that makes any sense, I do not know,” his voice softened to an almost whisper. He paused under a bloodlight lantern and turned so he could look at Alistair from underneath the ruddy illumination. His eyes were gray flecked with blue. “But I understand the importance of Bjorn to have a secure home that isn’t a lonely place.”

“If you wish for me to parent Bjorn as well, I only ask one thing to do so…” Zarik took Alistair’s other hand so he held both of them tight. “That such a role can never be taken away from me. That I will be capable of as much authority over Bjorn’s study and play as I will be over Asher’s. Otherwise, I would not be able to guide him through life fully. He must see me as mother, if I am to see him as son.”

Zarik turned, and led on, and it became obvious that they were headed to his old house in the far-end of the Gleam near Shanty.

[Alistair]

Rather than the roof, Zarik wished to take to the Gleam for an evening stroll around the exceptionally pristine section of the city that Alistair lived in. With the blood lights out in full force to serve as lanterns, the two mutually glanced outward through the window and onto the streets. It had been some time since Alistair had undergone a walk through Quacia. Not long after discovering Helice he’d lost all interest in the culture of this place.

“Right,” he replied, easily willing to follow his spouse whatever direction they might have went. But Alistair’s mind carried an array of thoughts. For one, he was not understanding of Zarik’s prior comment which had immediately sent a sense of displeasure through him. The concern that the biqaj had intended to ‘consummate’ in Kiara’s form brought the mage no hidden level of perplexity. Had the point of it all not been to merely encourage the same effects from their two regular forms? Perhaps with some alterations, but...

“I — before we go, I must ask...” he began, allowing the encumbrance of his thoughts to speak out for him. “What did you mean by that? Did you intend for me to bed you in... that form? I was hoping you might change your regular form’s physiology some, rather than... that. I am not... particularly... I’m not of that proclivity. Perhaps with no other alternative, or if forced to, but - I just thought...”

He quickly found himself flustered, embarrassed and worked up. Despite his confidence, the mage was too easily swayed to emotion when he felt he would not achieve his way, and in this circumstance it was no different.

Though he allowed himself to calm - whatever Zarik’s words might have been - and maintained a steady hold of the other’s hand. The two gathered their belongings and outerwear and left the estate, and Alistair followed Zarik’s intended path as they walked through the quaint locale of Riovara. The mage remained speechless at first as they treaded through, but his attention keenly shifted to Zarik when the biqaj spoke again of their potentially shared son.

In this regard, Alistair noted as his boots quietly clapped against the pavement, Zarik was correct in his assertion. It was more than a favor - it was a lifetime obligation and it could not be temporary. He was not being unreasonable by any means and Alistair had likely approached it all wrongly.

He allowed the other to continue divulging his thoughts. He spoke of the many things he dwelled on, that he must have dwelled on often. The way in which he treated other members of the household in order to create familiar, isolated conditions. Alistair had heard of Zarik’s behavior. Kleine had expressed to him the biqaj’s malevolence and Damien did not contest any such claims. They were all - even Alistair to a degree - in agreement that the biqaj had acted foul in an attempt to consolidate some form of matriarchal authority within the household. But being that things were as sensitive as they were, the mage refrained from speaking on anything. He allowed the wretched conditions of their estate to progress.

And now, Zarik offered him introspection. A method towards something else. Alistair eagerly took it.

“My love...” he began. “You have been good to me, and to our child, but for a Lord to be infallible as I seek to be they must be both loved and feared alike. Though by all accounts you have the technical right to leverage your position as my spouse as you do, to do so only fosters resentment. I have selected everyone in my household for a reason - I need them, and they need me. All successful leaders must have capable followers that they can trust to delegate tasks to.”

If anything, he sought to weigh into Zarik’s desire to be a successful noble, if any emotional discourse might have failed to sway him to act more charitably. “I understand why you have acted the way you have thus far, but I am not a man who enjoys feuding and battling others’ emotions for me. I wish for this house to be one of peace, and shared by all of us alike. We do not have an extensive family structure capable of supporting our many children as they grow. They will not know their grandparents or my cousins or siblings, and outside of possibly your sisters, no one from your family either. Our children will need support from more than just us. Kleine, Daniel, Damien and others I’m certain will join us—they will be that structure. Remember that, my love. And foster respect rather than fear.”

Perhaps, he thought, his words would be interpreted as if they were meant to scold. He did not know.

But the final topic came - or really, a return to the previous one - and Alistair easily consented to the biqaj’s terms. “Yes,” he said. The two men rounded a corner and a corridor of shops and stalls opened up to them, though many had been closed for the remainder of the night. Alistair pulled the biqaj back to him and kissed him passionately upon the lips. “Yes, my beloved. Your desires are reasonable and I shall gladly accept you as the mother of this child as well. I’m certain he will be glad not to be alone,” he spoke, in reference to the many siblings that they intended to create.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

When Alistair accepted the idea of a walk, Zarik immediately felt eager for such a thing. Though he’d been walking through the Gleam a lot, he hadn’t walked with his husband and that was an entirely different thing. Usually his companion for his walks were the Revenant, Devin, who made for awkward conversation.

But before he got even a step away from the window, he was interrupted by Alistair’s question regarding his comment about Kiara’s Totem form and their first-borns. Zarik observed, and he found Alistair’s reaction endearing. The magister hesitated due to a flustered sense of emotion and nearly even stammered. The blond leaned in and kissed the taller man on the cheek. He said, “That’s something we can talk about later, my love. Perhaps during our walk.”

He retrieved his trenchcoat, and led outside. While he passed by the study, he could hear Lucretia talking with Damien in a clear voice, but couldn't make out her words. Once on the front step of the estate, he took a deep breath of the fresh rain-soaked air, then started on their way.

They discussed Bjorn first, as it seemed the most important to Zarik out of everything else. In doing so, he tested some thoughts he’d been contemplating about his management of the household. Yet when Alistair responded with what sounded like agreement for his theory, he immediately felt confused. Loved and Feared alike? But that was what he had with his father. It didn’t make sense to the youthful biqaj. What distinction did Alistair have for how he understood those words compared to how Zarik understood them?

Yet again, Alistair turned to a mild defense for the people in the household. Need, needing them, them needing him… dependency of a sort. Zarik could only understand dependency in the sense of his father. Otherwise, it seemed to him that wasn’t the role of a follower. The strongest follower, or how Zarik would refer to them: trusted associate, was the one who remained independent but chose to follow regardless. Or so he theorized and believed.

He gnawed on his lower lip in a fidget. And delegation was merely another term for ordering tasks and asserting the authority that seemed to foster resentment. Zarik’s dark brows furrowed in a confused expression. He listened to the rest of what his husband had to say: about a peaceful household, one to make up for the lack of a large extended family. Foster respect rather than fear, but loved and feared alike… the two statements contradicted each other directly.

Zarik exhaled in an audible, lengthy sigh. He mentioned the one thing that didn’t have the potential to descend into argument, “Tyara said something similar recently. She wishes for Asher to know her as aunt and often says that we should allow them time with him. She says it isn’t right for him to only have his parents, so… I think I understand, perhaps.”

He didn’t. He was completely and hopelessly confused. But he did his best to not display that to Alistair. So he concluded on the matter of Bjorn, asking for allowance to have authority to guide the boy just as he expected to do with Asher.

His thoughts drifted, in consideration of what next he wanted to talk about, when his path forward halted. He was drawn back and against Alistair. The biqaj squeaked with slight surprise, then quietly laughed behind the kiss before he met the passion with his own.

“Yes… about that too,” said Zarik in a measured voice. He remained unwalking, instead taking the moment to look up at the golden eyes of his lover. Zarik lowered his voice to a whisper so that they could not be easily overheard, even though few were out at such a late hour in the night. “I have also been thinking of… well, do you remember the child in the town? Hazel? Her uncle led the defense against... before you decided to intervene, and it cost him his life. Her mother was torn up and eaten in front of her by a Saltfetcher, as had been her father, grandmother, and siblings before then. I think about her sometimes, knowing that she is alone, in the orphanage, likely still scared and sad.”

“I wish to adopt her,” suggested Zarik. “She is older, by a few arcs than Bjorn, as she turns nine in Saun. Perhaps she could help, playing with him and the like. I learned from the headmistress that she had three younger brothers before the Saltfetcher incursion. She and Bjorn might get along… she knows island life. She could help sharpen his ability to understand dangers in the surrounding nature of our new home when he wants to play outside.”

He lowered his gaze, then said, “I wouldn’t expect her to have any claim to anything. Only that… I might be allowed to care for her like a child of mine anyway, find a room for her in our home, feed and clothe her, guide her studies. If it made you more amendable, perhaps we can think of it as a child only belonging to myself from another? You don’t have to feel responsible for her, but I do already.”

[Alistair]

To Alistair's diatribe, Zarik said little. He mentioned casually that Tyara had said a similar thing involving the necessity of others in a child's life, and feigned his understanding though Alistair could tell from the way in which he spoke and the lack of enthusiasm by his expression that he did not really get it, or wish to. But of course, he had lived a wholly isolated life beneath his father's purview. He had been locked away from others and kept restrained by an iron fist. Of all the people in the world, someone like Zarik was one of the few who might disagree with such a simple platitude.

As they rounded the corner and their intimacy came to a sudden head, the biqaj appended Alistair's suggestion with a tide of his thoughts regarding that same matter -- in a way. He mentioned... Hazel. Immediately, Alistair's eyes narrowed somewhat and his lips pressed together as he considered what the biqaj might say. Of course, he wholly expected the ice-blond to request some sort of parentage over the young girl and this agreement regarding Bjorn had given him the perfect opportunity. Now that Zarik was adopting one child that was not genetically Alistair's or his, why not another? What could the mage possibly say to rationally dispute his spouse's request that would not compromise Zarik taking on Bjorn?

But another child... and a daughter that was Zarik's but not his. A daughter nearly nine arcs of age and raised by others before them; a Helian by birth who could potentially become a threat later in life. A child who would occupy the biqaj's time, depriving that invaluable commodity from the children who actually mattered. At least, they would matter in Alistair's perspective. Hazel never would. She was just an island, peasant girl. Born for nothing and with no genuine significance. Just a child that the biqaj rescued and somehow acquired an affinity for, without validity.

This was a girl he would - one way or another - consider his daughter? If not for his self control, his expression would have visibly channeled his displeasure. But instead, he cracked a faint and false smile and strained his cheeks as they rose in agreement. And he nodded.

"If she shall only be yours, then how could I stop you? Go ahead, my dear. But I require in the legal contract for her adoption that she is excluded from any claims and cannot ever be legitimized. I will do the same for Bjorn, as he is not my child by blood. The legacy of a noble family is carried in the bloodline. It always will be so."

And there was more. He brought his fingertips to smooth across the surface of Zarik's cheek, Alistair's index finger scanning along his cheekbone. "And furthermore, before we begin adding further children to our family, I request that I be certain enough of your totem's state to make a medical proclamation of pregnancy. Otherwise, I fear the time that Hazel might occupy would distract from our obligations as nobles and married partners. Again, if you wish to, I would stall your adoption of Bjorn in the same manner. It is your decision," he stated.

"And finally -- you said we would discuss such matters as conception during our walk. There is no better time than now."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Alistair smiled at him and nodded. Zarik felt a small thrill that the idea might be allowed. He had expected for his husband to argue about it, to remind him of all the things that Zarik felt he’d already thought about: there were so many orphans, he couldn’t adopt them all. His efforts were best spent in the infrastructure to care for all the children rather than try to claim one as his own. Perhaps even that he could become some sort of… mother to them all. He felt a strange excitement at the thought. His irises turned topaz yellow and glimmered with sparkles in the whites of his eyes.

So thrilled, so excited, so lost in the hunger of his spark, he didn’t even notice the false nature of Alistair’s smile. Zarik happily wrapped his arms around the other man’s neck in a cheerful hug. His hood fell back, revealing his face and the ice-blond of his hair in the glow of the nearest bloodlight lantern. His bangs had gotten swept aside and the scarred Mark of Faith on his forehead glistened grave-gold.

“Truly?” he asked in a surprised, eager tone of voice. “Yes, of course, my love. I’ll write the contract myself, for the both, and have you revise it however you feel best.”

He nuzzled his cheek against the touch of Alistair’s finger. His eyelashes fluttered, and he seemed content… until Alistair mentioned a condition to the agreement. He blinked, then nodded slowly in acceptance of it. But he said, “My time is already occupied, as is yours. I don’t understand how Hazel nor Bjorn would influence that. If you do not spend time with me in the evenings, it won’t be because of them, now will it?”

Of course, Zarik referenced to the several trials they’d spent apart by now. Much of which had been due to Alistair choosing to stay in Tyros rather than return home, or for Zarik to remain in Quacia rather than merely follow along in his husband’s menacing ever-flickering shadow. Though they had become even closer despite the physical distance and time apart, it didn’t mean that Zarik had forgotten such a fact.

It was then, on Alistair’s final request to change the topic of conversation, that Zarik’s gaze cooled into blue and he pulled away from their shared embrace. He turned and started on the walk again. Zarik brought his hood back up to cover himself and shroud his face in darkness. He folded his hands behind him and continued to lead toward his father’s house.

“Very well,” he said. “What is there to discuss? I’ve Become. I have the totems of my sisters. I do not understand why we must wait for our ceremony on Helice when we’ve already been blessed by the Theocratum legally. I doubt the laws of Helice will make a difference in validity to the laws of Quacia when it comes to what the courts of Rynmere may or may not recognize.”

“If you wished, we could conceive tonight,” offered Zarik. “But… I want to do it properly, Alistair. The way such a thing is meant to be. Isn't that something you wanted too?”

He hesitated, and when no answer or reply came from the other man, Zarik glanced over. His hand tapped against the other in a slight fidget. He said, "Remember when we were in Ne'haer, my love? When we talked about this at first... when I... I told you how I felt about what we seek to do? How unnatural it is. Well, though I've Become, I must admit that I haven't wavered on such a view. In fact, ever since I Became, I... I feel more strongly than ever that the conception of our children should be done as naturally as possible."

Zarik paused again, then he sighed and rolled his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. He stopped in his walk and turned to face the other man. "Do I truly have to say it? I want to be... If a mother is what I am, then I want to be a mother when I conceive with you. Kiara's form seems suitable for this, but if you'd like, I'm studying to create a unique female body that will belong only as I."

[Alistair]

Alistair did not wish to wait, either. Truthfully, he had felt the same as Zarik; that a ceremony was unnecessary and yet he'd offered one to ease his lover into the idea. To add a formality - or even a gift - as an attachment. But now that he knew such a thing was unnecessary, Alistair found himself impatient for the thought. At first as they spoke he'd kept his gaze narrowed and lowered to focus on the physique of his beloved, if only to conceptualize what the 'ritual' might have looked like. It was fantasizing, he supposed. Though as Zarik offered that they partake in one another tonight, the mage's eyes shot up to meet his -- and from the top of his vision he could see the Mark of Faith imprinted upon the forehead of his beloved.

He had seen it before. It was an obligation for some of the Scarlet Belief's devout, and for others a punishment. For some it was a requirement, a branding in order to secure slave-like loyalty. Alistair paused as his eyes came to focus on the intricate shape. He was reminded, then, why he had wished for his spouse to join him on the Isles far earlier than this.

"Wha--" he stopped himself. This conversation was a delicate one, and he did not wish to damage it with any argumentative words. Alistair pretended for now that he had not witnessed the Mark at all, though the almost Grave-Gold glistening mark upon his wife's features was difficult to simply miss. He thought to shift his expression to one of joyous gratitude at the thought of engaging in their procreation now, only to - in his distraction - do a pleased-then-disappointed double-take as his expression abruptly shifted between the two.

He froze. And frowned.

Unnatural. As naturally as possible. What was the purpose if he could not look into his lover's true eyes and true complexion as they made love? Why go all this way if they would only force Alistair to stomach the body of a woman...? Kleine had kept things between them as men, and Alistair had liked it that way. He hadn't had to compromise his identity. But Zarik wished for something else.

Like in all things, though, compromise could be found. The mage thought on it for a trill and paused. Still, the undercurrent of his increasingly erratic stream of thoughts whispered of the Mark of Faith and what it meant, and how it marred his spouse's beauty. Through this distraction he found it difficult to focus and the mage felt likely to blurt out his thoughts as he became increasingly confused on what to speak on and how to go about it.

Alistair breathed in and out deeply as his shoulders rolled back and his chest rose and fell. "If you can... look like you, with your face even if... softened, perhaps, and... without overt breasts and a somewhat more masculine shape, I--"

He nodded, slowly. "If I can look at you and at least pretend to myself that I am inside of you, the original you, even if perhaps with a more petite frame and greater fragility, and even within the confines of a different organ, I-I can be content with that. But please, I wish to make love to you, not your sister. If you must construct another version of yourself perhaps with shared traits that would make it all more natural, then I understand. Perhaps I might even enjoy it, perhaps even a great deal. But please - no further than that."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

It was obvious that Alistair had a lot of things he wanted to say. What all those things were… Zarik wasn’t certain. He held still, hands folded at his lower back, and waited. His shoulders tensed and his wings folded a bit stiffer behind him. He expected argument, perhaps, or even a direct denial. It seemed most likely that Alistair would simply tell him no, as he’d done before in matters that Zarik felt strongly about. It was often such a struggle and required lengthy explanations of his reasoning to convince his husband about certain things. He considered how important this was, and thus, how likely a great deal of explanation would be had between them.

Finally, Alistair took a deep breath and fixed his posture, then he replied… in a fair and compromising way.

Zarik blinked. He considered the words with a thoughtful expression. After a moment’s pause, letting silence linger between them once the magister was finished with his offered compromise, he said, “You will be inside of me though, Alistair. I will always be me even when I’m not. It is… even earlier when you saw me as Kiara, that was me. I can’t explain it, but… and I have little experience to do so in a way that might make sense to you. I have no doubt that no matter what form I take, I will always be me.”

“I will not speak for you, but I did not fall in love with the visage of the man who caught me in the Arboreal. I fell in love with the soul I know to be you, the master who made me the mage I have evolved into totrial.” Zarik stepped close and placed his hand against Alistair’s chest. “How you’ve changed, my light, since that time. But yes, I can understand… I would not want you to be someone else, such as Devin's features, or a woman either. That isn’t why I want this. Please understand, this is for our children, not for me or you.”

“If and when I ever tell them the story of how they were conceived,” explained Zarik in a quiet voice. He spoke delicately, if not a bit vaguely due to the sensitivity of the topic. “I want to be able to tell them that it was in the way intended by nature, not manipulated by magic. I want them to know, when they are old enough to understand, that it wasn’t… well… I want them to not feel too different from their peers in that regard and not have to think about it otherwise. If they can know that their mother was indeed like any other mother, any other wife, I feel this would be best for them.”

“I can do as you so graciously wish,” he added with a gentle smile. “My studies are coming along well. Lucretia has been helping me. She even offered a totem of herself to help it along for more obvious visual distinction between the process of blending. I see no reason why I wouldn’t be able to figure out a way to blend my sisters and I together to create a version of myself – with my face, and my features, as if I’d been born as a sister instead of a brother – then that will be me and I could truly be your wife.”

“Though I would like to have impressive, amazing breasts,” he added with a playful laugh. Zarik set a hand over his flat chest and patted at it. “Don’t you think it’d be better that way? To have ample breasts to nurse with? I always thought such things were so ridiculous, the way women wear them, and do such things with them. I’ve never understood it.”

Zarik leaned forward, then shimmied his shoulders like he’d seen plenty of Lair women do when trying to entice his attention on the streetcorners. Only of course, he didn’t have the cleavage to make it truly scandalous. Still, he pursed his lips then winked. Whether he was serious about it, playful about a serious matter, or entirely teasing – it seemed impossible to discern.

He leaned back, forgoing the mockery of loose women, then clapped a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. His cheeks were flushed silvery-blue. “Now then, I suppose that means we’ll have to wait a bit longer… but not too much so. Before we return home, there is something I must do so let’s keep on.”

Zarik took Alistair’s hand, then led on. They were within visual distance of his old house now and he turned their direction toward the back alley. He fiddled around in the pocket of his trenchcoat then took out a skeleton key. “This shouldn’t take long. I must check on my father and… i-if you think you might… be able to see him? Or is that asking too much because of Purifier? It’s okay if not, you can wait out here then.”

[Alistair]

Though Zarik spoke eloquently, and in romantic terms that most would have found difficult to disagree with, Alistair... did disagree with him. Though the visage of his beloved was not the only thing he had fallen in love with, it was one of the things, certainly. Alistair had fallen in love with every aspect of Zarik and they all made him who he was. It was his soul, yes, but his heart and his skin and his eyes and his being. The mage could eventually learn to love Zarik's other totems, perhaps in the same way, but when it came to his female ones... he could never, just--

The Becomer continued to speak extensively of how he would change. How he wished to speak to their children of the 'natural' way in which they procreated, obsessing over that one detail. Alistair did not particularly care for how natural or unnatural it was, so long as it worked. Any other mother, any other wife.

A sister instead of a brother. Truly be your wife.

The mage's mind was scattered. So rooted he was in his identity that these concepts alone disgusted and unnerved him, though he had no easy way to detail such a thing. It just felt, wrong. To see Zarik that way - as anything other than Zarik, a man that he loved. Alistair finally spoke, trying to explain just why he found the biqaj's reasoning to be flawed.

"We are not normal and not natural," he stated. "I am on a path to Godhood. Soon enough, I will reveal and will not be human at all. Our children will look at their father and see an alien, divine being. They will look to their mother and see a changing, almost amorphous shape. Our children will be born and raised with magic in their surroundings. They will learn to understand the unnatural before long, and their peers will already recognize the divergent nature of their parents whether or not we encourage that perception or fight it at every turn. And that is alright. Being unique - special - is synonymous with being a Lord. In fact, these gloriously strange and differing things only offer to the common man a clearer depiction of our reality-defying greatness. And finally... I must make one thing clear," he said.

Alistair's eyes firmly planted onto Zarik's own globes as he stared him down. It was clear that what he wished to say was, to him, of great importance.

"I am not attracted to women. I can tolerate... aspects; I may enjoy the primitive satisfaction of their interior, or the texture of softer skin though I have known men to carry similar such softness, like yourself. The rest... the shape of the body and the tone of the voice, and even the stark difference in personality -- I am not drawn to these things. Do you not think if I was such a typical man already, that I would have not gone off to find the most beautiful woman in the world; that I would not already have children belonging to her and I already?" Alistair spoke with a confused expression, apprehensive to speak further. His lips were tight and drawn back into his cheeks, with his brows furrowed together.

"Instead, however, I found the most beautiful man in the world who I love as a man -- who I will always love as a man. If you wish to be a woman while we copulate, I understand... but at least allow me the illusion that you are even simply something close to yourself. Allow me your complexion, and the feel of a chest that is at least faintly like yours. It will still be natural; just as natural as you'd like it to be. But in a way that I might, also, enjoy."

The impression and joke both flew far past him. Alistair was wholly serious about this and did not have any interest in jest. His posture remained rigid and his focus severe.

Zarik claimed that there was still something left to be done, and quickly elaborated. His father.

Alistair did take his hand and held his fingers firmly within the confines of his own, not angry at his spouse but merely intensely focused on his rationalizations. The mage's eyes settled upon Zarik's old home.

"I'll wait outside," he said. "I can't imagine my spark will take kindly to him. He would be in danger and I think it's best we kept our distance," Alistair explained. "But... I want you to know, Zarik -- I love you. I'm sorry for the intensity of my disagreement. I just... want... you. And I know that we don't see it the same way, but that's what compromise is for. So please -- let us do so."

Releasing the Becomer's hand to allow him forward and into his old home, Alistair stood where he was. "I'll wait out here for you. If you need anything... yell for me. I'll always put you first, Zarik. Far before my dread of your father."