• Closed • Birthday for Baroness

[Syhera Ki'hadi]

23rd of Saun, Noon-ish

"So he's leaving me?"

"No, Syhera. You've been given a choice." Gwyn's voice was soft, soothing, and she sat on the edge of the bed while Hera fussed over her hair, "He wants you to be free from the constraints of the agreement, so that you do not feel trapped."

"He already gave me a choice once. I made a decision, and he insulted me for it. Now he wants to play the good boy while hiding behind my mother's skirts?" Syhera was frowning not quite understanding the full situation. A letter had arrived days prior for her Gwynthera Ki'hadi, only bits of its contents shared with the younger woman. She knew Peake Andaris had apologized, and that he wanted to seek a more amiable relationship. It hadn't quite struck the dense Biqaj that perhaps he sought her hand romantically, as she was still fixated on the idea of illusion.

"He was angry. You were angry. Forgiveness," Gwyn watched Hera turn in the mirror, sighing at her daughter, "goes a long way. Is it so hard to believe Peake to be... good?"

The answer was immediate, "No. He's-" Syhera stopped, catching herself. He had struck her. No man had ever hit her before, "I don't know." she said finally, reaching for her bag. It was a known fact she deserved it, but she refused to blame herself for the actions of others, "He can be," she admitted finally.

Gwyn perked up, pleased to have been given something to work with, "Tell me," she began, "What is your favorite memory with him?"

This was... a challenging question that had to be given thought. Hera mentally began sorting through her moments with the bearded giant, thinking on each one. She stood still for a long moment as she considered them. There was their first encounter, at the Andaris Gala, chatting like conspirators in the hallway. The announcement. Then, he had sought her out the next day and they had vowed secrecy. The third, Peake had surprised her with gifts and a trip to a meadow. They had played games, laughed. That was the one.

"Our picnic."

Gwyn leaned forward, "Why?"

"I-I don't know," Why was her mother pushing this? "It was just nice." It was a simple memory. A tender one, amidst all the lies. When he had knocked on the door, Hera had kissed him. It had been for show, to deter the eyes that watched. But in the meadow it had just been them. She could relax. She didn't have to smile for everyone all the time, only when she wanted to. She had liked it.

But! He had still hit her.

"We should go or I'm going to be late to my own party."

Gwyn stood up quickly, "Wait! Is that what you're wearing?" she eyed her daughter's cleavage and the black straps the crisscrossed against her neckline. "No shirt?"

"Mama, it's hot outside," Two suns hot, to be exact. Who would want to wear more than they had to, "And it's just family. No one will look twice."

Gwynthera was not stupid enough to believe that, "Here," she snatched up a piece of black fabric that had been hanging on the wall. It was a bit sheer, but better than nothing and she tied it securely around her daughter's hip, hoping to deter too many wandering eyes, "It gets far too cold at night for so little." Then a look of warning to her daughter, "I'll bring something else, just in case."

Just in case Peake Andaris, a man who had just announced his attraction to her daughter, could come.

***

23rd of Saun 716, evening

The celebration was to be held on the beach, in traditional Biqaj style, but they had to travel a bit to get away from the fish markets and from the sailors who drooled when Syhera moved down the street. It was nice to be further away from the city, from its tense citizens and the brooding of war. Here, the sands were white and the water gently lapping. A few blankets were scattered about with bodies lounging and chatting. A large pile of driftwood waited a ways off and some tables were crafted out of old crates. One held a number of homemade dishes, and the other a mountain of gifts. A perfect setting.

Syhera sat hosting her cousins with smiles and stories, with Roxanna's hands weaving beautiful seashells into the red strands, while Sasha strummed a lute. A few people danced, and one sang. Biqaj roamed around the beach freely, the pointy eared folk in their element. It was Gwyn who looked on, waiting eagerly.

Would he be able to show?

Her eyes searched for the Baron, eager and waiting to see his form approach from the horizon.

[Peake]

23rd of Saun, Afternoon

The reports kept piling in his office. The three tables having already been filled, now the thick layers of folders being piled on the stone floors as the troublesome news of an incoming army kept coming. Reported sightings, information from spies, casualty, calculations… Every piece of information was there, everything prepared for someone to look upon it, to analyze it, to use it and avoid a catastrophe. Outside the office the voices spoke in hushed whispers, but the fear and worry were heard no matter how thick the wooden door was. Some held on to the cold discipline they had been taught in the past, being serious, formal, and hiding their feelings behind their duty as soldiers. Others showed what they felt with their voice, with their tone, and with their gaze, sharing with their comrades their horror with those small details, even if all they spoke was of orders, reports, and calculations. The war was coming, and every man and woman in the Iron Hand was shaking under the pressure.

Peake still laid in his makeshift bed, the desk having been softened by the addition of soft blankets and a few pillows. Ever since the news of the incoming rebellion began last season, time has been a factor Peake couldn’t ignore. First it was the sleep what was reduced, then the rests, and eventually the possibility of going home every now and then was forbidden. Sleeping in one’s desk was pathetic, Peake often feeling like a stray dog that wandered the same alleyways. Back pains and headaches were common, too, but it was all worth it.

As he laid, Peake’s brown eyes stared out the window – if one could call it that. It was a depressive view what he saw, a wall of bricks not a yard away from his window hiding any sort of landscape. Light still passed from the pinnacle of the twin suns’ trajectory, which thankfully gave the office some much appreciated lighting. War-time melancholy had nested inside Peake’s mind, moments of contemplation in which a man inspected all his accomplishments, his achievements and his memories and dug deep to find something meaningful. All the duties and all the work done had left him bereft of any sense of himself, slightly lost in thought of what was to come from all this unwanted conflict.

For some reason, whenever he stared out a window, he could see every answer he needed. Rage faded, thoughts cleared, and the body healed behind any glass his eyes stared thought. Peake often imagined himself standing on the other side of the glass, free like a bird, light like a feather, unchained by problems and realities, while his body remained in the room, trapped, anguished and burdened. Sometimes he wished for it, as well. To just escape, to live a simpler life somewhere far away, hidden in some deadbeat town nobody knows the name of, wearing any other name but his. Whenever he did, he imagined himself smiling happily, laughing joyfully, and building a family as he humbly worked for his pay. Life was not a fantasy, however, and so Peake cleared his mind.

Despite the incoming enemy force, Peake had been adamant before the King: he wanted a free trial. It was given to him, considering this was the only one he had seen ever since the season began. He too needed to rest, to refuel his morale, and unload his burdens for a trial before returning stronger, and ready to lead the defense of his homeland. Because of this, the recently awakened Peake stood up from his hardwood bed and stretched his aching back by leaning back. In that very moment, a woman carrying a stack of new reports made her way into Peake’s office, meeting face to face with Peake’s naked body and yelping in surprise, eyes going wide as they looked away.
“Just leave them where you can.” Tried to say Peake, as a yawn swallowed his words.
“Y-yes, my lord…” Said the girl, whom left the folders in a corner and hurried to the exit, sneaking a glance towards Peake’s frame once more. “Umm.. My Lord, the Duke and your father both sent you an invitation for tonight’s gala.”
“Ignore them.” Replied Peake, adamant. “I have other plans.”
“Should I send a mess—“Tried to reply the girl.
“Ignore them.” Interrupted Peake, whom dismissed the girl with a gesture afterwards.

Unaware and uncaring of it, Peake’s first need was to retrieve his pills to contain his alcohol withdrawal, having been abusing them lately as there was little time to drink. However, as Peake noticed the vast quantity of reports stacked in his office, he was almost tempted to return to his bed and begin sorting through them.

Was this really a good day to spend away from duty?

---

23rd of Saun, Evening

As Peake’s bare feet walked through the sands, he could experience the sweetest sensation in his recent memory: not wearing an armor. His on duty armor, although glorious, was nothing but a torment in Saun, as not only it was heavier than the Iron Hand’s plates, but it also required thicker layers of gambeson below to avoid irritation. Combined with the chainmail above it, Peake often sweated so much he felt like a smelly sponge as he walked around. Not anymore.

Now, as he made his pace down the still hot sands below his feet, the only thing he felt was the more than satisfying bounce of his hairy pectorals, fueled of course by a light training session he had allowed himself. All these inconsistencies in his diet and sleep, combined with the stress, had caused his gut to pop out in a really unsatisfying manner, feeling its bounce more than the one of his pectorals. Thankfully, the deadlifts had compressed it enough for it to tighten, perhaps slightly reducing its massive size.

Donned with some light cotton pants rolled up to his knees, an open white shirt, and the carved bone that always hung from his neck, Peake advanced through the beach. A large box in his hands, along with a small gift on top of it, the nobleman’s hands were busy as he spotted the distant gathering. Squinting in attempts of recognizing someone, his massive frame was much easier to spot in the white dunes of the beach. As he came closer to the cozy spot in the beach, and the eyes began directing themselves towards him, Peake felt very unwelcome. He was not a Biqaj, and he wasn’t really expected either, which was clearly seen in the frowns of some of the pointy eared individuals gathered around.

Soon enough, Peake found Gwynthera among the crowd and offered her a wide, somewhat childish smile, trying to avoid crossing eyes with anyone else – including Syhera – as he had made his mind up, eager to leave from whence it came as soon as possible.
“Brought the cake and, uh… a present.” He said to one of the nearby Biqaj, a male with dreadlocks that was giving him a frown Peake wanted to smash. “Where do I put them?”
He was directed towards the two tables, leaving the boxed cake in the table with the plates, and the small rectangular wrapped gift in the table next to it. Afterwards, he remained in the spot, awkwardly.

Should he approach Syhera and congratulate her?

[Syhera Ki'hadi]

Syhera Ki'hadi did not immediately stand to greet her lord fiance... or were they still engaged? Nevertheless, she sat with a straight back and proudly on display as Roxanna's fingers slowed to a stop within her hair. Even before she spoke, Hera could tell her cousins were excited. They had been eager to see Peake Andaris in the flesh, and not through cracked doors and windows.

"Oh, Syhera," she purred, an twinge of wicked eagerness on Roxanna's lips, "Go invite your friend to sit with us. He looks so scared and lonely," A small pause and a tempting tap on her shoulder, "He brought you cake."

Hera, who had been staring forward to avoid looking at Peake had to stop herself from turning a head in his direction, but her blue eyes did flicker momentarily towards the food table. The sweet staple had to be forgotten this year, with the war sending the cost of ingredients - mainly sugar- extremely high. She remembered her mother being so disappointed then, not being able to bake one, or even buy something small at the bakery. Business in the shop had vanished and they had begun to rely on Hera's savings to get by. No one cared about trinkets when men were dying.

"He can take it back," Syhera said stubbornly, returning to glaring at the blue sea, "And I don't know why he's here, I didn't invite him."

Gwythera did. It was obvious now. The way she had asked about her opinion on him, pushed the idea of moving on. And now he was here she was the first to greet him. In fact, Gwyn had beamed when Peake arrived, patting him on the arm and leading him to the table. More than once her mother had praised him, seemingly ignorant to some of the other frowns. Hera internally scolded herself at not noticing the clues earlier. She was slipping.

It seemed there were some who did want the bearded giant, and Roxanna still pushed the issue, her voice changing to something harder, "A man hits a woman because she doesn't have time to make dinner. Deserved or not deserved?"

A long moment before Hera spoke, "He supposed to come to me. He knows the rules. I'm the host."

"Deserved or not?" Roxanna pushed, ignoring her cousin's last answer.

Syhera's answered begrudgingly, crossing her arms over her chest, "Undeserved."

"A man hits a woman because she spills water on him while pouring his glass. Deserved or undeserved?

"Undeserved."

"A man hits a woman because she risks both their lives and burns down a house. Deserved or undeserved?"

"Debateable." Hera snapped back, grabbing the shirt Sasha had been wearing. It was a white sailors shirt, and she tugged it on, smelling of sun and sea. Roxanna grinned and leapt to her feet, and helped Hera up as well. Syhera would have to go to him, it seemed. Her bare feet moved slowly across the sand and she watched him as she approached, her eyes falling to the bed of food when she was within arms reach. She grabbed a plate and began to fill it, almost all with freshly cooked seafood, a far more affordable venture when you were surrounded by fishermen and sailors. Cooked shrimp and butter, lobster tail, white fish, and potatoes. A bed of creamy pasta, some sort of dark bread, and a bowl of white chowder. She piled each item without saying a thing, the plate now heavy in her hand, and when she was done, she set down the serving utensils and held out the feast to him.

Etiquette required her to play along and make small talk, "You looked tired," she commented casually, her voice not as callous as she had been going for. In fact, she sounded quite normal, surprised to find her frustrations at the man before her held in place only by the childish stubbornness she so desperately clung to. Seeing him here after their recent fight was a bit surprising. Just like the first time he had entered her home, it was like watching a puzzle piece being forced in place, the backdrop not quite fitting the man.

Finally, Syhera took a deep breath and swallowed her pride, "With all you do with the war, you deserve a day off. Thank you for coming," Wasn't an honor to be visited by a baron at a personal party? Or... were they still pretending to be getting married? Hera wasn't quite sure where she stood so picking a role to play for their act was becoming increasingly harder. Was she supposed to hug him? Kiss him? Shake his hand?

"It will be awhile before we open gifts and light the bonfire," Then they would cook even more food, sticking pork and steak on sticks and roasting them. As she talked, she could feel Roxanna staring. Sasha must have been too, because even without looking, she could hear a break in the music, "Would you like to come sit down? You can eat and rest. The twins are very good at massages, if you'd like."

At their mention, the two girls with their numerous piercings and tattooed limbs materialized beside the redhead. One of them cracked her knuckles and Hera waved them back, "We can talk?"

[Peake]

The first awkward moments of Peake’s party presence, dedicated to standing in place and looking around in hopes of finding something other than rejection, were eventually interrupted by the friendly sight of Gwynthera, a beautiful woman with a beautiful smile that joyfully came to his aid. Peake’s expression changed to delight as the older Biqaj approached, hugging her and receiving her two kisses in his bearded cheeks, a soft chuckle escaping him.
“I’m glad you came, child.” Said Gwynthera.
“I’m glad I came. I meant to bring you some tulips, but the florist is closed, so…” Peake said, slightly ashamed.
“Bah!” Replied Gwynthera with a dismissive gesture. “This is no time for flowers, and it is not my birthday what we’re celebrating, no? Come meet the family, child.”

Glancing towards Syhera’s direction as Gwynthera dragged him towards a group of disgruntled guests, Peake’s presence immediately interrupted their conversation. Their eyes focused on him in a way that made him feel very inappropriate. Thankfully, Gwynthera was there, pointing towards every dish and explaining what it was, how good it tasted, and even advising Peake the quantities he should ingest to compensate for working so much. Peake addressed the guest, meanwhile, offering a handshake none of the males dared to refuse in Gwynthera’s presence.
“Hey.” Said Peake. “Name’s Peake. How are you?” Nobody gave their names, not trusting the human just yet, instead merely replying with nods, shrugs, and movements from their eyebrows. Whether they were intimidated or dubious about his presence, it seemed to fade away as Peake proved himself to be just another guest.
Before he could serve himself, however, it was Syhera the one that handed a full plate, handing it to him like she was handing him a noose – she was still irritated. Her expression was neutral, and her voice was on par with her soft features, something that figuratively threw the man off balance.
“Thank you for having me,” replied Peake to her comment, offering a coy smile as he took the plate in his hands. “Happy birthday in advance.”
Peake too was slightly unsure as to how to approach the female, and as his eyes ran over her, he felt more ignorant than ever. It was very strange to find Syhera in an environment that Peake did not dwell, something as casual as a beach being unbeknown to him as his life resided in cobblestone streets. She, donned with a swimsuit and a plane white shirt, looked so different from their previous encounters. Her partially braided red mane reminded him of her Biqaj culture, something he had never addressed before as within the city. Syhera was often so sophisticated, so quiet and observant that Peake’s eyes had never truly seen what she was outside their masquerade. Now, she looked so casual, so comfortable, and as gorgeous as usual… but in an entirely different way.
As her invitation came through, Peake felt a great deal of relief at the possibility of ending this uncertainty, unsure if she had taken a decision about the status of their relationship. After all, it rested in her hands. Almost about to lean in to kiss her cheek, the apparition of two heavily tattooed Biqaj broke his attempt, Peake assuming his charming self and shooting a quick compliment to calm down the felines women often were.
“And I thought Saun’s two suns hid in the horizon in the evening. Turns out they were hiding in the beach.” A charming grin was offered to the twins, before Peake addressed Syhera again. “I like your hair, you look beautiful. And yes, I would like that.”

Peake followed after Syhera, looking down at his plate and realizing just how hungry he was. Having eaten anything since his workout, the dish looked like a feast compared to the cold food he had been eating the past days. As he walked, Peake inspected the beach, and he too was intoxicated with the joyous theme of the gathering. The music, the dances, the laughter all combined with the soft heat, the salty breeze and the dimming light in the horizon. Peake had certainly never experienced anything like this in the city, the stone buildings now comparable to prison cells when standing next to this carnival of freedom and calm.
As they were reaching their destination, a sudden interruption halted Peake’s gait, two arms wrapping around his gigantic thighs. A young boy, no more than five arcs of age, was hugging his leg, his childish features smeared in some sort of sauce produced by a careless ingest proper of any child.
“Mom, look at the size of this one!” said the boy, pressing on Peake’s thigh as if hugging the trunk of a tree.
“Get off me, you little—“ Peake, used to the thieving children of Andaris, reacted violently, looking down and showing his usual cynical attitude to the kid. However, he was wise enough to halt himself, as the kid was not far from starting a wail. Having once caused an older child to pass out in fear, Peake certainly did not wish for something similar to happen before the already skeptical Biqaj. Leaving his full plate on top of a nearby crate, Peake looked down from his enormous height and addressed the child.
“Tell me, boy. You know how to swim, right?” His tone was visibly more friendly and amicable, sprinkled with some jesting inflection proper of any uncle.
“Yes…” Replied the boy, undoing his hug and taking a step back.
“Of course you do.” Said Peake next, squatting down to reduce his imposing presence for the kid. “But… do you know how to fly?”
“Biqaj don’t fly! We sail!” Replied the kid, almost offended by Peake’s words – as if the child knew what being offended was.
“But many have sailed before you have. Say…” Peake leaned it, beckoning for the boy to come closer, as if about to share a secret. “Would you like to be the first Biqaj that flew?”
The boy was definitely interested, a partially toothless grin appearing around his dirty lips.
“Step on my hand, then, and stand still.” Peake placed his hand on the sand, his expression tempting the boy, whom did not have any doubts to take a stranger’s offer. A bad example.
As the boy stepped on Peake’s gigantic hand, his other arm dug its way beneath the stepped palm, and with the help of both, Peake’s musculature was activated, standing up from his squatting stance and raising his arms at the unison - the boy was risen like a chalice. He was joyous already, Peake’s hands pressing the tiny feet together and moving to balance the moving boy in his hand. Peake wasn’t done yet, despite the boy being satisfied already.
“Are you ready to become the first Biqaj to touch the sky? Stand very still!”

And with that, Peake bent his knees slightly and as he propelled, his supporting hand left the arm carrying the child, the momentum being enough to raise arm and boy over Peake’s head, his torso balancing it all through a series of small wiggles. It was an impressive feat of strength from Peake’s part, something he was never afraid to demonstrate to at least compensate for the loses in the nobleman’s physique. Most of the Biqaj that watched were torn between admiration, amusement, and contempt, although the joy of the boy that flayed his arms through the sky between giggles was quite amusing to see.
“And now, you plunge into the ocean!” Said Peake, as he yanked his arm outwards and the boy violently lost balance, falling from the top with a loud yelp, landing on Peake’s both arms that absorbed his fall and left him unharmed in every way. The boy’s distress had now turned into a series of confused giggles, unsure if he was joyous by the experience or terrified of the sudden fall.
“You liked it, didn’t you? Go on, go play around with the shrimps or something.” Peake let the boy on his feet, and lightly pushed his back to send him off.

Satisfied with his display of strength, the display of charisma, and his will to belong with the guests, Peake turned around and sat in one of the blankets as he offered a wide smile to the three females. They better be impressed.
“This looks great. I’m starving.” Said Peake as he made himself comfortable, taking his dish back and starting to politely eat the various foods piled in his plate.

A few yards away, however, a rather dizzy boy with a strange sway in his feet fell on his knees, and the large portion of whatever saucy dish that was smeared on his face escaped into the sand, the vomit being witnessed by most of the guests.

Damn it.

[Syhera Ki'hadi]

Peake's attempt at a charming introduction to the twins passed, although whether or not they were really flattered was to be decided. They grinned their catlike grins and stepped back, linking arms as Peake complimented their red headed cousin. Hera offered a weak smile, and stepped aside to lead him to where they had been sitting, but paused at the exclamation of a rather eager boy. The group slowed, and she looked down at the toothy boy who claimed Peake like a prize at the carnival.

The nerves Hera had been feeling when interacting with the baron faded and she smiled at the new guest. Peake, however, did not seem so keen on being touched by a child and almost said something not so nice. Her eyes narrowed in warning, and she crossed her arms, but Peake caught himself, and lowered to the ground. When he addressed the child next, his tone was open and friendly. The memory of the market place, the first day after their engagement immediately came to mind. Then, Peake had used a similar voice, a mask of intimidation to retrieve an apple from a shopkeeper. At least when Peake was shouting, she knew what to expect.

Now, as he interacted with the Biqaj child, she found herself holding her breath - pensive about the whole situation. And while she liked to say that it was because she had seen the imposing presence hidden behind his act, Hera knew Peake had scared her the other day. Not because he had raised his hand, but the sheer anger he displayed. There had been something in his dark eyes - a animalistic hatred. A hunger.

The boy was balanced and then caught as Peake sent him tumbling to the ground. She blinked, broken from her thoughts and finally relaxed, even began to smile. That was good. A soft clap and Peake retrieved his food, walking and settling in. Food was brought to his mouth without a second thought, but the boy's weak legs collapsed and vomit sprayed across the white sand. Hera frowned, "Sasha, Roxanna, I'm sure Peake could use that massage."

Syhera did not look back as she began to walk towards the little boy who now had a half digested substance dripping from his chin and out of his nose. Tears had budded in his eyes and he whimpered. Over her shoulder, Hera looked for his mother, and spotted her in waist high water, watching with concern and about to come to the shore. Syhera gave a dismissive wave to assure he she had it taken care of, and she bent over to look at the boys face, "Let me see."

She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He didn't feel warm, which meant no fever. Just too much excitement and a full meal. Not exactly Peake's fault, and so she resisted the desire to shoot the grown man a stern glare. Instead, she brushed the boy's hair from his face and took his hand - covered in vomit and sand, "Let's go get you cleaned up," and to the ocean they walked and she led him to water. He held onto her tightly, and the tide began dampening the hem of her skirt. When they were about calf deep, Hera released his hand and bent to dampen her hand in the salt water. Then, carefully, she lifted her hand to wipe off the vomit from his face, alternating between washing her hand and washing his face. She gathered her skirt and with the wet parts, wiped at his skin and he looked up at her with such a pitiful expression, Hera had to smile, "Cheer up, darling. You'll be fine."

He wiped at his nose and with a stuffy voice said, "But it burns."

"Just a little," then she bent, wringing out her skirt in the water to cleanse it of any residue, pretending to be unaffected by the slime that touched her outfit, "Why don't you go lay down?" he started to pout, "Maybe later, we can have a piece of cake?" While washing her hands, she splashed him and he laughed. Then she stood, ruffled his sandy hair and began drying her hands on her shirt.

On the shore, Peake sat with his plate and each twin had a shoulder in their hands, kneading the corded muscle with intent focus. The girls were watching her with a smirk and when Hera reached the blanket, she collapsed beside the two, and laid back, staring at the sky. She didn't say anything for a moment and rolled on her side to look at the trio, specifically at the Andaris, "Did my mother make you come here, or did you want to?"

[Peake]

Despite his stuffed mouth and his reluctance to look towards Hera the Heroine, Peake felt horrible. He had just ruined his best chance of fitting into the party without being glanced at occasionally by the guests. It was only logical, as Peake was now the Baron that oversaw the Andaris ports. Every business technically paid their taxes to him, and he was responsible of the good and bad fortunes of the businesses in his Barony. As a politician, receiving such hatred was obvious, although Peake felt a big victimized as he hadn’t even looked at the responsibilities that came with his title. Since most, if not all, of the Biqaj in this beach roamed the ports, it wasn’t much of a surprise to find some contempt by their part. At least he was here, trying to fit in, instead of hiding in the manor of his family and kidnapping their kin away from their culture. He was trying to embrace it, as much as he could.
Quiet and absorbed by his delicious meal, he secretly overlooked how Syhera walked to the shore and took care of his mess – again. There was clearly a barrier between the two, an obstacle between their beings, and the child’s vomit had served to seal whatever crack had appeared from their brief exchange of words. There had always been a wall between the two, be it a social, economic, or cultural. However, now there were grudges that were added to the pile, most of them held by Hera as she was the one to suffer Peake’s mistakes. Peake’s grudges had been let go, at least partially, as Gwynthera had returned his feet onto the soil.
“So we’re honored to massage the Baron, aren’t we?” Said one of the twins, her tone torn between mocking and condescending. “I hope our hands satisfy you, my Lord.”
“Yes, indeed. We’ll try to fulfill your expectations.” Replied the other twin, both pairs of hands reaching for Peake’s body. Thankfully, a shirt stood between their hands and his flesh, as otherwise their touch would’ve felt even viler.
Peake didn’t say anything. In this situation, he was trapped, a fly in a cobweb. The twins were not looking for his words, but instead for his ear. Between the Biqaj, they were the mercenaries of Syhera, the thugs that did her job like the City Guard did Peake’s in the city.
“Isn’t it sweet that you came?” Asked the first voice. “The noble warrior that came to his fiancé’s party before the war…”
“Yes, isn’t that so romantic?” Answered the other twin. “A shore leave, no less. Music, dances, massages… Is it what you expected, M’lord?”

Peake was already getting frustrated. The girls’ massage, despite being proper and quite pleasing, was neutralized by the mock in their voice. Of course, he couldn’t grunt, he couldn’t reply, as he would only giving them more incentive to continue. Peake knew about intimidation, and he knew he shouldn’t show a sign of weakness.
“Of course its not! Can’t you see how quiet he is?”
“Oh, its true. His fiancé is ignoring him. Even a child gets more of his attention.”
“A child the noble warrior just made vomit, of course.”
“And now she is the one cleaning the mess.”
“Not so romantic anymore, is it?”
“Not one bit, no.”

Peake could do nothing but look down on his plate, chew, and sigh every once in a while. As the twins spoke, it wasn’t only the massage that lost pleasure, but also the food. Thank you, twins.
“How do you think the noble warrior will solve this mess, sister?”
“Maybe apologize?”
“Or maybe insult her.”
“And hit her.”
“Make her miserable on her party, too.”
“Of course. What kind of man wouldn’t do that?”

A grunt escaped him, a simple sign that served to fuel the attempts of the twins to manipulate him. They glanced at each other, their devilish smirks only widening. As for Peake, he realized his mistake, committed obviously by the accuracy of the twins’ words. It was obvious Syhera had shared her version of the events, and the twins had made their own assumptions. Unfortunately for Peake, they were correct, and the guilt inside him grew. He had apologized, yes, but to Gwynthera. Syhera he had ignored, because he was being a coward.
“Maybe he thinks a good gift and some cake will be enough.”
“Maybe coins will fix this.”
“Maybe his fiancé will pretend like it did.”
“And begrudge him afterwards.”
“And hate him.”
“Leave him, too.”
“Find herself someone better to marry.”
“A proper man.”
“A braver man.”
“A real man.”

Each word tore a wound in Peake’s pride, his table manners fading away as he now ate as proper as any starved slave did, shoving everything in his mouth, almost unable to chew. It wasn’t jealousy what he felt, but disappointment in himself. The twins were right. Here he came with a cake, ignoring his fiancé, ignoring the hurtful words they tossed at each other, hoping the wind will blow hard enough to remove the daggers from their prides. He was eating, while she was fixing his mess.
“Or, maybe, he could be that real man.”
“The proper man?”
“The braver man.”
“How could the noble warrior do such?”
“Sitting and waiting, perhaps?”
“Getting massages?”
“Or perhaps apologizing.”
“And talking.”
“Doing.”
“Being.”

Almost nothing remained on Peake’s plate by the time Syhera returned, the last remains of the complete dish fading in his bearded mouth before the plate was left in the nearby crate. His hunger had been satiated for the moment, although it was likely to return after a short period of time, as maintaining such a huge physique required constant ingest. He could use this chance to not only clear his conscience, but to obey the whims of the two devils that had been whispering in his ear. Syhera’s extended family was intense. Before he could say anything, however, it was Syhera the one that broke the silence.
“She invited me. I came because I wanted to be here.” He replied, looking at her, watching her frame laying on the blanket like a statue. “I thought you knew I’d come…,” Peake’s voice faded for a moment. “Or that that I was invited.”

Once again, and for perhaps the second time today, Peake felt the frustration of the secrecy of every exchanged word. He was under the impression that her reluctance towards him was because of him seeking her mother’s blessing to chase after her hand, but it seemed it was nothing like that. Syhera didn’t even know Peake was invited, perhaps unhappy that he was here, too. The string of information was always cut in pieces, as proven by Gwynthera’s ignorance about Micah, or Peake’s own ignorance about it until ten trials ago. It drove him crazy to be trapped in a world of assumptions, and so, thanks the incentive already given by the twins, Peake knew he wanted to be completely honest with his fiancé.
“I can go if you’d prefer. This trial is yours, and you decide who stays or goes. However, and before you send me away,” Peake pushed himself up with a slight grunt, offering an open palm towards Syhera. “How about we take a walk on the shore? I’d like to talk to you about something… in private.” Peake glanced towards the twins, both of their expressions as devilish as expected. For the first time, Peake had met two devils that had good intentions.
“It won’t be long, I promise.”

[Syhera Ki'hadi]

Peake requested a private audience with her and she laid silently for a moment, rubbing her feet together and watching the grains of sand crumple away from her skin. Meanwhile the twins were holding their breath for her reaction, too eager. Hera's eyes narrowed for a minute as she glanced at them. What poison had they been whispering?

Syhera took a deep breath and leaned her head back to look at her enormous guest. Peake suddenly appeared a bit nervous, glancing between Roxanna and Sasha as if they held answers. In his eyes were no traces of the anger she had witnessed days before, no aggression. And when her body didn't tense and she didn't feel fear, she nodded, "I could use a walk." She didn't quite address the issue of whether or not he could stay. She would make that decision after.

Standing up, Hera readjusted the knot of her skirt and motioned for them to begin moving. Once again, she could feel the eyes of everyone upon her, watching and waiting. It wasn't until the music from the party started fading and the voices of her family died a bit that she knew there were things she also needed to say. They were a ways away from the crowd before she finally spoke, seeking for something to break the tension between them, "Mama told me you were coming," she paused, realizing it wasn't quite the truth, "I mean... She mentioned you this morning. I think she was trying to tell me, I just wasn't listening."

Hera had heard the part about the engagement and felt indignant. Being called a childish little girl in their last encounter had bothered her. Peake had claimed her untrustworthy - essentially a snake, and she had mentally categorized his judgment as thinking her the same as someone like Vincent. Before she could obsess over the past argument, the navigator crossed her arms, swallowed her wounded pride and continued to walk. Squiggles decorated the damp sand near the tide -- proof of the sea snails. She stepped over them and searched for the words, "Why are you here, Peake?"

That bothered her. Syhera Ki'hadi was so well versed in figuring out what people needed, what they wanted to hear, how they wanted her to behave. Peake was still so foreign to her - a man who came and left as he pleased, brought gifts and sweet words with some alternate life he lived that made the rest of the world greet him with disdain. She had learned the rumors of him being an alcoholic true from his father, seen a glimpse of cruelty from the tax collector. He had been quick to insult her, but here he was. But in the same way, she knew she was similar. Wasn't she the one who returned to the room at the guard post? Was Peake hiding from her, or was she just afraid to ask?

How did he see her?

How did she want him to see her?

Syhera looked out at the ocean, her pace idle at best as the seaside wind brushed against her skin. She remembered his disgust, "I thought you hated me, and," Once upon a time, she had joked he had been a birthday present for her, and he had said he would bring her a gift. It felt so very long ago, and she was too uncomfortable to address the memory. In better times, perhaps she would have teased him about it, flirted even. Now, seeing him... the idea of such behavior made her stiff and awkward. She had to confess, slowing to a stop and finally looking up at him, "I don't know what you want."

[Peake]

The breeze was visibly stronger here, in the borders of the unexplored world that was the ocean. Waves and tides brought many gifts sometimes, be it simple algae or debris from stories nobody but the sky had witnessed. Broken logs, wooden shrapnel, a torn cloth or a sealed bottle were the usual gifts found in a shore, pieces of a painting, and thousands of paintings that nobody would ever get to witness. One could sit and wonder what happened there, above and below the cold waters, but no answer would ever come for mankind.
It was this air of uncertainty and wonder what inspired Peake’s own ponders, what drew him to the ocean as fiercely as it did now. He had felt it before, of course, that urge to reach the shore and just gape onwards into the nothingness. The ocean was like those windows he usually stared through, finding calm in the unknown, in the horizon. Instead of watching birds or tiny silhouettes, however, the ocean tempted Peake with bringing a wave of direct answers. A childish notion, a fantastical excuse, but still the truth in Peake’s eyes. There was an old poem he once read that spoke of the ocean, and compared it to an hourglass. What life took from the earth, every bit of sand one lost with time or tragedy, was dragged into the ocean as another drop of water, and as time advanced, the ocean grew bigger. The same poem spoke of the possibility of one day the ocean overfilling, and everything it took would be returned to the soil. What one had lost would be there in the morning, what one had loved remade in its perfection.

Walking along Syhera brought him that sort of peace, the spirituality of the open scenery infecting him mercilessly, and somewhat inspiring him with courage to confess his truths and his mistakes to repair Syhera’s wounds. However, there was clear tension between the two, and words turned into knots as soon as the tongue thought about them. Glancing towards the redhead once in a while, Peake’s eyes mostly focused on the distant horizon, be it the shore or the reddish ocean tainted by the dusk. The sand below them was also a great focus of his, not only for the pleasure felt as he walked in such unique surface, but also because the giant was trying to avoid lading his eyes – or feet – in a vagabond crab, creature created by the cruelest immortals as it haunted his scariest nightmares. Those creatures were horrid, with pincers strong enough to tear a man’s leg off no matter if they were barely an inch big. Kabourophobia aside, Peake was trying to find his own thoughts.

Syhera spoke. Her words were hindered by that barrier between them. Assumptions, concerns, distrusts. Peake was the same way, and so now that he was being honest with himself, he saw himself reflected in her attitude. Perhaps his attitude was similar to hers – distant, cold, awkward and perhaps unapproachable. He didn’t say anything at first, instead reflecting on her thoughts as they slowly escaped her. It wasn’t until she stopped and faced him that he gathered the courage to do the same, and be honest.
“I want to apologize.” He said plainly, pausing for a moment. “That’s all I want. That’s why I’m here.”
Away from the Biqaj and the judgement, the moment of intimacy helped him to keep his eyes fixed on Syheras’, and despite his voice being softer than usual, it did not waver.
“What I did the other trial, what I said… I was wrong, and I regret saying and… doing, many things to you. I’m no one to judge you, or blame you for making a mistake. I’ve done more mistakes, and I keep doing them every trial of my life. You’ve witnessed my mistakes, too, so you know. And if I hated everyone for erring, I would loathe myself.” Peake scoffed lightly, a bit nervously. Words confirmed suspicions, apparently. “I’m not trying to excuse myself, nor am I begging for your forgiveness. That is yours to grant, and I have no decision in it. I’m just here to let you know that, yes, I regret what I did, and yes, I’m sorry.”

Peake shifted awkwardly in his stance, perhaps bothered with his own honesty. Doing an awkward gesture to indicate his intention to keep walking, he proceeded onward down the shore as he recovered his energies. He needed to clear the air around them, now or never.
“You were right. You’ve done me a lot of good, and I didn’t appreciate it. I see that now.” Head looking away, he compensated by elevating his tone to overpower the sound of the waves. “So far, I’ve done nothing but cause problems for you and your mother. I… I’m sorry about that, too. And I know it’s a bit… ill-timed, with the apology and all, but…”

Peake looked down at the Biqaj, without stopping. He was clearly nervous.
“I like being around you.” Quickly, Peake looked away. Thankfully, the light was dim enough to hide the blush that was coming to his face. This was the first time something similar happened to the man most called a whoremonger. Half a bit passed before he spoke again. “And … I want to know what you think about that thing in the letter, you know…

About us.”

[Syhera Ki'hadi]

Lord Andaris motioned them to continue walking and began his apology. It started off well enough, and even with its flaws, Hera was listening. She said nothing, but seeing him make an effort was admirable. He said that he was not one to judge her and only she had the power to forgive him. All these things the Biqaj agreed upon and as he continued, she parted her lips to give an apology herself. He was right. She had made a mistake, and likely would make more. She was not perfect, as much as she pretended to be, and while it might take some time, she could look past this, right?

Arms still crossed, she shifted and searched her mind for the words to craft her reconciliation speech, but then Peake's tone changed. 'Ill-timing?' The mood shifted and he looked at her, "I like being around you." Why did this sound so familiar to her? Why was she suddenly getting so nervous? The sounds of the beach faded and her feet felt heavy as she forced them to keep moving forward, "And … I want to know what you think about that thing in the letter, you know… About us.”

The letter to her mom? Her feet stopped moving and she froze even as Peake took another step. Like watching a mirror fall to the ground, the composure Hera had been masking her face with shattered and her arms fell to her side. Her voice was barely above a whisper as surprise stole her breath, "What?"

Time slowed and she took in Peake's posture. He was glancing at her, had been reluctant to finish his last bit like a boy in the schoolyard. What did she think about us? Realization socked Hera in the face and she mentally doubled over by her stupidity. Her mother had said Peake Andaris wanted to seek a better relationship, that he was granting her freedom to not feel trapped by him, to make the decision to continue whatever there was between them. But... what did he want?

Heart pounding, the Biqaj woman who had a number of lovers was not ready for the simplistic and innocent question. She took a deep breath and struggled to find the words, not quite sure if she was understanding this correctly. What if she was just thinking something that wasn't there? Men had always flocked to her. Wasn't it possible she was just making assumptions? What had this damn letter said?

Why didn't her mother tell her?

Hera turned to look at the sea, her foreign eyes not quite seeing the water, but to what Gwynthera had said earlier that day. Was it so hard to believe Peake to be good? And didn't she have good memories with him? Truly Hera was embarrassed. Her relationships with men sort of just happened... She had never been put on the spot quite like this and she turned to look at the lord. Suddenly the apology seemed far off compared to this new development.

He was... attractive and intimidating. Tired and a bit stressed, yes, but he had a good physic and a strong face. He had granted her Foreskin, a charming cat with a award winning moniker. He had treated her well... Was he not acting all those times? She wrung her hands together and looked at Peake. He was making an effort, bless his heart.

She spoke carefully, "I like spending time with you, too." Well, usually. She paused for a moment. Peake had angered her, but... what she said was true. She had enjoyed his company. And if he enjoyed hers... couldn't she give him a shot? The truth. She would give the truth. "I think... I could continue our deal," she no longer wanted to call it an engagement, "So you can focus on the war and the king, and-" What now?, "Maybe I will come visit you, sometime."

There wasn't that the perfect answer? It implied she was potentially open to the idea of spending more time with him, without any promises. It avoided completed assumption, but hopefully answered his question. And as she glanced up at him, she gave a coy smile.

He was forgiven.

But, softly a voice in the back of her mind played and she struggled to silence it.

"He isn't Micah." it hissed.

[Peake]

Peake felt relief once his words were spoken, and despite them not being completely honest as to how he felt, the gist seemed to get through. The words were in the air and everything was up to Syhera, whom soon granted him enormous satisfaction by, more or less, accepting him. Peake was quite innocent in these sorts of matters, and so he knew that he’d be able to cling to the small ray of hope given to him.
A grin came to his bearded face, wide and bright, perhaps somewhat childish too, as his hands went to his waist in a rather proud stance the man-child used to giggle in self-satisfaction. Of course Syhera wanted to date him – Peake Andaris was the perfect man. The pride was so big in the man that his open shirt revealed how his hairy pectorals joyously bounced in an alternate fashion, beating the rhythm of an unheard drum that perhaps only rang in Peake’s mind.
“... great!” he’d say, between chuckles. “I’ll try to be presentable!” Without a warning, Peake stepped forward in an attempt to hug the female, a rather strange gesture in himself that surprised him as well, considering how cold he usually presented himself with emotion or how naughty the female had been on their previous encounter. Considering Peake’s life could’ve snapped at the end of a noose, it was quite bizarre indeed. Whether she accepted it or returned it, it wouldn’t last more than a thrill, before Peake recovered his stance with quite a bit of awkwardness in his being.
A moment passed and Peake’s features lost their joy, instead once again revealing the tired and wrinkled face he usually possessed. Looking down the beach, when he returned his brown eyes upon the female he’d try to take her hand.
“One more thing.” He’d say, the tone of his voice changing. “Tomorrow, when you wake, you’ll pack your bags, clear your mother’s shop and take all the money you’ve got. You’ll take your mother to the ports, board your ship, and you’ll sail into the ocean. Take everyone you care for with you, and you will not return to the docks until after the siege. It might take a few dozen days, and even then there’s no guarantee that… that the city will be here after that, so make sure you have enough supplies.”

The war was looming, and Peake could feel it crawling up his flesh. This was the only day he had to set things straight with his fiancé, to confess his attraction for her and to warn her of the danger that slowly peeked over the distant hills. Although he was a leader in this incoming violent encounter, and his duty and discipline mandated that he remained calm, there was clear fear in Peake’s voice. Fear for Syhera, yes, but also fear for himself, for his city, for his family. To have more or less confessed his liking of Syhera had taken a weight off him, perhaps being like his personal rite before battle, his way of putting his things in order.
“If your mother’s ship is not fit, I’ll arrange something for you all.” He’d say, moments after. “And I want no discussion from you: this is non-negotiable.”
Peake, as many times before, winked to his woman before signaling towards the way they came, before offering a somewhat morose smile to the Biqaj.
“Let’s go back. I don’t want you missing out on your party.” He’d chuckle.

Off Topic

I'm extremely sorry about the delay. </3