• Mature • Obscurum

[Alistair]

10th of Ashan, Arc 719, Morning

Sunrise came again. Alistair had opened the ladder to the ceiling, standing now atop the immaculate red stone of the Ashvane Estate, leaned against the railings as he viewed the warm colors brace the skies from down below. He hummed, softly, as he drank Venora Rose from an ornate glass bottle. Arc 622. Old. It tasted nice; sweet, like home. Summery, like home. And old, like his many memories.

He longed to see flowers that bloomed naturally again. And the beauty of a forest, far from the thicket that lingered hungrily outside of Quacia's walls. Every trial was met with deep contemplation, thoughts wandering towards the North. Even with all that he'd secured for himself in this place - this odd sanctuary - never once had he forgotten what he'd left behind. And now... he had a life to provide for more than just himself. Everyone down below, in the estate, needed him. He was a pillar of support for many of them, and when Fridgar and Winston came, he would be a pillar for two more.

Gods... that would be a mess. He hadn't even thought to tell Zarik about Fridgar yet - he didn't want to ruin everything. But now they were married, quite legally, and a part of that pact was honesty.

The mage had no shirt on, just a pair of linen trousers, and the sandals he'd worn to their marriage last night. It felt good, to have the wind upon his skin again. Not having to fear the wroth of the cold wintry storm, the blizzard that seemed to follow each pale particle of ice. He felt liberated by all of it, and as he viewed the sun breach the horizon, he was reminded again of Zarik. It was crazy, the nostalgia, already; every sunrise would remind him of him. Even if... he died. As everyone around him seemed to. Even then.

It was strange that after everything, he felt almost melancholy. His marriage to Zarik was a tribute to everything he'd lost before. This sunrise, the first of his new life, was made in memory of all of them. Doran, Jonathan, Theodore, Zvezdana, Andraska, Patrick, Ebony, Ellasin, Xander, Tristan, Faith, Duncan, Willow and Kaleb. Not all of them were gone. Some of them were alive. Some of them were enemies, now, and some of them missed him dearly. Some of them, even though they were alive, he would never see them again.

The man exhaled a warm breath. All he wanted was a forest, a place away from everyone where he could sink away his worries. A place not littered with the shrill cries of the Theocratum's devout, nor the shrewd stone that wandered the streets of this place.

His hands gripped a small, linear pipe he'd left on the rail, as he brought it to his lips and blew. Embers developed at the end, though he did not smoke any conventional substance, nor any ash. It was a strange peppery brew he'd found in Lair, one that wasn't addictive nor harmful. It just made him feel warm. Not having conventional blood often gave him a shivering sensation, one that was difficult to manage. And in all of his melancholy, right now, the last thing he needed was the bitter bite of cold.

"Zarik..." he began. He felt the man's presence grow closer. His wife. Though it warmed him immeasurably to feel him near, the man realized what he needed to say. Before anything else. "I need to tell you something. It's not fair to you to continue to let the words wander through my throat." As he said this, he lowered his gaze, as a puff of smoke and embers breathed out through the meager pipe. He toyed with it between his fingers, and watched the sun rise, even the brightness of a naked star unable to damage the sight of his vortex eyes.

He felt warm, and cold all in the same. The shivering, the chills, came upon him again. But not because of his blood. It was worries that marked this feeling upon him.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

For the first time

in a long while, Zarik slept in. He often woke before sunlight touched the sky, to wake and prepare for the day ahead, and then catch the sunrise during the small snippet of morning that he got to spend on his own interests, for himself. But this morning was different. Unlike the many months, which rolled into years for the majority of his life, Zarik didn’t have to care for his father if he didn’t want to.

Despite this, he’d awoken like usual: very early and rolling to the edge of the bed to go through his routine motions, but when he went to fall off and catch himself with his hands, instead he felt an arm around his waist. Alistair had pulled him back under the warm, luxurious covers. Zarik’s body felt exhausted from all their passions for each other. He quickly fell back asleep in the comforting embrace of his now-husband.

Eventually though, he rolled to find that there was no strong body to grasp at. Zarik slowly opened his eyes, staring at the empty spot where Alistair had been. He moaned quietly, gathering the blankets and pillows, and sleeping for a few more minutes with all the exquisite satin against his skin. And then, he finally lifted himself out of the comfortable cloud that was Alistair’s bed.

Zarik cleaned himself up, utilizing the fancy water system that Ashvane estate had. He didn’t have to go collect water from a well or boil it pure. He took his time, relaxed, though as he woke more, he became curious as to where Alistair was. Zarik searched for clothing, not wanting to wear his old outfit, which looked like rags compared to the wedding attire he’d worn the night before. He didn’t have the best luck, but found a ivory tunic shirt with a high collar. It fit him more like a dress might fit a girl, the hem going to his knees and the soft fabric heavily draped over his svelte build. He sighed and examined the gold trim of the too-long sleeves. He worried that the still-irritated scars on his lower back might bleed into the fabric and so he took it off.

Instead, he pulled on his grimy, old clothing again. The black attire fit snugly to him and he didn’t have to worry if his sensitive welts rubbed against the inside of his old shirt. It was cheap fabric and could easily be replaced. He didn’t know about Alistair’s clothing or the ease of which such fabrics might be replicated. Zarik left his outerwear behind, dressed in his breeches and shirt. He didn’t put on his boots or his gloves. On his finger, he kept the Venora signet ring as he hadn’t taken it off since Alistair had slid it on.

His right ear felt better, without the earring, though in his reflection, he could see where the flesh had gotten torn by his father yesterday. He cleaned it out with some water and examined the little white scars of previous rends to his ear. Zarik briefly wondered whether his father was okay… he probably had forgotten to keep a blanket on again. He felt guilty at the thought. He’d said that he wasn’t going to abandon his father, but wasn’t that exactly what he was doing? It hadn’t been even a day and though the man had told him to leave, he worried that the old biqaj wouldn’t eat or keep warm.

Zarik didn’t want to settle in his worry. He went to search for Alistair, seeking comfort in his lover. He didn’t know the estate well, accidentally bumping into one of the Revenants on his way out of the bedroom. He tried to greet it, but no answer came. Curious, but wary, he walked around the undead man with slight glances and then found a loft ladder that’d been opened in the upper floor’s common room.

He breathed in the scent of whatever it was Alistair was smoking before he even saw the man. Zarik climbed out onto the rooftop. He fixed his shirt some, settling the wrinkled fabric over his waist. His heart warmed at the sight of the man, and then the sunrise beyond him. He didn’t say anything, appreciating the vision before him and feeling so fortunate in the moment as a sensation of gratitude uplifted him.

Alistair knew he was there anyway. He said his name. Zarik joined him at the spot beside the railing, looking over. His dark brows furrowed slightly, in confusion, as he wondered what it was that Alistair wanted to tell him. He noticed a strangeness in the man’s demeanor, but he didn’t understand what it was. Zarik stepped closer so that his foot placed directly beside Alistair’s foot. He placed his hands on the railing ledge and then playfully bumped his hip against the other man’s hip. He said, “Well, I need to tell you something also. And that’s good morning, my dear husband.”

He glanced at whatever it was in Alistair’s pipe. Zarik was curious, but he didn’t ask yet. Instead, he returned his attention to the dawn. He tilted his head up, inhaled deeply, and absorbed the sunrays with closed eyes. Zarik didn’t know what it was that Alistair wanted to say, but since he had no concept for what it could be, he allowed himself the ease of simply being in the man’s company during the new sunrise. The first one in which he was now Alistair's. He was no longer Ki'enaq, but a Venora.

I Speak ✣ I Am ✣ I Think

[Alistair]

As Zarik joined him at his side, their hips pressing together playfully, the mage's heart was warmed again. Much of the melancholy passed, as the sight of his beautiful lover - his spouse - came into view. His complexion was ever as attractive as before, if not made brighter and more eminent by the growing confidence he'd begun to feel in his husband's presence. Regardless of what would unfold in this moment, nothing would ever take Zarik's beauty from him. It had seared into his mind, and there was no forgetting such a compelling sight.

The mage looked to him with a loving smile, wrapping an arm around the side of his neck - above his shoulder - to bring the two closer, tightly locked side-by-side as they stared at the familiar sight. It was perhaps the symbol of their relationship, to meet in moments like this.

He brought the pipe back to his lips, and smoked the spices again, exhaling a puff from his mouth as it was made slightly ajar. The embers created their own trail of rising wisps into the sky; it looked much like incense.

For a moment, he stood quietly in Zarik's presence, absorbing what the other had said. He had his own confession, though Alistair doubted it would carry the gravity of his. There was no confession more intimate - and damaging - than the confession of another soul lodged into the weave of a relationship. In Rynmere it was not so, but here... they all valued their heart being shared by only one. Some were more understanding of others, but Zarik was a young man, and Alistair was his first and only love. His husband, and surely he'd imagined having the whole of Alistair; not sharing in him, with any other. Being the sole proprietor of his body, heart and mind.

But rarely were things ever so simple. Rarely did a prince descend from his horse to hand a virgin maiden a rose that would never wilt. These things were legends, and though for a moment he'd felt that legend in their unity, there was one clause to it all that could either be accepted - and cement their fairytale - or dash it all against the pavement, diced and ground into the stone. This... needed to be said before their 'honeymoon'. Before that Island. Before he could feel truly right laying sole claim to the other's heart. He was a hypocrite, and he knew; he wanted Zarik to take no other man. Even the thought of it infuriated him, filling him with rage. He was certain that he would kill any man - or woman - who ever dared touch Zarik intimately.

And yet he... he expected him to accept this. What he was about to share.

The mage sighed, shutting his eyes. It was time to tell. To let him know.

"Zarik... do you remember what I said last night, after we were married? That I'd lost my ability to be happy, or... something roughly like that. And do you remember my sons, one of them having been taken from me early on? This... is about that. You see, I..."

He stammered. It was difficult to go forward, knowing what the consequences might be. Knowing what could happen if Zarik did not understand - if he felt betrayed. Lied to. They'd gotten married already, and he didn't even know. Of course he'd be upset; Alistair had to be ready for that.

"I was married to another man before, named Fridgar. He was a Lotharro; I met him in Rynmere, and we married in Uthaldria in Arc 717, near the beginning. Right around this time, actually, so... two arcs ago. Shortly after we married, we prepared to have a surrogate child, who would be named Winston. Only... the mother betrayed our contract and fled to Etzos, demanding a ransom for our child - who was soon to be born - of five thousand gold nels. Rather than paying her, we... went there ourselves and killed her. But the child was not there, and her room was covered in blood long before we'd arrived. She claimed the child was slaughtered, because she'd not received the payment quickly enough. I was broken, and I left, Rupturing far away to live out my fury. And then I returned to that place, the cold body of the woman still lain upon the floor, but with my husband gone. And from that moment on, I could not find him, and I never saw him again."

A long story, it was, but he summarized it. There was no need for all the careful embellishments - all of the yearnings of remorse, and sorrow, and self-loathing. He'd lived them all out for far too long, and did not wish to recall them back into the world.

"Only... last season, I received a letter from him stating that he was still alive. That he has Winston in his custody, having found him as a slave. And... he is coming here. He will be here very soon, Zarik -- within a fortnight, or less. This is all new information to me, and I've been unable to fully understand it. But I know that you need to know, for unless Fridgar's ship is lost at sea and he truly perishes, then this news means that another man will be in my life. That our bed will be shared by another. That I... will lay in the body of another, and though my love for you will not change nor diminish in any way - but rather grow as time passes on - I know that it might often seem to you that my heart is ruptured by a divide. And I... as your husband, cannot allow you to feel that way. So I..."

He bit his lip, not daring to look at the other, who was surely feeling a flurry of emotions. He could not look at him yet - not if he was crying. If he was wracked with anguish. He knew what that would feel like.

"I want to find a way to assure you that nothing will change. That I will still be the husband you married, and that my love will not be split, but rather will grow independently for you and my old love, distinct but conjoined. That my affections for you will not waiver. I need you to tell me... what I might be able to do. And then..."

He shook his head. Alistair ceased his words. He had to allow Zarik the opportunity to reply, to say anything, or even just to wail or whimper. He did not know yet what the response would be, but he knew that it could be many things. And so few of those things would be benign.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Zarik

leaned into the arm wrapped around his neck, resting his head against Alistair. He nuzzled his cheek against the man’s beard, then opened his eyes to watch the sunrise together. The bridge of his nose wrinkled when the wisps of spiced smoke trailed in front of them. He watched a whorl, then reached out and poked the wisp with the tip of his slender finger so that the thin smoke scattered. The sight brought a relaxed smile to his features that showed the most in his iridescent-colored eyes.

Yet, he could almost sense Alistair’s mood beside him. Something was off. Was it because of what he smoked? Zarik couldn’t place the scent. He ran a hand over Alistair’s chest as if to soothe whatever the man was thinking about. When he heard his name, though, he lifted his head and leaned back slightly to look at Alistair. He blinked, not answering the rhetorical question, but he remembered the referenced comment about losing the ability to be happy. Zarik nodded at the mention of the son, the older one who’d been kidnapped.

Alistair stammered. Zarik tilted his head slightly at that. He couldn’t recall seeing the man lack confidence before, and so he reached out and set the palm of his hand on Alistair’s jawline. He slightly smiled, nodded in encouragement and said, “Go on. What is it?”

I was married to another man before… Zarik blinked. His smile faltered, then disappeared as he listened. Not from disappointment, but simply because he was concentrating closely on the information. There was no doubt every portion of it was important to him and he didn’t want to forget such details. 717 was so recent… Only two arcs ago. Zarik assumed, at the beginning, that this Fridgar must have died and he felt great sympathy for Alistair. The nobleman had lost both his husband and child in what sounded like a terrible plot fueled by others’ greed.

Zarik pouted slightly at the story of trying to find Winston, and the Rupturing away. He set a palm on Alistair’s chest, over the space where his heart would reside, to be connected to him. The irises of the biqaj eyes had become dominated by periwinkle and shadowy blue tints. …and I never saw him again.

Oh, how Zarik’s heart ached for the other man’s past. He felt a sympathy so great that his periwinkle blue eyes glistened with the sheen of tears. The youthful man could hardly imagine going through such a thing, if it’d been his own… and with Alistair… and Zarik assumed the story ended there. He opened his mouth, to express how much he wanted to help his husband heal from such a mournful recent past of loss.

But Alistair continued. That was not the end of his story. Zarik shut his mouth, slightly confused. His hand slid down. He still felt sorrow, but a sense of remembrance that Alistair had said his son would be coming to visit. That meant the boy was still alive. He knew that. How had he forgotten? With everything that had happened, and given that it was still early, he supposed his mind wasn’t fully awake yet. It wasn’t just the son, however, but the husband as well… the husband… Fridgar.

Zarik’s hand retreated. His body turned around, to face Alistair and away from the sunrise. He sat against the railing, his hands grasping the edge. His gaze flickered to look at the ground as he continued to listen.

"...unless Fridgar's ship is lost at sea..." and Zarik felt a strange, unusual impulse to will it to be so. He didn’t know what that feeling was. As Alistair continued to explain what this meant, that their bed would be shared, the blue of Zarik’s eyes gradually burned emerald green flecked along the edges with rings of crimson. A silvery-blue blush rose across his nose and cheeks. He tried to keep his gaze firmly planted on the space between Alistair’s feet, but he glanced to see the other’s expression.

It didn’t matter that he’d averted his gaze, realized Zarik, since Alistair wasn’t even looking at him. Zarik’s eyes flashed, the emerald hues wrestling with the crimson in undulating waves of dual color. One of his eyebrows twitched upward, angling sharply in an arch. His jaw tensed, his pale pink lips thinning in a tight line. He breathed slowly, quietly through his nose. For the moment, he said nothing. He let Alistair finish whatever more he wanted to say.

Zarik stared at the other man, not quite a glare, but neither was it a warm look. He squinted slightly as Alistair shook his head and finally went quiet. Zarik gnawed on the inside of his cheek. He pushed away from the railing…

...and he walked directly past the man. Zarik went toward the ladder with a few swiftly determined strides, then he paused. He curled his hands into fists at his sides. Zarik spoke in a professional tone of voice as if informing a client of a contract byline as he said, “I’m going to check on my father. He’s probably forgotten how to make a decent breakfast by himself.”

Zarik didn’t look at Alistair, instead heading down the ladder and back to the estate’s interior. He saw the same thrall from before, widely avoiding its path, and returned to the bedroom. Zarik threw open the door, a little faster than he intended as it bounced against the wall and then slammed shut behind him. He sat down on the floor and pulled on his boots, not bothering to put on his stockings, and messily laced them up. His face felt hot and his eyes stung. Zarik kicked the heel of his boot into the rug in a few violet jabs, gritting his teeth and not making a sound except for his quick breaths.

I Speak ✣ I Am ✣ I Think

[Alistair]

Instead of informing him of how Alistair might make all of this easier, he opted to say nothing, preferring to seethe in quiet solitude. What began as an empathetic sorrow for the older man followed into a still silence as he attempted to absorb the continuation of the story. He was angry, and Alistair felt it. Even had he not detected it by his own awareness, his blessing flared, sensing the fury. His eyes shaded amber; he, too, wanted to be angry. A million rationalizations flooded his thoughts as Zarik fully absorbed his words, and seemed enraged at them.

Why can't he understand? Doesn't he love me? Have I not been a good man to him? Am I not his husband?

And then... nothing. He calmed his mind again, and the beginnings of amber faded from his glare, the vortexes returning again to their deep ocean blue. He frowned, and Zarik grit his teeth, his brows arching as his stare met Alistair with an almost passive rage. Or not rage; he couldn't decipher it easily. It was... an expression he was unfamiliar with, and colors he did not know. He'd not seen them.

He could only codify them, then, as shades of anger. They... had to be.

And then, he walked directly past him, if anything wholly seeking to avoid making physical contact. He was mad, and Alistair was melancholic, again. He was uncertain of what to say. There was no real way to justify himself, even with the shield of cultural difference. He should've said something earlier... but he was afraid. Too easily would the truth have disrupted their perfect unity. It felt like the Fates themselves had brought them together, and it still did. Even Zarik, right now, had to accept that. But he...

He left, citing his father as an excuse. It probably wasn't a total excuse, considering how much Zarik cared for his old man. Perhaps that thought had been at the back of his mind for a while now, only he could not be driven away from Alistair's presence by any means. This, though, was enough for him. Their magnetic pull shifted, now two equal forces colliding.

Alistair called for him to wait, but only for a trill. He spoke to him somberly, with a low voice. "And our honeymoon?" he asked. The implication was clear; he didn't want Zarik to leave. Not for long, at least. They were supposed to go, today, out to the Island. He'd have utilized a portal right on this very rooftop to send them to their destination. But now...

No. His eyes narrowed as he grimaced. Zarik was his -- he would not leave him that easily. The two of them would make it work, regardless of what negotiations they needed to make. They had no choice but to do so, and he would not abide by his father as an excuse. The mage followed him down the ladder not long after he left, honing his ears to seek him out. He heard him stand from the floor, his boot shifting the shape of the rug as it sprawled across the floor. Alistair moved swiftly across the Common Room towards his bedroom, a Revenant raising the ladder and closing the top hatch of the building from behind him.

The mage stared at Zarik possessively as he stood, blocking the doorway, before closing it behind him. His stare was intense, though the emotion behind it could not easily be made out.

"You can't just..." he frowned, "...leave like that, Zarik. We are married - we work things like this out. No matter how we feel. You must understand how I feel too; of course I feel like scum, like a liar. But you... you have brought in me tranquility I had never before known. Should I have simply allayed my feelings, and laid to rest what we could have had before it even began? No... I love you too much for that." He frowned, stepping forward to approach his lover. A man who called him husband; he had to let him closer... right? "You understand, I know you do. What we have with one another... is worth a withheld whisper. Even worth a lie, and even to each other. What we have is serendipity, like I offered you before. Do you remember?"

The magister's eyes grew softer as his brows curved down in sorrow. The fury from before had dissipated; he just wanted him to understand. And for Zarik to provide him some... idea of how it might all work. Because it had to. It would, he could only tell himself. It would. No matter what he had to do.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Zarik

ignored the call to wait and he ignored the mention of their honeymoon, not answering either. He couldn’t stay on the rooftop. It wasn’t mere anger he felt, but a complicated writhing mix of new emotions that he barely understood, let alone anything he could identify in words on his own. The only thing that Zarik understood was that he couldn’t look at Alistair in the moment, couldn’t speak to him, couldn’t touch him, couldn’t… he just couldn’t.

No decision had been made, though. No logical train of thought had made its way through his mind. He was too busy feeling to bother with thinking. He laced his boots, not careful with how tight they were, and he channeled some of his emotion into his boot as he kicked against the rug.

By the time Alistair opened the door to the bedroom, Zarik stood with his boots on – though they weren’t well-secured. He looked over at the man briefly, then grabbed his coat. He turned his gaze down, belting it around his waist. His lower lip bent in an angry pout as he heard the other man’s words. Zarik didn’t want to talk, not right now. He wanted to calm down, but Alistair made that difficult as he kept adding fuel to the fire.

Zarik didn’t move when Alistair stepped closer. The statements of Alistair's perspective reached Zarik, without care if he wanted to hear them or not. Rather than retreat or try to get around the larger man to leave the room, the once-meek commoner cast a challenging green-eyed glare at the human. It seemed that while romance was an uncertain territory for him, conflict and anger were known dominions. You understand, I know you do.

He struggled to keep back his words at that, but when the nobleman turned a fairly innocuous question over to him, he snapped, “Don’t speak for me.”

Alistair’s fury might have dissipated into a kind melancholy, a somber apologetic mood, but Zarik felt as riled as a cat thrown into water. He placed his hands on his hips, broadening his shoulders as he held his posture up to his full, tall biqaj height. With a slight jerk of his head, he flipped his blond bangs away from his brow. Zarik said, “I don’t mind that you have sons, and I don’t mind that you have a busy life, and a burdened past, and likely many obligations, but I’m not about to… to… Alistair, why’d you have to prove my father right so soon?” Zarik could imagine Zalazar's gloating from here: reminding him how hapless and moronic he was and how Zarik's optimistic-aligned judgments were weak, naive, and irrevocably flawed when it came to recognizing people for who they were.

“You realize that’s what this is, yes? That’s why you’re acting the way you are.” Zarik gestured toward Alistair’s body, in signal toward his demeanor. “You knew. The whole time, you knew about this other man, and you let me… the things I said, the things we did and-and- why would you do that? Why would you…” He shook his head, lowering his hands to his sides. Zarik’s eyes still flared green, though the red had begun to recede.

“I do not think you are scum. I love you, and I believe you love me,” said Zarik after a huff of breath. He tightly crossed his arms. His voice had started to shake and rise in volume, “Feel however you want, but allow me to feel also. Unless you do not wish for me to be myself anymore now that I hold your name to mine? Is that it? You wanted to wait to tell me about this until I felt the obligation… until I felt like I shouldn't speak? To make it work? Only after I’d already given myself so completely over to you?!”

The colors of his eyes had shifted slightly. Emerald, yes, flecks of crimson, but scratches of violet had started to appear between the two other hues. Zarik glanced over Alistair and he said, “Stop acting like you're sorry. You wanted this and you got it. But if you think I’m going to share myself with some other man who-who- who doesn't belong with you… that’s not going to happen! I fell in love with you, you belong with me, not… not anyone else so I refuse to share a bed with anyone but you.” He nodded, determined to hold to his muddled, emotionally driven statement.

I Speak ✣ I Am ✣ I Think

[Alistair]

Zarik was furious, and righteously so, he knew. His words packed a stronger punch than his husband thought possible of him, though he spoke them not needlessly or with the intention to dig into his lover. He spoke his feelings, accurately and fairly, and many of his statements were truthful assessments of what had occurred. Alistair... had not been a faithful man. Though he'd not touched another since they met, his heart had still yet belonged to the lingering memory of his husband, and now his husband would soon return. Of course, this infuriated him. Though the magister had never truly understood the need for others to have all of him, the part of him that was riled by notions of Zarik sharing in another... well, he knew that rage. Even though his mind curiously grasped why Zarik would feel the same.

He'd always been selfish, like that.

And, he did know the entire time. The magister simply kept the words close, knowing they would not append their relationship; and when Zarik proposed that they marry so soon... he couldn't bring himself to wait. To tell him no - to extend things until his darling lover understood, a moment that reasonably might have never come. To inform him was to break the peace; to risk losing him, just as he'd risked now. He knew better than anyone that whenever he allowed himself to let go, people left him for good. The world he knew was an unforgiving one.

"I didn't do anything that I did to hurt you," he could only say, frowning. His spouse then spoke again. Zarik didn't see him as scum, and he believed that Alistair loved him. Knew he did.

The rest of the words came bitterly, for both of them. If only because, subconsciously, Alistair recognized them for what they were: truths. That was indeed his plan, and his lover - ever wise, as he'd known him to be - quite immediately discovered his intentions, scheming and unkind. Though it was only a theory by him, it was enough for him to feel betrayed. To know a bitter sting he'd not yet known before: the feeling of love twisting into fury, and trust twisting to mistrust, and hope twisting to worrying paranoia. What other secrets might he be veiling? How many burdens did he carry?

There were so many reasons to be wroth. And so... the mage did not attempt to excuse himself. Zarik was angry with reason, and though the magister wished he could compel him to see things more distinctly to his own liking, he would not alter the mind of the one he loved merely to keep him loving. The noble had concealed the truth, and this was his answer.

"I never said I was sorry," the mage stated, his brows clinging closer to his eyes as his gaze narrowed. "How could I ever be sorry about what we have? The love we have? Even now you do not doubt my feelings for you, for you know that all things I expressed were real. My vows were real, my commitment was real. I do not regret what I did, and though I empathize with your anger, my remorse is only that you feel pain. What I did... was not wrong. I brought us together, now and forever. We are bonded by our very souls, Zarik. You know we are." He said so adamantly, and finally, the stare became a glare. It carried no hatred, but instead a look of vicious determination, as if to match Zarik's own adamantine gaze.

"For our marriage, I would lie, steal and kill. I am not a good man, my love, but I am a loyal man. I will be loyal to you always, even if you do not agree with me now... even if you feel betrayed. Do you think I do not have the opportunity to sleep with many unsoiled virgins? I chose you among all men, and chose you to marry. I am even compromising my relationship with Fridgar, and risking the destruction of my family, so that I might be with you. That is how far I am willing to go for us, and I do not care what your furious mind might conceive of that fact. And your ultimatum...?" He began, twisting his lips. "If your compromise is that we do not all share a bed, then fine. I will sleep with you one night, and him the other. But then, you are only asking to share me, as if I cannot give the whole of myself to both of you. I..."

He sighed. There was no easy way to amend this issue, and he worried there would be no way at all. How could this possibly work...?

Alistair's body remained still, as his arms crossed over his chest. The glare softened, though really only into stoicism. He wouldn't offer him the falsehood of a smile only to please him.

"Zarik... I love the two of you with different portions of my heart, and in different ways. With you, I feel... masculine, strong, a guardian and provider. It is only you that I provide my... masculine organ to; only the interns of your body that I revel in. But with him, I am weak, and soft again, and at ease. You both belong with me, Zarik. And... I will take no others into my bed, ever, if you would just... try to understand that. With you I see myself as a happy father, a strong husband... so many things that bring me such immeasurable clarity. Peace I will never know again if you leave. You can't ask me to divorce him, Zarik. Or you. I need you both - I need you. Your father wasn't right; I wasn't using you for your youth only to discard you. I vowed to be your husband in perpetuity. You have to acknowledge what that means."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Alistair

didn’t back down, or insist on an apology, after Zarik made mention of his demeanor. Everything he said, Zarik tracked every word in the specific hyper-focus that came from wanting to catch a lover in a lie. He kept eye contact, his green eyes locked onto the ocean blue vortexes. He couldn’t deny what Alistair was saying: he did know that the man was sincere in his feelings. He couldn’t doubt that. If he even entertained such doubt for simple hypothetical sake… Zarik did not want to, he did not want to go down that path.

Still, even though he agreed with the other man, he crossed his arms tighter and promptly hmphed at the mention of being bonded by their souls. He flipped his bangs again. His gaze flickered away in a moment of retreat, as if unwilling to acknowledge the obvious truth between them. When he returned to look at the other, Alistair now glared at him with equal force.

There was more though, so much more, and when Alistair made mention of other virgins, it visibly impacted Zarik. His eyes widened slightly and his shoulders raised as he bristled from the reminder of how chaste he’d been just two days prior. Time felt so much further away from that, though, as his body ached with the physical evidence that such innocence had been permanently given to Alistair. Such a fact could never change. Alistair was his one and only… and yet he wasn’t even the nobleman’s first husband!

Zarik had lost track of what Alistair was saying, spun around again by his emotions. Whatever Alistair said about how far he was willing go, he didn’t understand the context, he didn’t know who these other people were, he’d never met any of them. They were all just names to him. Names attached to the man he loved. He scoffed when Alistair mentioned trading nights between him and this other unknown name.

“That… that is not what I meant!” He shouted, too upset at the thought of sharing Alistair's nights with a stranger to keep his voice down. Zarik trembled. He shut his green eyes, escaping for a moment in the dark of his eyelids.

He gradually opened one eye to look at the other man when he heard the explanation of Alistair’s logic. Zarik wasn’t sure if he understood correctly, about what Alistair was saying… however when he heard You both belong with me, he shut his eyes tight again. His nose wrinkled in distaste for the concept. He gripped his biceps, his fingers pulling at the cheap fabric of his frayed coat. A faintly bitter laugh escaped him at Alistair’s offered promise to bed no others. It was obvious from the sound he didn’t believe it.

Zarik opened his eyes finally again. He turned slightly, so he wasn’t directly facing the other man anymore. He looked down at the floor. The strange, unfamiliar feeling from the rooftop brewed deep in his chest and it rose in the form of bile in his throat when Alistair refused the idea of divorce for both men.

“I see,” he murmured quietly once Alistair was done talking. “I don’t understand, but I see. Did you…” Zarik trailed off, not finishing the question. His feelings hadn’t faded, but he had started to think. He glanced at Alistair and it seemed… as if he were… appraising the man’s worth with the sliding survey from head to toe and then back up. The corner of his lips twitched, first down and then up in a slight begrudging smile.

“You’re right, my love,” said Zarik. He returned his body to face the other man. He moved his hands to rest them on his hips again. His voice lowered as he appeared to have calmed from his prior upset state. “You did vow to be my husband… I don’t intend to ask you to divorce me. I belong to you. More than that, I want you, Alistair. But I want all of you. This man has not even been in your life as it is. I am, perhaps not for long, but I am the one standing in front of you right now. I am the one you held last night in bed. I am… No one else.”

Zarik took a quick breath, then smoothly said in a clear voice,
“I am the one who is here.” He unbelted his coat and forcibly pulled it off. It fell to the floor around his feet. “You are strong with me and you must be so, to accomplish all that you intend for.”

He removed his shirt and let it fall to the floor as well. “This man and his return to you means nothing for us.” He bent over, swiftly unlacing his already loose boots.

“He is no more than another name to me.” He kicked off the boots with familiar ease. “Only a relic of your past.”

The blond biqaj walked forward, only in his breeches. He cupped his hands over the taller man’s beard and stared at him with his green eyes.
“I am your future, Alistair.”

Zarik kissed him, gently. His lips softly traced, demure and without a hint of tongue. He hovered, his pale pink flesh barely touching Alistair’s lips as he whispered, “Please, I love you too much.”

I Speak ✣ I Am ✣ I Think

[Alistair]

He did not finish his question, and Alistair didn't think to ask, too riled by their exchange and too eager not to stoke the flames even further. Zarik finally seemed to calm, and even if it was only forceful suppression, it was a quiet they surely both wished to keep in tact. At least so their minds could muster... some form of answer, for everything. He knew that neither of them wanted to pull away, not when everything only seemed to beckon them closer. Every element, every desire.

You're right, my love, he told him, the smaller man turning to face him. Alistair looked upon him with reverence, still infatuated with every aspect of who he was. He would have killed to end this dispute, and such truths were evident in his eyes.

I belong to you, Zarik said. Alistair seemed soothed at those words; yes, he could only think. Zarik belongs to me. His ownership of him, though as a husband rather than a slaver, was a perpetually calming influence upon the magister. Zarik's affirmation of the fact managed to wind down much of his riled emotions, as his worries began to dissipate, though echoes of their doubt still clouded his mind. Zarik wanted all of him... of course he would. Alistair was his husband, it was only reasonable to expect all of him. To provide any less was a betrayal of his duties, though what 'all' meant to the two was perhaps... a varied thing. The mage sought to align their perceptions of what that was, even if it might be difficult to do so.

"You will have all of me, Zarik," he said in return. "Whenever we are together - which will be no less often than now - you will have all of me. Every shred of who I am, lit ablaze for you like a billion stars. Please - trust me - when I say that nothing will change between how I feel for you, and how I am when we are together; in truth, my desire for you will only grow, as it has been growing since we've met. Friend, lover, fiance, husband. If I could give you more of myself I would. But I cannot, for you already have my all, and you always will. Zarik, I..."

He paused. The other man began to remove his attire, causing for the mage to grow curious. He did not know why he did, though he wondered if perhaps he no longer wished to leave. Alistair stared, quietly, as he unbelted his coat and pulled it away, letting it fall to the floor without thought. He was right; Alistair was strong with him. Zarik was necessary for him, to accomplish his dreams and goals. This man and has return to you means nothing for us. Then... did that mean...?

More of his clothes fell. His chest was bare now, and Alistair's eyes could not help but let their gaze cling to his lean form. Even through this moment, his desire rung strong and true. As it always had.

No more than a name... a relic of the past... Zarik was his future, he claimed, as he stepped forward and he closely - but distantly - cupped over his beard, threatening to touch him. To bring their bodies together. He knew, if he did that, what would happen. And then... he kissed him, Alistair's passions igniting into a brazier as their bodies met. He quickly clutched the hem of his pants and managed his way out of them, throwing the fabric to the side as he stood - too - in only his briefs. The mage hummed his acceptance.

"You are right," he said, lowly. "It does mean nothing for us. You... are my future, Zarik. You will bring me heirs, whether through magic or surrogacy... and you will bring me my throne. I love you too, Zarik, and I love you always." And then, he whispered something into Zarik's ear, words he bade him not to repeat. Words they would not speak again.

"Now..." he shot up a hand quickly and gripped the younger man by his chin, squeezing the skin between his index finger and thumb. "Please me, like the Venora that you are. Show me what a bright future it is that I will have."

[Aegis]

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Thread Review

How many husbands is Alistair up to now..? In all serious this was well done, I enjoyed seeing the true emotion in Alistair, particularly the difficulty reflecting itself in his stammering. (King's Speech one day...?) As for Zarik, the cold up front demeanor and the expression of his pain was nice. Well done the both of you.

Word Count: 8,076
Review Request: viewtopic.php?f=242&t=16103&start=150#p109810

Alistair

• Skill Points - 15
• Renown - 0
• Skill Knowledges
• Non-Skill Knowledges
• Items and Other Rewards

Zarik

• Skill Points - 15
• Renown - 0
• Skill Knowledges
  1. Acting: Pretending to get over hurt emotions quickly.
  2. Appraisal: Recognizing the difference between cheap and expensive fabrics.
  3. Climbing: Using a loft ladder.
  4. Detection: Listening to inflection in tone.
  5. Discipline: Listening to a powerful, intimate story without interruption.
  6. Rhetoric: Expressing precise observations about another person.
  7. Persuasion: Can be used in tandem with seduction.
  8. Intimidation: Not backing down in direct conflict.
  9. Seduction: Stripping to resolve an argument.
• Non-Skill Knowledges
  1. Alistair: Smokes from a pipe.
  2. Alistair: Manipulated me (by omission).
  3. Alistair: Wants to share our union with another spouse.
  4. Fridgar: Alistair’s First Husband.
• Items and Other Rewards

Final Notes

If you have any questions, please PM me. Also please add the provided stamp to your review request found here and please update your CS with all of this information.

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