9th of Ashan, Arc 717
They'd gone out. By Alistair's request, they'd left the city, far away from the influence of the old crone where the mages - and partners - could roam freely and enjoy their time with one another, with no constraints. Alistair had promised the next few days to Fridgar, up until the point of his birthday, though he hadn't yet told the Lotharro that on the thirteenth day - their final day wandering the country - he would become twenty eight. That was as of yet a surprise, though he planned to reveal it today, amidst the long conversations he wished to share.
But first, to begin it all, he had some stories to tell. Some words that he'd found himself almost entirely detached from, falling to the state of a sobbing mess at every utterance of these things. The things of Alistair's past, whether now or long ago, had taken their toll on him and had placed him into a state of subversive trauma for at least fifteen years. He'd never confronted these things, these intricacies of the House of Roses - these scandals, blotches of cruelty and heinous acts by both mother and father, now the reigning Duchess and Duke.
But he was with Fridgar, now, who made him feel loved. The man made him feel like he could change. So he would.
He just needed to take the first step - and that, he'd known for so long a time, would be to talk about what had happened to him as a youth. The things he'd experienced at the hand of his father and mother alike, that had molded him to who he was today.
So, as they came upon the top of a grassy knoll overlooking the far reaches of Etzos's grassy plains, staring westward, Alistair gestured for his beloved to come to his side and set up camp. He placed his belongings onto the floor and began to unfold the beginnings of materials they'd need to set up their lodging for the night, whilst subtly issuing commands to Andreas and Icarus to observe their surroundings and ensure their freedom from harm. When Fridgar would come to his side, and as the two of them would begin to make arrangements for their night's stay, the mage began to speak to his beloved mate.
"Fridgar," he called his name, gesturing that he wished to share a kiss with the man. "I love you dearly," the noble whispered, following the contact of their lips.
He placed his leather satchel on the ground, and pulled from it a small vial of oil - something they'd use to light the flames on the evening, keeping themselves warm. His pack had within it a bundle of sticks, mostly clearing out space for things he'd need for the journey.
After setting up to build a camp and fire, he stood straight with the wind at his back, blowing his hair forward as the mage stared onto the sunset.
"Do you want to know about my family, Fridgar?" he asked, seemingly at random. "I want to tell you. I've done ill by not doing so already."
They'd gone out. By Alistair's request, they'd left the city, far away from the influence of the old crone where the mages - and partners - could roam freely and enjoy their time with one another, with no constraints. Alistair had promised the next few days to Fridgar, up until the point of his birthday, though he hadn't yet told the Lotharro that on the thirteenth day - their final day wandering the country - he would become twenty eight. That was as of yet a surprise, though he planned to reveal it today, amidst the long conversations he wished to share.
But first, to begin it all, he had some stories to tell. Some words that he'd found himself almost entirely detached from, falling to the state of a sobbing mess at every utterance of these things. The things of Alistair's past, whether now or long ago, had taken their toll on him and had placed him into a state of subversive trauma for at least fifteen years. He'd never confronted these things, these intricacies of the House of Roses - these scandals, blotches of cruelty and heinous acts by both mother and father, now the reigning Duchess and Duke.
But he was with Fridgar, now, who made him feel loved. The man made him feel like he could change. So he would.
He just needed to take the first step - and that, he'd known for so long a time, would be to talk about what had happened to him as a youth. The things he'd experienced at the hand of his father and mother alike, that had molded him to who he was today.
So, as they came upon the top of a grassy knoll overlooking the far reaches of Etzos's grassy plains, staring westward, Alistair gestured for his beloved to come to his side and set up camp. He placed his belongings onto the floor and began to unfold the beginnings of materials they'd need to set up their lodging for the night, whilst subtly issuing commands to Andreas and Icarus to observe their surroundings and ensure their freedom from harm. When Fridgar would come to his side, and as the two of them would begin to make arrangements for their night's stay, the mage began to speak to his beloved mate.
"Fridgar," he called his name, gesturing that he wished to share a kiss with the man. "I love you dearly," the noble whispered, following the contact of their lips.
He placed his leather satchel on the ground, and pulled from it a small vial of oil - something they'd use to light the flames on the evening, keeping themselves warm. His pack had within it a bundle of sticks, mostly clearing out space for things he'd need for the journey.
After setting up to build a camp and fire, he stood straight with the wind at his back, blowing his hair forward as the mage stared onto the sunset.
"Do you want to know about my family, Fridgar?" he asked, seemingly at random. "I want to tell you. I've done ill by not doing so already."
