Ford's Unspoken Words (Journal)

[Jericho Varnis]

.The Knife.

12th of Frost, Year 4622

((Across the top of the page were other titles, but they had been scratched and inked out.))

Our first meeting was very typical. Prospected candidate to the prospective employer. Upon first meeting him, it was an impressive sight to behold. Nerves had already begun to settle in as the whole thing seemed completely foreign. A Griscian interviewing to work with mages is not something that is heard of, not unless there were ulterior motives.

The air around him was very serious. He commanded respect. Just looking at him was almost awe-inspiring. It was no wonder why people would follow him, let alone why he was prominent in their ranks. The interview was cordial, and he was polite, which contradicted his overall presence. The interview was quick, with only a couple of questions, but I believe his interests were held mostly throughout the time we spoke.

When our interview concluded, he was quite amiable in speaking, not as coworkers or even as an employer and employee. He wanted to address me as a friend. Of course, I allowed it. How could I not? He had given me an actual job, doing something I enjoy, regardless of its target audience and the subject matter. But when I did address him, and he took off his tie, he had a sadness in his amber-colored eyes. A Luminous amber that spoke more loudly than his words had. He was in pain or knew pain, and it showed.

The very next day, he invited me to share coffee and something to eat, a snack, really. He was much more relaxed and had not had as professional an air around him as the night prior. Something happened while we shared a cup of coffee and discussed my new position. He asked a personal question and shared something extremely personal. My face reminded him of someone he had lost, someone close to him. I knew then the reason or at least the assumed reason he looked at me so sad. But before we could part ways and I start my new position, out of nothing, he asked me to go wine tasting. Wine tasting. I know absolutely nothing about wine… But I said yes, and it was one of the best decisions of my life.

I do not know how many days we spent alone, in the wilds, surviving off whatever we had and spending every waking moment in one another’s comforts. His eyes were happier, and the amber’s brilliance was so mesmerizing I found myself just wanting to stare into them, lose myself… And his lips. They are a work of art. The way they pull apart when he smiles, the thunderous roar that comes from between them when he laughs. I know he is my employer, and I know he is a mage. I know I should not… But he is… He is perfect as he is.

He sets my Griscian blood afire. At first, I thought it was because of my teachings both as a child and at university. The feeling of being near someone who wields magic and has such a non-Griscian life would make any one of Grisic want to murder him and erase him from existence. But this fire I am finding is something only he is able to stoke. I have been around others in this Covenant, and with the commonwealth, nobody can get a reaction like that from me. My blood feels on fire. It feels like I will boil alive, that If I cannot quench this fire’s need to burn, I will go out like a pyre of old in a blaze of glory.

…But the fire which he enkindles within me is also quenched by his touch, his words, and his mere presence. I have never felt this for someone before. I have been reminded of his other concurrent relationships, but I did not… Do not care. He has provided enough kindling that the fire is out of control. There is no stopping the path it burns on. I want him. I need him.

Marriage is upon us. He cares not what others think; I have thrown caution to the wind. He has looked upon me with such desire, love, and adoration that I dare not try to confront him about it. I have posed the question of ‘What if…’ as well as ‘But what about…’ Nothing matters. We are moving forward. I am not the only one, it seems, who has had their flame stoked beyond control.

Something happened yesterday. Something I can not explain, something that has touched me to my core. At my knife’s request and as I have allowed him to call me his mate, his husband, his lover… He wished to complete an ancient rite, a ritual… Something that a Griscian should not… And do not believe in. It seemed simple enough. A cut of hands, placing them together, reciting the words. I had already taken his request, the only thing he asked of me, and I would not refuse this request either. When our hands touched, we bled into one another’s sliced wounds, and I repeated his words. It was… Magical… It was… Beautiful. A marking appeared, and I could not ever change it. It was as if that mark was always meant to be there. As if my knife had always been there, waiting for me to take it up for myself.

He is my knife. He will attack for me and defend me. I will always keep him sharp and show him that even the deadliest weapon can be shown affection and be taken care of. He is my lover, my rock, my everything. And I care not in this world. If I must sacrifice my own desires to keep him happy, I will. He has suffered so much, and for so long, people have used him, abused him, and they continue to do it to this day… No more, no longer. I may not be a force to be dealt with on my own, yet… But I will be. My knife will never be left alone in a forest again. My knife is sharp… My knife is polished.

I love him, my knife.

My husband.

Until the end of our time, I exist for you, My Arlaed.

((At the bottom of the journal entry, there was a single flower press. The green stem and slightly pointed leaves had dried and shriveled, the green vibrantly kept. The formerly white petals dried, partially yellowed in color as the yellow disk, with its equally yellow stigma and tubes, had dried darker to an almost dark gold. The scent of the flower spoke volumes of herbs and had an almost apple-like scent to it.))

[Jericho Varnis]

.The Teacup.
13th of Frost, Year 4622

It was inevitable. We had known the time would come, but it was not a moment that I had been looking forward to. Upon meeting her, first impressions were everything. She was refined, regal, and held beauty and a sense of poise. She also had a command of power about her. It was not the same as my knife’s, but similar. It was very adamant that the two knew how to work around one another.

It was almost immediate; the game had begun. Pleasantries were traded, but it was apparent, even to someone of non-noble birth, that they had begun their sparring with the vernacular of someone of their stations. They were powerful in the covenant and held a regality to them that their conversation also maintained. Although I had been trained to handle highly social situations, I was out of practice and proven correct in just how out of practice I had grown in my desire to leave the empire behind.

Her eyes were pretty to look at but held a coldness to them. She held warmth for my knife, but for me, she would have wiped me from existence if it would not lead to him being upset. She has very high values of power, which someone in her station should and would have. She respects power but wants to command it and wield it as a tool to secure her foothold in the world.

And there he was again. My knife’s long-lost love. She compared me to him and assessed that had he been the one to return, she would have accepted him with open arms. However, as it was me, she instead chose to put me in my place, like the low-level man I am.

I could go on for ages about her rude, callous, and degrading remarks, but that wasn’t a shock to me. I knew she would not like me for the simple fact of who I was, let alone what I am. I’m a weakness. I am what will inevitably lead to my knife’s demise, which would have a larger effect on the lands than I was aware.

…I was not ignorant. I would not have gone into that conversation without some preparation. Though it was difficult to prepare when my knife was so very… Attentive.

Regardless of the insults, it was educational. My reading and studying had helped me, at the very least, keep afloat with their conversation. Something is coming. Something that others and myself are powerless to confront. Something that everyone should be afraid of… And perhaps I should be afraid of whatever it is that is coming, but I could not be scared, not at that moment. The danger impending, my knife doing his best to appease the teacup while keeping his Arlaed from disconnecting during the conversation.

She has a firmness to her, something that is quite respectable. Upon first look at her choice of garments and how fanciful they were, it looks like an ornately painted teacup, burned in the hottest of fires and glazed with the purest of materials to keep an otherwise perfect exterior, something that even those ignorant of the Covenant and the mages would be hard-pressed to ignore. She held an array of information and kept so many things close that it was apparent that she did not just hold one kind of tea. She had a variety of tea leaves floating within her being, each of which she could pluck up with her finger and sample to taste the power she desired.

She spoke of a subject I dare not intermingle with her greatness, but it is a subject that I would have never realized had come to fruition. It had come to the light. Even my knife knew it, and he had given me a sampling of the information before the conversation with the teacup and the knife happened. But the idea of what it pertained to being as pertinent as it was, had blown my mind.

It was something I would have to decompress about later because once more, the teacup had taken to laying insults upon me, but this time my knife took a stance and stopped her from continuing as the conversation had ended. She bid him farewell and turned without regard to me, other than the fact I was, once again, my knife’s weakness.

In truth, I was in my mind about many things she had been saying. There were many truths to them, but something she had done and more than likely without her open realization, she had showcased a very tiny flaw in her otherwise perfect porcelain features. She was perfection, almost to a T. However, this teacup had a minuscule but very existent crack in its glossed porcelain beauty. It was almost a loose thread that could be pulled, but it is also something I will never reveal. Even if I would and could extort it, I wouldn’t. Too many people would be hurt if I became that selfish and thought only of myself.
She is beautiful. She is powerful. She is exactly as she should be.

But I am me. I am relearning my place in this world. I will be where I intend to be.

Come teacup. I invite the next invitation to tea.