The Hour

[Taelian Edevane]

23rd of Ash, Year 120

"...They say that a multitude of members of House Baringer, the Galbrecht's primary allies, are escaping from the East End as we speak to join their cousins. They're in a private cabin of one of the trains, hidden by secrecy. Magic, I think," said Eloise. The Covenant magi were gathered around a table, each of them wearing fur-trimmed, comfortable attire. Taelian's was black, velvety in texture, with his upper chest somewhat open, two necklaces peering through: the symbol of a silver sun, and a series of scattered blades almost like snowflakes. Eloise was her regular, regal self, wearing dress one might find at a ball. It was practically blooming around her form, coming out as if held open by a wide cage. Perhaps it was.

He had not been the man that he was for long. Only two days ago, Wylen had sculpted his face, his ears. Made him look 'human', or something like it. In truth he looked like a half-breed, a mud-blood. His ears still carried their dagger-like tip, his cheeks were still somewhat lit by faint silver patterns that gleamed, sometimes, in the light. He was still absurdly tall when compared to most men -- though he'd met more than a few here that were even taller than he. The loyal Knights and Chevaliers of Galbrecht, changed by mutagens.

He wasn't meant to answer by Taelian anymore, either. Within his new face he'd been partly erased, made to become someone else. He'd practiced and trained hard at an accent faintly Rien, though notably the harsh tongue of Sil-Elaine still spoke through him. Stephan Lange, with his surname meaning 'tall'. A fitting name. He was a second-generation Elainian immigrant, Sil'norai mother, Argent father. A lie. As much as the Rien people wanted to be freed from their shackles, they were still xenophobic -- and they still wouldn't accept help from or cooperate with a Nameless. He had to become someone else, and as an Argent - allowed by the Galbrecht's - avenues would open for him. He wore their emblem and held the influence necessary to that role.

It did not help that many of the Argent had betrayed Galbrecht and Alderset upon their betrayal of the Faith. The Dread-Arbiter was often a Wolricht, owned by the Kindred in body and spirit. The Knights and their many confusing loyalty had created a gap, one that foreign mages could rightfully fill. But only if they weren't foreign.

"Regis will protect them on their journey, once they arrive in Breven," the woman added after a brief pause. "Taelian -- err, Stephan, you will attend the court in Essen; remain near the Lords of Galbrecht and the Lodge to ensure they are not attacked by members of the Order. Although they've proofed the castle against the Kindred invisibility, that's not to say they won't attack with a small retinue. We must remain vigilant, even with the Aether Cannon in play."

"Alright," the Sil'norai voiced, somewhat hoarsely. He was still... practicing with his new tone. His voice was sharper, yet also duller, which made no sense to him. There was a silence to it, a calm, yet every word felt more impactful at least in how others perceived those words. Perhaps his Elainian accent had betrayed him, he thought. It was hard to respect any man wielding that voice: that of a cast-off from the most depressed of all nations. Somehow, feigning some Rien heritage made him feel heard.

Moments passed and he readied his attire for court. Unlike in Atinaw, there was not so diverse a palette of tastes here; clothes tended to follow a mainstream style, one that was 'approved' for usage in court and business. Fur was always a companion, because it was always cold. Taelian, as a Pyromancer, was warmer than the others so he decided to wear considerably fewer layers: something that had proven well for him. The courtiers of Brandt spoke of him frequently, or so he had seen. From what he'd heard from Regis' lips, most of what they said was not to his disservice.

"Taelian," he physically felt. The word came into his mind: he started to massage his temples, his teeth grimacing. It was an unusual feeling, being spoken to through link. One word and it already felt... heavy. "You have been prepared an assistant of sorts, to help you navigate your tasks, and Brandt's court. He is well aware of the fact that you are not native, not even partly human, and that Stephan is not your true name. Many of the people here are, in fact, but his openness and awareness of your... shortcomings should be useful to your progress. His name is Konrad, and he will be awaiting you in your room, in the Diadrus."

He grit his teeth, tighter, clenching his jaw. The feeling remained disconcerting, even after it had gone.

"Why maintain this facade if so many people already know? I don't..."

He knew she couldn't even hear him, so he stopped, carrying on. His room wasn't far. When he arrived upon the door he quickly parted it from its frame, peering inside; it was a fairly simple stone room, darkly colored, with a sort of midnight-purple array of furniture. The frame of his mirror, the silken sheets of his bed, even the buckles of his trunk carried a hue close to onyx, but with the royal color's sheen. He had a vanity, two dressers, and a large window through which he could see the gardens of Essen's yard, beyond the Noble Quarter.

Most notably was the man that stood within his room, who he'd already forgotten the name of. Not through lack of interest, but -- so many things flying towards him at once.

"I'm Tae--phan. Stephan. Are you a... a valet of sorts?"

He barely looked at him before he spoke, and when he did look, his face froze awkwardly as if his brain had paused and ceased in functioning. He was still just, overwhelmed. Exhaling lightly through his nose, he regained his composure. Konrad was handsome -- certainly was. He was small, though. Short. His build wasn't muscular; he was probably either average or lean. Still, he stood right and held a charm within whatever expression spread across his lips. Taelian exhaled again, this time through his lips. He lit the fireplace within his room, an ember escaping his palm and floating towards the logs before expanding. He hoped to bring warmth to the other man, who didn't have a lot of meat on him. Or enough layers, he thought.

"I don't need a lot. I've never needed anything like this before. Are you a member of the Pact...?"

[Konrad Schreiber]

For every tragedy, an opportunity or four raised a curious head. Doors shut and opened. That which was so clearly and definitely "never" shifted into the realm of possibility or even probability. The trick was to find the spots where the darkly, sickly stains of misfortune would fail to fall but still catch those perfect, glimmering moments of fortuity. It was all a balancing act.

There had been a time, prolonged as it was, wherein those of the Lodge had assured him he would never amount to anything but a pesky little creature nipping and nibbling at their heels. Small. Insignificant. Unimportant. A liability in all regards of the word. Then... not so much. Then they found themselves suddenly abandoned. Abandoned not by each other but by those whose allyship had always been tenuous at best. It was hardly surprising, but it left them withered all the same. A withering that could only be rejuvenated with new blood.

Suddenly Konrad was no longer a nuisance but an asset. He was called upon to prepare and deliver letters that should be passed between three sets of hands and three sets only. He was asked to listen to and repeat back what he heard on the streets, in the shops, and upon the wind. He was given task after task, some tests while others too urgent to bother with suspicion. Each and every call was met with the same exuberance and intrigue with which he'd pursued them in the very first place, and now? Now he was to use to all he'd learned to keep the true assets, the new blood, in order.

Taelian Ela'Rannoch: a Sil'norai and, from what he'd been told, a considerably dangerous individual. Though he was well versed in the silver people's poetry, it was difficult to imagine them as anything but elegantly stretched, sharp-toothed demons. In fact, he expected and almost desired to see such monstrous visions made flesh, but the moment the door opened to reveal his charge, he was met with something far more subtle than the child's dream he'd been entertaining.

He'd been told of the Sil'norai's alias and, with magic at the Lodge's disposal, it was no wonder they might extend such duplicity to face and body. It was all very neat, even in its imperfection. If anything, the imperfections were what was so neat about it all. Mixed blood was an immediate excuse for any stumble of the tongue or surprising ignorance. It was far better to chalk barbarianism up to one's mixed pedigree than attempt to perfectly conceal all else behind the false veneer of true kinship. Leave it to those clever mages to do clever things with their strange and envious abilities.

Beyond the initial wave of realization, Konrad noticed three particular things about the other man outright: he was knightly massive, far too attractive to ever truely be mistaken for monstrous even with that unfortunate point of his ears and subtle shimmer of his skin, and had that look about him like a rabbit staring up into the eyes of some descending bird of prey. It wasn't fear. Fear would have looked absurd on such a creature such as the one stood before him, chest proud in spite of weary eyes. It was bewilderment. It was the end result of one thing stacked upon another stacked upon another stacked upon himself while told to hold his chin high and neither teeter nor totter.

His accent when he spoke was quite good, much more than Konrad had been expecting and a suggestion that he might should adjust such things as expectations with the emerging pattern of them already being repeatedly exceeded. It took a moment, an extra beat of the heart to muddle out the blood to his brain to remind him that questions were better answered than ignored if he could help it.

"Valet?" he laughed, grin wide and dark eyes merry. "Why... yes. I supposed I'm something of the sort." He folded his gloved hands behind his back as he continued to appraise the other. "Though I'm sure 'servant', 'butler', or even 'house boy' would suffice all the same." He inclined his head in a polite bow. "But I'm afraid I'm getting ahead of myself, Lord Stephan." The emphasis was both jest and correction. Such a stumble like that would be sure to raise more alarm than mere brows. "My name is Konrad Schreiber," he continued, gaze firmly matched to Taelian's though far brighter with interest than the other's. "And while it will do you little good to remember it, I would be pleased if you did, Lord."

His eyes widened the moment the spark flickered to life. While the Lodge had at last given him a position, his experience with the arcane had hardly changed in the slightest. It was one thing to know something existed, but far, far different to see it put into practice. Something so simple as lighting the hearth, something he himself could have done easily enough with flint and stone, held a strange and terrible sort of beauty to it. He was well on his way to gawking before he caught himself with a wry grin. If Taelian was going to put in the effort to conceal himself, it only stood to reason Konrad should at least attempt to not be so green. There was, no doubt, going to be far grander and far more numerous displays in their near and shared futures. It was best to ameliorate himself with the idea of it now.

"Well!" Konrad cleared his throat and stepped to the side to allow Taelian more space to comfortably find his way more into the room. "It really is less about what you need and more about what everyone else needs, I'm afraid." He took a moment to consider his next words which he spoke with mild amusement. "You'll find this to be the case in most- if not all- of your interactions with Rien. We are a particular people, Lord. Some might even say fastidious, when they're so inclined."

He nodded towards the man's peculiarly lacking raiments, particularly to fur-lined coat. "For example, while within the comforts of one's own quarters and in the privacy allowed, it is... uncommon to remain so formally clothed." With a wave of his hand, he directed Taelian's attention to several sets of exquisite looking lounge clothes he'd arranged upon the bed only moments before with the intent to light the hearth directly after.

"While I certainly won't insist you require me to perform my duties when were are alone in our togetherness," Konrad continued, his grin almost teasing, "Ordinarily, a Lord's valet would assist in both disrobing and its opposite. Though... it would seem your Lordship has even less of a need than usual with so few of the expected layers." The comment was made as a Rien comment should: plenty of underlying suggestion that Taelien's choice was hardly common but not necessarily a bad one.

"As for my affiliations... consider me an extension of the Lodge in the most mundane of senses. I am here to provide you both insight and counsel in regard to Lorien and her people. Guidance... if need be, though I have little doubt you'll have no trouble putting one foot in front of the other once you've acclimated."

The logs within the fireplace cracked and popped, the heat already spreading through the large, sumptuous room with that steady creeping warmth that slowly rose up around the pair of them. "And, again, in regard to what you need..." Konrad pursed his lips in consideration while he studied his charge. "A bath, something warm to sip on, and at least a handful of moments to stew over what I can only imagine to be a proper storm raging about in that mass-" He caught himself with a cough. "In that head of yours, I mean."

The bath in question had been drawn and sat steaming behind an exquisite folding screen upon which was depicted a very old tale of very old spirits playing harmless tricks upon an aggravated old woman who, eventually, locked them away within a tiny wooden box. There were several different scents laid out on an end table nearby, not yet added to the water as Konrad had had little idea what sort of things the Sil'norai would find appealing, but it was better to be over-prepared than under.

[Taelian Edevane]

Servant did not fit well with his own station in the world; he was no Lord, no man capable of wielding such 'servants', or so he felt. Butler felt perhaps more appropriate, though somehow again he found himself resistant to the word, as if it spoke of a higher class than the one he deserved. He supposed there was little distinction between 'butler' and 'valet', though, in that regard. The tools of an aristocrat, most often.

As the Rien man offered his correction, Taelian seemed to fail to notice, though in reality it was because he anticipated a great deal of those mistakes and failures in the company of his peers, and he did not want to make a scene of each. He was glad to have a man willing to set him right, at least. And he had a name for him: Konrad Schreiber. It was as Lorien as it got, but, he sort of liked it. Schreiber had a comely sort of strength to it. Konrad... the same. A powerful set of names for a man that appeared otherwise movable, at least where physicality was concerned. Though Taelian couldn't deny his propriety or wit.

"I'll call you Konrad, then. Not 'valet', 'butler', 'servant' or 'house boy'. Somehow I find those titles to be... unnecessarily divisive, between the two of us. Like master and subject. I am unused to having any sort of assistant or man at my charge, as I am not a Lord. I... would rather have a sort of confidant, perhaps even a friend."

The mage took the other man's cue and entered the room fully, looking to his surroundings. He stepped toward the window-sill and looked out for a moment, only to close the curtain fully. Another spark extended from his hand and whizzed across the room, until it met with the head of a candle and lit up the room some more. The man seated himself against the edge of the bed and looked towards his valet, who he wouldn't call such, listening closely to his words. He couldn't deny a sort of curiosity around him: some interest in his cadence, his manner, the perfection that was his posture and each word. He spoke like a Noble, only without the demeaning air of a Lord. He was like other courtiers he'd met, Taelian supposed, only he wasn't one.

"I've noticed your fastidiousness, yes," he replied to Konrad. "As for the way you all operate... I..."

He paused, pressing his lips together. He did not want to sour his impression, particularly not with a man who he would be closely working with, and one who had not been unkind to him in any way. He also recalled how Riven was from here; how this place, despite its callousness and haughty exteriors, had shaped many good people. He knew some of them very well.

"Ah... continue," he shook his head slightly, allowing the other man to speak. He pardoned his own interruption, only to tune in partway when the man resumed his words: he was meant to dress down while lounging. It seemed odd to him, considering the temperature, though he had noticed that Rien architecture managed to insulate heat surprisingly well. The room was heating up quickly now that the hearth had been lit. He also had a readied repertoire of clothes prepared for him, on the moment he decided he wished to undress and replace his attire. Shifting his glance towards them, he continued to listen attentively to his valet. The other man spoke of his duties, or at least one of them: disrobing the man he was attending, and then placing his clothes back upon him. The mage stared at him, curiously.

"Hm," he hummed, lowly, and continued to listen. Konrad elaborated on his role further: he really was just an attendant. He would probably spy on Taelian to some extent, too, or so he thought... though he wasn't concerned about that. He was loyal to the Covenant, and the Covenant and Pact - the rulers of the Lodge - appeared as tied as two groups could be. He'd even heard whispers of a merger, of sorts. It was very possible that he and Konrad would sustain their dynamic for a long time, if that were to occur. He would need to inquire on whether this was a temporary arrangement or not.

"You intend to bathe me?" he asked. "And... presumably, to place clothes upon my naked form after the bath is done? That's... ah..."

It was unprecedented for him, at least, though he knew Lords had their attendants do such things for them. Or at least, he imagined it was the case. They were oddly helpless for being of supposedly divine right.

"I... ah, must inform you of my predilections, Mr. Schreiber," he began. If nothing else, it was clear that he'd done well to remember the other man's name. "As someone who favors those of my own... physical distinction, or... ah... well, other esteemed gentlemen, in a way that ah..."

Taelian frowned. "I don't know how... comfortable it might be for a man to be dressing my bare form, and undressing it to that state. And being present while I bathe, or even bathing me. Perhaps if you were some frumpy brickmaker, but..." He was uncertain of how to continue from there, in a way that did not mean burying himself deeper into some strange, hastily made grave. Taelian was, at times, dumbly honest.

"I suppose I wouldn't... mind necessarily, if you are alright with any initial, erm, strangeness that might occur on my part. I simply don't wish to embarrass myself, or belittle your role. I would not want you to feel uncomfortable, either," he said. "I love the lounge-wear, by the way," Taelian added. "Lovely colors..."

[Konrad Schreiber]

There were many expectations Taelian exceeded, but his apparent though politely passed over an aversion to the people of Lorien was right on its mark. There was no fault with him, not by Konrad's standards. When a people so captivated with themselves and so disdainful of the rest were to be regarded by an outside party, there certainly could hardly be any love to share. He himself wasn't particularly keen on the fact Taelian was utterly alien, however familiar he might have seemed. It was ingrained into the very nature of who he was, but unlike his peers Konrad found such matters of taste to be a waste of time. There was no good to be gained in fear of the unknown. His eyes traced the path of the second ember, but he kept his composure much better than the first time even before the candle was lit.

"A friend..." he mused. The spark in his eyes remained, playful and curious. "I suppose it can be arranged, Lord, with time; but please know I really must refer to you by title and with all due respect in the presence of others. There's more to an alias than a name and a very well done mask." While it was no promise, even nearly the opposite of it, his voice carried with it a warmth that suggested otherwise. Say one thing to mean another. He wasn't opposed to the idea, and it showed, but neither was he all that eager to expose the Lodge's carefully crafted Stephen Lange in the name of jolly camaraderie.

Out of all his expectations, what came next was entirely surprised. He himself had been waited upon by servants much like himself now when he was younger. It was such an ordinary thing, it was difficult to empathize with Taelian's apparent embarrassment. The astonishment kept him quiet throughout the duration of Taelian's stumbling tongue, and when he did manage to gather wits enough to reply, his laughter slipped out in a jaunty burst of delight at the absurdity of the situation. It was only after he was finished laughing that he realized such a gesture might be taken to mean he was laughing at Taelian.

"Please don't- don't misunderstand, Lord," Konrad corrected himself, his smile wide and warm, eyes still crinkled with amusement. "I'm flattered. Very flattered. But there's a saying my mother always chanted back to me whenever I myself felt a modicum of embarrassment at being in a state of undress: you've seen one, you've seen them all." His chuckle was easy. "As for your predilections? We're both adults, Lord. Adults with needs and the capacity to manage those needs when appropriate."

His smile softened, less amused and more sympathetic. "While I may not know much about you, I'd like to think I'm safe from being ravaged against the wall should your more basic needs... arise." His following wink was playful but not necessarily inviting. "I, for my part, take no issue with such things. If my comfort is your main worry, kindly disregard the thought. As for your own embarrassment... you'll have to forgive me for being so... crass, but I find it very difficult to believe you would be anything but impressive in a state of- what was you said? In a state of 'strangeness'." He meaningfully eyed Taelian's trousers with a chuckle.

"All that being said, we are conveniently removed from the prying eyes of the courts. It's my duty- and I would tentatively add pleasure- to inform you of what is expected and common and... routine. Now, whether or not you wish to subscribe to such things is entirely up to you." His brow furrowed for a moment before he corrected himself. "Well, entirely up to you so long as it's within the privacy of your own quarters such as bathing or dressing, as we've discussed thus far, I mean. Though I doubt you'll have such reservations with our more public practices. Much more clothing, you know."

"All that to say," he concluded with a meaningful stare into Taelian's own eyes, one that pressed beyond mirth and merriment into a more serious tone. "My services are at your disposal, both in your acceptance and refusal of them. There's no harm in wishing to bathe yourself." His expression lightened as he added, "However strange it might paint you in my eyes."

Nodding to the garments on the bed, he accepted the compliment in full stride. "I'm glad to hear you approve of the selection, Lord. Feel free to choose whatever suits you best, though I would ask you not to mix and match. Should anyone come calling, it's best you remain as presentable as possible."

[Taelian Edevane]

Taelian did, in fact, believe that he was the one laughed at for a moment, only causing him to sink into himself, his mind momentarily shriveling from his state of genuine embarrassment. It seemed that stating any such reason to evade the other man's... meticulous hands might have actually surpassed the very same reasons in frustrating him, making him feel more exposed than he thought. Konrad quickly corrected any such appearances, though, ensuring Taelian understood that he was only laughing at how ridiculous it was to be embarrassed at all.

Flattered, he was. Taelian's greatest sense of reassurance came from what he said next: how he had seen enough not to care. Konrad spoke to their adulthood, and how they would have their needs. He did not seem to particularly shy away from such needs, or the unwilling expression of them, or -- whatever might occur. Taelian felt at least slightly humiliated, still, but any actually stifling level of embarrassment was mostly curtailed.

Until, of course, the other man spoke of Taelian ravaging him against a wall. The Elf's lips parted, somewhat agape. "Er--" he paused. He determined, with whatever facsimile of confidence he had, that it would be best to make a joke of it all. "I'd only do that if I smelled weakness," he said with a slight chuckle beneath his words. He then realized that it barely sounded like a joke, and perhaps even vaguely appeared like flirtation, or even a threat. He winced.

"You know... being a foreign savage and all..."

It was certainly not a funny joke, particularly not after being explained after another moment of internal flagellation.

As seemed usual, though, Konrad carried on. He made clear that he was not made uncomfortable by this... revelation of his. That Taelian should disregard such worries. He then went on to flatter Taelian by making an assertion about... his... well -- he made clear that there would be no need to feel embarrassed, if his assumptions held true. Taelian was more embarrassed by the thought of his behavior than by the state of his body, anyhow. He had worked quite hard to shape himself into something some would consider immaculate. There was no nervousness on his part, there at least.

Still, the comment was curious to him. That, if anything, felt like flirtation. Though he was unaware of Lorien's customs, or the finer parts of the man's personality. Perhaps he simply liked to flatter others, or wanted Taelian to feel at ease. If the latter was the case... he had accomplished his goal. The furrowing of his brow and the tension of his temples decreased, as he nodded his head politely to acknowledge the other man's words. Though, for now, he did not really respond. Anything he said to such a presumptive compliment would either appear to have... intention, or would make him feel rather unbecoming.

"Well... if you are to be my valet, and this is to be your role, I will respect your duty and trust in your word. You may bathe me, dress me, undress me, as you wish. We will be sharing a lot of time and information with one another; trust must be built, and I think there are perhaps few things better to help build trust than sharing in... bare vulnerabilities, I might call them. So-- ahm... yes. W-would you... mind disrobing me, then? I'd like to take a bath. I do feel it would help me relax, quite a bit."

The man then peered back toward the selection of clothing, and then returned his gaze to Konrad. He shook his head, showing off another soft smile. "I wouldn't mix and match. I'm a Sil'norai, as you're aware... we're lovers of fashion. I can tell when I meet someone with a particularly good eye, and I wouldn't dare provoke you by changing about your assortment," he lightly laughed. "Tha e brèagha," he said. It is lovely. Taelian then stood, so that he could be disrobed.

[Konrad Schreiber]

"Bare vulnerabilities!" Konrad repeated with another merry laugh. "I should have you know, Lord, I'm not disrobing. It's not quite so intimate as you sound it out to be!" Still, his amusement glowed as bright as the crackling flame bouncing in the fireplace. "And I don't mind at all, as I've said. Come."

While Taelian moved closer, Konrad removed his own gloves and tucked them into the hidden breast pocket on the inside of his jacket. Fingers freed, he then proceeded to unbutton, unbuckle, untie. It would have been almost elegant save for the fact Taelian really was just that much larger, and Konrad needed to gently pull and push him in different directions to reach all the fastenings and the like with any kind of efficacy. His touch was very neatly between firm and gentle. It was most certainly not the hand of a lover nor a commanding officer - tough Konrad did choose to err on the side of firm so as not to fluster or otherwise encourage Taelian's already aired worries of just what might arise between them. Boots first, though he left the socks for last so as not to chill the man's feet.

He was careful not to brush his fingers against Taelian's bare skin once the jacket was removed and his deft fingers worked to removed the man's jewelry. A pair of necklaces, both with peculiar and eye-catching designs that he set aside on the nearby vanity. "Lovely, hm?" he mused, lightly tapping against Taelian's shoulders to get him to raise his arms so he might remove his exceptionally warm shirt. Really, everything about him was warmer than it should have been like he had his own little hearth tucked somewhere deep down in that wide chest of his. "I suppose that's high praise, even if it comes from a foreign savage such as yourself." His following levity fluttered freely as he freed Taelian's chest of its silken prison. Even with the growing warmth of the room, Konrad could feel the heat of the muscular chest before him in the most peculiar of ways. It was enough for his brow to furrow, interest piqued, but it only paused his work for a moment.

With a nod, he allowed Taelain to cease his stooping so that he could get to work on his belt's buckle. "There's a phrase, you know, in a tragic sonnet about a young girl smitten with a stone statue- I've always found Sil'norai symbolism to be especially... poignant, I think. Anyhow, it ends with: gràdh a-mhàin dè a tha gad ghràdh." Unlike Taelian's natural accent, the native language of his own tongue, Konrad's Silvain was very foreign. Not incorrect, not exactly, but it was clear the language was not one he spoke very often. These things didn't seem to bother him, nor did he show any sign of worry over whether he was speaking the language correctly or not.

The belt came loose and was summarily hung over the back of the nearest chair which now sported jacket, vest, shirt, and now belt. "I remember, for a time, I couldn't bring myself to call anything lovely after that," he continued, speaking more to fill the silence for Taelian's comfort rather than his own as he unbuttoned the other man's trousers at a steady, unfumbling speed. "I mean, taken literally, it's almost like a warning, you know? 'Love only what loves you'. And how can, say... trousers-" he gave a firm tug, forcing the waist of the trousers in question to, at least, release their hold upon Taelian's considerable backside. "-ever love someone back?" He shifted to the side so as not to be face to face with the smallclothes that remained and worked the trousers down to and off of Taelain's ankles.

Back up onto his feet, he folded the overly-warm trousers and set them upon the chair's upholstered seat. "Yet... to hear you say such in the very tongue that warned me against it... it seems even sillier now than I've ever thought before." He took a step back and gestured towards the bath, waiting until Taelien had pulled aside the folding screen to join him at the basin's edge. "Tha e brèagha," he repeated with a soft smile as he gently pushed Taelien so that he leaned against the bath before taking one foot in hand and stripping it of its dark, woolen sock. "Yes. It sounds far too much like a blessing than the curse I feared it might be." Socks taken care of, he deftly removed the man's smallclothes with a swipe, leaving him bare as the day he was born.

Impressive as he was, his mother's adage held true. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, even if proportions were a bit more excessive than the memory of his own body served. He made a point not to let his gaze linger on any bare part save for Taelian's face as he helped the man into the bath. He'd been quite surprised when he'd first arrived at the room to find a bath so large, clearly one meant for a Knight Argent, but it suited Taelian just fine. The steaming waters rose up to engulf that weathered mass of muscle in a soothing caress, though it did little to hide him from sight.

"I must caution, however," Konrad continued, voice softening some as he removed his own jacked and subsequently rolled up his shirt sleeves. "That you save such words for moments such as this and only for said moments." He picked up a porous sponge with one hand and guided Taelian's head to rest against the folded towel upon the higher end of the bath with the other. "Your accent is quite passable, but your Silvain is impeccable. There would be no question of dishonesty should anyone else hear it." He set the sponge to float lightly upon the gentle ripples of the bath's water while his hands pressed firmly into Taelian's bare shoulders, working at the considerable knots beneath the skin.

"Now, it's customary to scent our baths and work complementary oils into our skin afterward, but the scents can be quite strong." He removed a hand from the water to fetch one of the little glass vials from the nearby end table with his other hand worked absently along the side of Taelian's neck, careful not to splash the water into his ears or onto his face. Holding up each vial in a subsequent test, close enough to be sampled but not so close as to choke the man, Konrad inclined his head, though Taelain could only barely see the gesture, face towards the ceiling as it was. "Which would you prefer, Lord, if any at all?"

[Taelian Edevane]

He laughed at his own words, shortly after Konrad remarked on them. Taelian quickly became aware of the other man's willingness to laugh at him, though not in a very pointed or offensive way. He almost felt intentionally funny, in fact, though that was a strange cross from what was meant to be... basic speech. Taelian learned that he was perhaps far too foreign in this land, and became increasingly grateful for the fact that he had a charming valet to guide him away from his own stumbling. As small as his pride had shrunk in recent moments.

"That's not fair," Taelian began, a stupid grin forming at the edges of his lips. "How can we build trust if it's so one-sided?" He made another attempt at humor, this time trying not to be so bothered by the way it might have been perceived. He'd call it banter.

Konrad was no more or less skilled as he thought him to be, at performing this function of his role. He carried a sort of honest faith in his ability to perform his function, one that spoke well to what could be expected. There was a simplistic charm, again he would call it, to the other man that he had quickly come to appreciate: he felt reliable and sensible, and even more open than he had previously thought. He carried the sharpness of a Rien man, but was spared many of their common flaws. Rather than appearing so distant as to be unreachable, he allowed Taelian to draw close enough to his 'essence' as to almost feel it directly. Though not quite.

They continued to speak as the man peeled away at buckles and layers. As Taelian spoke of his selection of attire, the other man actually translated the word he had used. It wasn't a particularly common one, either, at least not for beginning learners . . . which made Taelian somewhat giddy, and impressed. He rarely met other speakers of Silvain; it was a language largely removed from the world, though he knew that in Mornoth the culture and its linguistic influences still remained to some extent. He wondered how the man had learned, and if the Covenant knew he spoke Silvain when they decided to pair them together.

But he didn't ask any questions, yet. He allowed Konrad to speak. His upper attire was finally removed, leaving his chest exposed to the slightly chilled air of the room, though he only noticed that lingering grip for a moment before his body adjusted to the difference.

"Gràdh a-mhàin dè a tha gad ghràdh," he repeated softly. Love only what loves you. It was a line that he knew, despite being an urchin with a poor education. Before his mother died, she had taught him a lot. She was old... perhaps over a hundred years, and she had a lot of knowledge within her complicated mind.

"Those are words my mother once told me," the man quietly proclaimed. Still, in another bout of silence, he allowed the man to continue in his speech rather than interrupting him. He found a lot of what Konrad had to say to be very interesting, and -- perhaps savoring his thoughts, he let them bloom. By the time the man had let out his thoughts, Taelian -- or Stephan Lange, as the other might have preferred -- was entirely nude. And it didn't feel all too uncomfortable, though he could admit that there was a hint of some unmistakable anxiety.

"Well, 'house boy', my coileach is out. I hope it fulfills all of your expectations. Now: I, ah..."

Nerves, again. He had a lot that he wanted to say, but, he allowed the man to help him settle into the bath first. Taelian sunk into the water and stretched the full length of his body across the surface, closing his eyes as he submerged into the steamed heat. That only lasted for a while, though, before he began to curiously stare at the other man... who spoke of his linguistic abilities. At least his accent was 'passable', he supposed.

"Well, I grew up speaking Silvain. Common is something many Sil'norai learn when they are young, but Silvain was always first and foremost. It is the language I feel most comfortable with," he stated. "I must admit, and I don't know how else to word this but with words that might appear hyperbolic: I am profoundly impressed by your Silvain. You sound... I -- you speak it with care, delicately. And with confidence I would not have expected. I have never met a human who has spoken my language, not in all my life. The fact that you do... well; I am glad that I have the privilege of spending time with you, Konrad," he smiled. "Now, the sonnet... I don't believe my mother ever shared it with me, despite speaking those words. Our sonnets are filled with philosophy, though, and tragedy. We are a tragic people, from a tragic place. The true sorrow is that many of those stories were written before the Sundering; before we were engulfed by arcane waste."

He paused for a moment, pondering the oils, the scents. "Which one is your favorite? I'm sure I'll like it. And, not to divert things, but . . . you are a very interesting man, Mr. Schreiber. To put it lightly. How did you get into this profession?"

[Konrad Schreiber]

Taelian's question regarding his coileach was pointedly ignored, though not without a grin. It was clear he was worlds more comfortable than where he'd started, and while jokes were a good place to start, Konrad had found that there were some subjects best left to sweeten with time. Thus, he gave no indication as to whether or not he was fulfilled by Taelian's reveal, but neither did he prominently display anything so clear as disgust or disdain. Openness without really being open. It was something he was very practiced at and certainly one of the many reasons the powers that be saw fit to place Taelian under his care.

Given the choice to select what he preferred, Konrad elected for a blend of bergamont and juniperberry to be complimented with a subtle frankincense and oils post wash. "We'll see how these take to your skin, Lord. Your own body is half the completed scent, after all. I'm told- and have found- there's not one person who ever smells exactly the same as the other." His smile was easy as he carefully measured out the perfumes into the bath, a good distance away from Taelian's face. Soon the selected scents began to fill the air with a spicy aroma, the warm air seeming all the more so now.

"Of course," Konrad nodded along to Taelian's elucidation into his past, hands working to soothe what stress of the body he could as he allowed time for the perfume to infuse the bath water. He'd never felt so much tension within a body before. It would have been overwhelming had his sole purpose been expedient relief. He wasn't even certain he'd be able to do much more than scratch the surface but something was often better than nothing. "I don't mean to- Silvain is a beautiful language. Really. It's something you'll never hear most Rien admit, but it's begrudgingly known."

Sponge now in hand, he began to work his way across Taelian's sizable chest, a few rough passes, enough to exfoliate the skin at first, then softer, gentler stroke to sooth the skin. "Time spent with me a privilege?" he chuckled, shifting from his spot behind to settle near the center and perpendicular to his charge, sponge moving lower to scrub at the man's sides and stomach without causing too much of a splash upon the water's surface. "Well, it seems we make a proper pair of never before known surprises, don't we?"

His hands moved from the man's torso to his arm, starting from the shoulder and steadily making their way down and around. "Perhaps that's why my Silvain sounds so... delicate, as you've said. I learned from sonnets such as that one, though I admit I've not committed the rest to memory. I'll see if I can't find it again, if you would like, Lord. It's quite a poignant piece." He chose not to press on the matter of Taelian's mother. Family was always tricky, and they had plenty of time before them to delve into such treacherous waters upon better built foundations than they currently found their comradeship in now.

"Tragic, yes," he agreed, letting Taelian's arm settle back beneath the water's surface and leaning in a bit to reach down to begin upon the other man's considerable thigh. "But there's something to be said of tragedy and its intimate relationship with beauty." Though surely he wished no such fate upon any, living or dead. The Sundering was truly terrible and, even with all the great and many works than came after it, far to steep a price for any living thing to pay. Yet, if the price must be paid, it was not without some benefit.

"Interesting," he repeated, finding himself more of an echo chamber than proper conversationalist. "You know, in Lorien, we often reserve that word to describe something unpleasantly confusing or incomprehensible." His smile bore no accusation. "As for how..." He reached down and gently but firmly pulled Taelian's calf and foot free of the bathwater so he could better set about his scrubbing, the water already murkier than before- though not nearly so much as he'd been expecting. "Much to my own surprise: with great difficulty."

He soaked the sponge for a moment to rinse the leg before one more pass of scrub and soothe. "Because I'm... shameless and wish to save you the effort of finding things out on your own I could just as easily explain, you should know I spent the better half of three years attempting- and consequently failing- to gain access of any kind to the Lodge. To the people of the Lodge. To the people who served the people of the Lodge." He carefully lowered Taelian's leg until he was certain the man wasn't going to just let it slam into the bottom of the bath before he gathered himself up and switched positions to the other side of the bathtub.

"If you weren't aware, it appears mages are an exclusive bunch." The jest in his voice was clear. "At any rate, the badgering paid off in the end, though by no means a direct result of my own efforts." There was just the slightest tinge of bitterness in that, more so due to his own confidence he would have won out in the end at some point but now he'd never know for certain. "When you blast an old god into bits and pieces, there's a bit of a upset when it comes to the help, you know. A matter of being in the right place at the right time."

He'd started on the leg first this time, working his way up to the hand he now gently held in his own, inspecting the other man's nails and finding them clean enough and needing no more than a light polish with the sponge, though he made a note to fetch the file next. "As for my qualifications, I come from both wealth and pragmatic parenting. That which was done for me I now am capable of doing for others by merit of being a very interested child- and man. I would say, if anything, my curiosity has only grown since then."

With a friendly grip upon Taelian's shoulder, he eased the man forward, exposing his wide back, and began to scrub at the nape of his neck as he settled back into his initial place at the head of the bathtub. "And you?" He inquired, no small amount of fascination in his voice as he moved lower across Taelain's back. "While I hesitate to refer to something so... extraordinary as a mere 'profession', how did you... 'get into it'? I confess I find the whole matter of the arcane to be a point of supreme interest, but one I'm woefully ignorant of."

He leaned back a little, resting his forearms against the tub's rim for a moment, letting the water drip casually from his heat-reddened fingertips, the lightest sheen of sweat across his brow. "Is it a life you chose or... one chosen for you? And within that same vein of thought: what brought you to Lorien, really? Surely there are other pursuits not quite so dangerous that might require your attention all the same?"

It was a curious matter. A matter that had as many answers as there were foreign mages wheedling their way into Brandt. Into Lorien. He knew the questions he asked had answers only Taelian could give, for were they given by anyone else, there was little chance they'd ring anything but false in his regard.

Already, his hands were moving once again, shaving a small piece of soap and working up a lather with his fingers massaging through Taelian's short cropped hair. He worked carefully, peeking over Taelian's shoulders to make certain he wasn't getting any of the soap into the other man's eyes while he took the time to reply.

[Taelian Edevane]

Strangely, he found that he could listen to the other man for a while without really needing to speak: he simply enjoyed his musings, and there were many of them, he thought. Taelian could easily recall a time not so long ago where he scarcely liked to listen to anyone; where he was brazen and rude, overall utterly unappealing as a conversation partner and man. He was no longer as he was then, at times finding some people -- though not all -- worth listening to. He wasn't certain that everything Konrad said was truly fascinating in nature, but he spoke with such an amusement and cadence that the man repeatedly fell into his words, which spelled out his many thoughts.

His ministrations were perhaps a part of that willingness to listen -- he scrubbed Taelian down in a gentle and soothing way, all the while appointing him with a pleasant scent that he could not quite place. It was oddly nostalgic, which was unusual considering much of his life had been spent in a wasteland of corrupted mold and sewer-like swamps. He thought that perhaps it was a reminder of a more recent time: perhaps Eloise's abode within Melitene, or even the fragrances left to him in Loregard's court, when he'd first come upon his room. He wondered how he smelled, if he was apparently so different from everyone else, and they were so different from him. Taelian had some concept of how he smelled: some had described him as something warm and inviting, like the scent of a bonfire. His skin was enough to keep the bathwater warm, and so he had always wondered if his Beacon had some influence over his scent.

As their conversation carried -- mostly suspended by Konrad -- he found himself increasingly relaxed, to the point where he very softly hummed as he listened to the other man and adjusted himself to allow his cleaning. He wasn't quite so nervous as he expected to be, which was a testament of the other man's skill. He did occasionally feel a sensitivity to his touch, though it wasn't enough to embarrass him. The other man had made any embarrassment quite impossible, after all.

"You learned from poetry?" he finally spoke. The mage sighed, pleased, as the other man scrubbed down the length of his arms. He looked back to him, after spending most of his time in the bath staring blankly before him, or with his eyes shut altogether. "That is... impressive, and beautiful. You--"

He paused. Taelian decided to switch entirely to Silvain, not to test the other man but because he was so enthused to be able to speak it.

"Would you like to speak with me in Silvain when we are alone together?" he inquired. "Perhaps any shortcomings you may have in your comfort and memory, I can close for you. I think it would also serve to make my time here much better, Mr. Schreiber. Oh: and, yes, I would love for you to read me that sonnet. And any others you might find. I know very little of my culture before the Sundering."

He thought on the other man's words -- of how tragedy and beauty were somewhat intertwined. It was another compelling thought. Pondering on it, he had always found there to be a grim sort of beauty to his land as it was. The Vainwood trees that still sung old Eldhan hymns, the inscriptions upon rocks that depicted the Ald'norai, though covered with black overgrowth as if to speak directly on their own corruption. And the strange beauty of the Dranoch, their red forts, their oddly celestial might.

Sil-Elaine was a tragically beautiful place. As was all of this land; Mornoth, so twisted and scarred, its north encumbered by endless snow, yet one that allowed a different kind of life to prosper and bloom. He had always been attracted to these strange ironies, and it appeared that in the other man, he had found something of a kindred spirit.

Konrad went on to muse on his use of the word 'interesting' - which Taelian meant fairly positively in this case, though he knew of its varied connotations. He then explained how he'd gotten to be where he was, and how it was difficult as well as disappointing; that he had not acquired his position entirely by merit, but instead through opportunity. Taelian wondered why he had been so interested, particularly, in joining the service of the Lodge. That itself spoke to some innate curiosity in magic, some desire for closeness to it. Taelian was aware of the Lodge's complex history: they, the Pact, were one of the Omen's three monastic orders. They were subverted by House Galbrecht, whose Duke was a former leader of theirs, until they became utterly disloyal to the Kindred. The Aether Cannon was their great act of defiance against the blighted avians, though it was more the conclusion to a long list of small rebellions that had occurred over the last few decades.

But because they were mages, and because the Lodge was lined with countless artifacts and golems capable of ripping through any force that might have slipped through it, they were left mostly unbothered. Their rot was allowed to fester, with the Kindred influence on Galbrecht increasingly waning.

And so he had to wonder, too, if Konrad had always been intrigued by their revolutionary ideals. He came to understand that perhaps their stories were not too far apart.

"My reasoning for becoming a mage is rather tied to my nationality, Konrad." He lifted his legs for the other man to scrub, noting that he was rather... sensitive to the other man touching his upper legs and thighs, though he continuously made sure not to let it affect him too noticeably. "I doubt you know much of Sil-Elaine's current politics, yes? I know you Rien are a learned people, but -- Sil-Elaine is a very isolated country, with accurate information on its affairs rarely ever slipping through. To briefly explain, we are ruled by a hegemony of Dranoch called the Court of Dusk. They are as invasive and oppressive as your Kindred, I would say, but... they also murder and devour large scores of our population. They are our own people, but afflicted by a curse from the God, Valteran. Many of them are rather old; the first of them came in the aftermath of the Sundering, desperate to maintain their own lives."

The mage wiped over his face with a handful of water after Konrad ran soaps through his hair. Taelian gripped the edges of the bath and began to lift himself, water pouring down from his physique as he gestured for the man to properly cleanse his backside. "We have been dealing with their violence and oppression for hundreds of years, now. Only around two decades ago, the leader of my group -- Aldrin Sil'Jalus -- decided he would begin a war with them, a revolution led by the people through magic and divine aide. Malek guided Aldrin to this task, and gave him divine power, including the lost art of Sigilic Pyromancy. It has historically been used to slay the undying: Liches, other undead, those defiant of the natural order. Given its natural efficacy against the Dranoch, its re-emergence became an important tool in undermining them. All Ebon Knights -- which is what the warriors of the revolution are called -- are made Pyromancers. If you were wondering why I am so... warm, that is why. It is part of the magic," he explained.

There was much that he had left out. Sil-Elaine was a complicated land and its politics were increasingly varied and chaotic. Other factions had begun to vie for influence as well, and the Black Sigil -- which his magic descended from -- had been found to be useful for other means. And Aldrin wasn't so great a man as he might have sounded. Taelian left out the darker parts of the story: the ones he did not wish to tread upon.

"Anyway: as an Ebon Knight, I was tasked with... ah, let's call it foreign affairs. I was sent to Karnor, and then Atinaw, to manage our external relations with a small cell of soldiers. My cell in Atinaw was entirely wiped out, but the Covenant had already taken a considerable interest in me and helped me further my magical studies. I don't mean to appear overly confident in my abilities, but... I'm fairly certain that I'm one of the strongest of my group, and Pyromancy seems to provide a lot of the natural abilities needed to hunt the Kindred: a resistance to the weathering effects of frost, the ability to commune with the dead to track arcane beings, fast and long-ranged methods of dispatching foes, so on. I was a natural fit for this task, just as you appear to be a natural fit in guiding me," he said.

After he was properly cleaned, Taelian settled himself back into the tub, though his arms hung over the edge of the tub as he looked more directly towards the Rien man. At the corner of his lip was a small smirk. "Would you like to learn magic, Mr. Schreiber? I can't help but wonder of your interest in the Lodge. Does that come naturally with being so distant from it, as a Rien...? Or is it more than curiosity: some want to take part in this war, perhaps?"

[Konrad Schreiber]

Konrad could scarcely imagine what it might have been like for Taelian surrounded as he was by a foreign tongue in a foreign land. The question then was hardly surprising, though it did take a half moment's time more for Konrad to realize what was even being asked of him. Most of his time with Silvain was in the form of books or very carefully recited prose. There was a cadence to it, even more so than the language itself naturally employed, and Taelian's fluent tongue moved at a faster pace than Konrad was accustomed to. Still, his familiarity with the language was more than enough to stay abreast of the words even as they so effortlessly spilled forth from Taelian's pleased smile.

Slower than both Taelian's Silvain and his own Common but with that same precise cadence and enunciation as he'd used before, Konrad replied in kind. "It would seem you would find it pleasurable to speak in your mother tongue, Sil'norai. And I would be hardpressed to ignore so earnest a request." It felt strange to formulate his own thoughts in a language he'd only ever really used for study. It wasn't exactly difficult in the traditional sense. He knew the words, the conjugations, the proper intonation, and was more than familiar with each building block. Yet, when he put it all together, it sounded infinitely strange to his ear. It pulled his smile even wider. "And I know little of the aftermath. I will search for those poems from my childhood and see what I can find for you. There are many strange and wonderful tales to be told, from both the before and the after, I imagine."

He continued to run his fingers through Taelian's soapy hair as he listened, more focused on the words being spoken than the warmth beneath his fingertips. That Sil-Elaine was a tight-lipped nation was a bit of an understatement. The vast majority of the poems and other literary works that filled his father's libraries had been gathered from everywhere but the Sil'noari homeland. Difficult to come by information in the best of times, all he really knew about the silver people was that they suffered the Sundering and well should have died out then. But, somehow, they continued to survive.

Taelian's tale of his magical origins was like something out of an epic. Konrad raptly listened, carefully rinsing Taelian's hair, though he did so several extra times for lack of attention to what he was doing. Cannibalistic tyrants and god-given curses... perhaps the tales of Sil'norai savagery weren't quite as bloated as he'd first suspected. It all sounded absolutely nightmarish but in that same way Lorien's history was steeped with a mysterious allure. He couldn't help but find himself wishing to gaze upon the blood-crazed faces of these Dranoch Taelian spoke of. Were they as frightening as they sounded, like the Kindred? Or were they deceptively beautiful? Mirrors of Taelion's more alien features?

When he rose, Konrad gathered up the sponge again and set to scrubbing, smoothing over the rougher ministrations with a waterlogged rinse of the sponge, letting the water run down the rise and curves of the considerable muscles. He was too distracted by Taelian's words to think much upon what he was doing with his hands, lost as he was in his musings. Divine intervention, a lost magic, liches and undead, with Taelian well embedded in it all. Perhaps, after such things, Lorien seemed almost welcoming or at least far more familiar than he'd been giving the other man credit.

As if to test Taelian's word, Konrad absently pressed his hand against the firm muscle of his backside, nodding slowly and thoughtfully as he let the heat from the other man's skin differentiate itself from that of the bathwater. "Fascinating..." he murmured, Common this time as it was more a slip of the tongue than an intended comment. He'd suspected the man's magic to have something to do with his unnaturally warm temperature, but it was still strange to consider that it was, indeed, the case. The question of "how" arose and was quickly followed by a flurry of hypotheses, none of which he was educated well enough to entertain for more than a moment or so.

That he was well-traveled came as no surprise to Konrad. He had that air about him, after all. Though it did strike him with a slight frown at the mention of his lost comrades, however brief the moment Taelian chose to give them. He quietly murmured, "My condolences," in Silvain but otherwise did not interrupt the rest of the recount. By his own description, Taelian was really more a weapon than a man. This was also not exactly surprising, as the Galbrechts and, by extension, the Lodge, was far more in need of weapons over men. Still, to think so much more power resided within Taelian's already physically impressive frame, tucked away in some place that was neither soul nor flesh, was a bit unnerving. Needless to say, he was glad to find himself in relatively good graces with a man who supposedly could dispatch him with both haste and at distance. A terrifying combination to be on the receiving end of.

He gave Taelian's hip a friendly pat, a signal he could return to his lounging within the tub's warm waters. "I fear I am not the strongest among my own cohort-" He wasn't sure what the equivalent of Lord was within Silvain, so he substituted in gealach soilleir, an honorific from a very old story that detailed the birth of day and night. It carried with a gravity that seemed comparable enough. "But I am gladdened to hear you find me a suitable fit."

Taking a small hand towel from the nearby side table, he began to gently pat Taelian's hair dry, one hand neatly cupped along the edge of the other's man's jaw while the other pressed firmly against his dark, damp locks. His laughter was warm and bright as Taelien guessed at his motivations for his interest in the Lodge and those connected to it. "It is... difficult to say," he finally sighed, a slight shake of his head following after. "In any language," he added with a wink as he set the towel aside and lightly pressed his thumbs to Taelian's temples, guiding his head back to settle back against the tub's toweled rim. "Though I really should not speak to the interests of my fellow Rien, in this particular case I do believe I speak true when I say... there is a longing for it. Not a desire to learn or understand, but an... envy, I think. They envy the power magic brings and fear the consequences that follow."

His fingers continued to work against the sides of Taelian's head, massaging both his temples and now jaw. "And I am uncertain how different I am from them. Those envious men and women. I am no revolutionary, gealach soilleir. Do not think you and I comparable in that way for I would... only disappoint. Yet, when you ask if it is more than curiosity, I am inclined to reply in affirmation." He let his hands fall back to settle on Taelian's shoulders once again, only now he merely let himself feel the now confirmed magical heat neath his fingertips as he thought.

"Magic is... terrifying," he hummed, his tone betraying no fear in his voice. "It is terrifying yet... there is a draw to it. A draw I am certain you know all too well, gealach soilleir. A promise of power. Not strength," he clarified with a short nod. "But power. This raw and wild and- and thrilling power. How could anyone, deep down, not have some desire to wield such a thing?" His chuckle was more breathy, more airy, than the others before. Wistful, even. "Would I like to learn magic," he repeated Taelian's question more as a statement now. "In truth, I never imagined I would even have an opportunity to seriously consider it, gealach soilleir. The proper answer would be 'no'. Maybe 'absolutely not'," he grinned.

"And yet... I suppose the real answer would be: 'I do not know'." He glanced down into Taelian's eyes, their mutual curiosity mirrored. "If I were to say 'yes', would it be you who would teach me?" His smile teasing. "I am not certain I would take to being an ever sweaty savage such as yourself."