Progeny

[Taelian Edevane]

Frost 48th, Year 4621

An hour passed, and then more. Taelian lied in bed for a while, continuing to stare and to ponder. He pondered Thomas' continual, half-completed admissions of mutual love, ones that never quite went all the way. He pondered his position over him, and the way that it probably made the other man feel. He 'controlled' him, according to Thomas, though it was not a complaint so much as an objective statement of fact. He wasn't sure that he wanted that burden, but he supposed he had it now. The man could only wish that if things did not play out so perfectly as his beloved desired, he would not be the one he blamed.

Eventually, he did clean himself up, if only so that the servants didn't have to endure any unwanted scents. He washed in the bath adjacent to his room, drying himself off and applying a rich cologne that Wendell had bought him some months ago. Returning to his room, the man procured a black, form-fitting outfit with silver trimmings throughout, a velvety texture covering the exterior of the garment. The tunic ended slightly beneath his waist, culminating at the silver-colored clasp of a belt, which had a blue-colored gem at the center. Putting on long, equally form-fitting trousers, the man styled his hair formally before returning to the room and advising that the two have some breakfast to accentuate their morning.

Of course, Claudia made it for them. She got to work on making an egg soufflé, a Gentevarese recipe that had become quite prominent in Lorien. Alongside it, she prepared knackwurst and sauerkraut, two items native to Lorien; staples of their diet, and ones Latham quite enjoyed. To stave off the gnawing hunger as they waited, the man showed Thomas around the estate some more -- the study, the art room, the second common area along the outer edges of the upper level. With some small conversation passing the time, the two men were eventually called to eat, large dishes presented to each of them. Thomas' portion was nearly as large as Taelian's, which was - unsurprisingly - quite massive. He quietly informed his lover that he needed to eat many large meals a day to keep his physique, though he preferred to stick to three or four platters that would provide enough energy and nutrients on their own.

Once their meals had been presented, he dismissed Claudia, the woman bowing and excusing herself as she went to visit her sister. Taelian eyed his lover for a while, smiling faintly, before speaking up.

"You haven't asked me yet about how I've claimed to be a son of Venadak," he commented dryly. "Does that not interest you? The few others who have learned have been quite... preoccupied in trying to ascertain more. You, on the other hand, seem unconcerned."

He dug in with his fork, taking his first bite of the soufflé. Swallowing it down, the man rolled his neck and sighed. It was good -- he was glad they weren't traveling through the tundra anymore. This felt nice.

"Or maybe you just don't know what it means," he added, not making eye contact as he ate. "Do you want to?"

[Thomas]

While the tour and the chat had been a nice counterpoint to how the morning had begun, Thomas left Latham's chambers famished for some actual food and in desperate need of a quick rinse. The latter he had almost right away, but the former required a measure of patience. He politely attended the tour, and upon its conclusion, received one of Latham's somewhat characteristic monologues inquiring as to what was concerning him. Chiefly, Thomas was concerned with breakfast. It was better food than he'd had in weeks. Lorien did not value chefs the way it valued professors, and it showed. He was also concerned with how stately Latham looked when he was properly dressed as a Lord. How regal, even. It was hard to believe that two years ago this man had been a knight so ill at ease in meeting what passed for the upper set of a second-rate town in Radenor that he'd kept to himself. The man he saw before him now was clearly capable of commanding respect, but he retained the disarming honesty and forthright manner of speaking from his humbler origins.

What a shame, then, that he harbored such a dangerous and painful delusion.

Still, this estate was half his, and he was staying here due to Latham's good graces. It was best to be polite, and conciliatory. "Coming as I do from a country that does not concern themselves with The Adac, I am afraid I know little of what that would mean. Assuming you were not joking when you said it, my Lord. If it is a jest, it's quite a good one, as few would dare joke of such things in a country like Lorien, I think. In Grisic, we are taught the very basics of what The Adac purportedly did before their, ah, retirement."

Would it be impolite to elaborate on that? Perhaps Latham felt some sort of allegiance to his alleged father. Or mother, he supposed, but he remembered that most of them were male.

[Taelian Edevane]

The man pressed his lips together, mulling over Thomas' words in his head. His nation was, in fact, an exporter of hatred against the Adac. It seemed a part of being the world's premier power was the inability to keep one's ideology to one's self, and in the case of Grisith it showed. They were the heirs to the Unbroken Empire; a land originally built from their settlers, one of two claimants of their mantle. The Unbroken Empire had been razed to its very foundations by the Adac, who shelled Adena for months in the prelude to the Bleeding. He understood, purely from Grisith's nationalistic perspective, why they would loathe the Adac. He only hoped that Thomas did not feel the same.

"It is not a joke," he replied. "I know it may be difficult to believe, but it is what I am, and it is not unprecedented. This Kingdom, Lorien, was once ruled by a Draedan -- for centuries, in fact. Some still live in Vendigad; some walk among us without our knowledge. I suppose I am one of those few, now, though before long I will not be able to conceal my nature any further. It is... beginning to change me. The golden eyes, the dim lines that travel through my skin; these are all aspects of Adac heritage. Charming, aren't they?"

He wore a rueful smile, seemingly uncertain as to whether or not he wanted to be the recipient of Venadak's lineage. On the one hand, it was wonderful; to be powerful, to be ageless, to be able to ward off death. He was absent no swelling of pride in being the son of a God. Of course, it was not so glamorous as he might've thought before; Taelian was far more likely to be hunted now than worshiped, with mages seeking to rake his Divine Spark from his chest, and Grisic's enforcers tasked with eliminating his kind globally. Beyond that, he had an imperative, provided to him by Venadak; a purpose for his being, one that seemed to diverge from what actually made him happy.

"If you are skeptical, I understand. Few believe me when I tell them," he nodded. "I had to hurt myself, badly, to get Arkash to accept it. Eloise needed to have a Brand mage examine me, only to sequester me within a sort of cell for weeks as she drilled into me that no man or woman - no matter how dear - could know of it. Of course, that did not entirely work," he mused, smirking. "It is the truth, though, and I am willing to prove it. I can lift boulders twice my size, punch fractures into castle walls, run far faster than a horse. I can travel to Bel without Resonance; I can show you any and all of those things, if it would make you believe me. I -- know, how it sounds, but... I want you to know because it's important. It can, and will, affect us; it already does. Past a certain point I will stop aging. We might even be able to have children together, without the necessary burden of birth. I'm still working out how to do that, but--"

The man curled his lips, trying not to distract with unnecessary details. "...It's significant. Otherwise I wouldn't tell you; it is no vanity of mine. It is, however, a part of how I got here. Wendell agreed to marry me because of my status as a Draedan -- he wants me to create an heir for House Venger with Adac blood. And then there's the Arlaed Pact..." he trailed off. Now was not the time to get into all of that; he was well aware that Thomas was, already, likely very confused.

[Thomas]

Something had been bothering Thomas, actually: Latham's Mark, the one on his neck -- that had made his fires happen, yet it was now gone. Thomas wasn't sure if the Marks could migrate, or move to being inside the body; his education had said they were somewhat alive, the way germs were alive, so it stood to reason if they felt they could find a better environment elsewhere, perhaps they'd migrate. For that matter, he knew they could mutate, which sounded frightening. Perhaps it had just mutated to be invisible? That seemed unlikely, though.

He sighed, for what he was about to say. He always felt so stupid, discussing magic. "Is this why your -- please forgive me, Latham, I have not the vocabulary for this, but -- to me, it seems your fire now is different from your fire then. Back then, it was almost like a gaslight, and now, it's much more flamelike. I had thought this was merely because you have matured as a, a mage, I guess." Thomas frowned, thinking it through, "Or perhaps your glyph had mutated, and also turned invisible or tattooed itself on the inside of your skin, but that's nonsensical, I bet. There are lots of people in Grisic who tell all kinds of stories about mages, and it's hard to know what's real if you never have cause to re-examine what you've been taught."

"I don't think I follow beyond the basics, either. I'm afraid that much of it is beyond me, Latham. That you will change comes as no surprise; all men change as they age. I'm curious what exactly you mean, because you soon feel that your, ah, heritage" Thomas' tone added the word 'alleged' in front, "Will be immediately obvious to others. I'm curious how that could possibly be? Wouldn't this just provide you with sort of extra magic, not bound by glyphs? If there are no glyphs, then what could be visible or obvious about it?"

"That you may no longer age is odd, and sounds more like folklore than science. Do you think your cells will be sustained by magic? And that you claim we could -- have children? -- seems incredible, in the literal meaning of the word," he said, smiling to ease the sting of his words. "I find it hard to believe, as I'm fairly certain I know how babies are formed, my Lord, and I lack the necessary equipment to carry any kind of child to term, allegedly divine or not. I suppose this may not be the reassurance you seek, but my honest reaction, so far, is that much of this sounds preposterous, and that what I do believe of it sounds intriguing."

[Taelian Edevane]

Thomas grilled him, or so it felt like. It wasn't quite so much an actual interrogation, as much as it was an endless slew of queries tied in with some palpable form of skepticism. He seemed uncertain and partially unaware, but ultimately curious; curious, though, was fine. Latham could work with that.

"I -- yes," he nodded. "That is why my fire is different. My fire, before, was from the Black Sigil; the Mark of Sigilic Pyromancy. This fire... I do not know how I know it, but there is a name for the aspect of me that channels it; Kilek. Sunbane." As if to demonstrate, he produced it within his hand. It was - quite apparently - the actual shape of the sun, with a flame-gold coloration and a surface etched with what almost appeared to be molten hotspots, and flares that escaped no more than a few inches beyond the surface of the sphere. It was, also, immensely hot. Closing his fist, the flame dispersed within his grasp, and perhaps only then would Thomas notice that Latham's golden eyes glowed more while the flame persisted, and dimmed again as it ceased, the same as the concealed marks on his body.

"My Divine Spark devoured the Black Sigil. Adac wield Divinity in order to perform magic, rather than Raw Ether. For that reason, this is considered... 'Divine Magic', rather than 'Raw Magic'. Our Divine Spark can learn how to adapt Raw Magic into Divine Magic, but only so much. The Mark of Control is best consumed to help mature the Divinity within--ah, sorry, it's complex. I'll avoid all of the metaphysical speak."

Quickly scarfing down one of the knackwursts, the man pressed his elbow into the table, turning his head to face the other. "I will change, and you will see that I will change. I do not know how, yet. All of the scholarly information I have seen seems to imply that Draedan go through... stages of growth, moving from stage-to-stage very explicitly. I am still in my first stage, but I am almost beyond it; I can feel a sort of undergrowth burgeoning from within, like something morphing inside of me. Even when the Divine Spark was sealed more than a year ago, it appeared to have kept its maturity. I -- am excited and worried to discover what will come to be," he muttered, nodding.

"I do not know how the Adac do not age. It would be so simple to say that it is 'because they are Gods', but there is certainly some elemental justification for their immortality, beyond that. Many mages believe they aren't truly Gods at all, or at least that being a 'God' is a subjective thing, determined only by the power to enact change." In the early years after the Divine Abolition, when the Gods became absent, many Ascended mages and powerful Draedan were worshiped like Gods in their place; the same thing happened in the past, long before ordered civilization. Ascended mages were not effectively immortal, though. Many of them died young, or at least not significantly beyond the average for a member of their race. Draedan were different.

The answer, he imagined, was Divinity. While mortals interacted with raw ether and expended and produced their energy inefficiently, the Adac performed all of their functions without entropy or decay. It was the Law of Magithermal Entropy, in play within their very own biology. He thought to explain that concept to Thomas, right now, but he did not imagine it would aide his case; the man was not particularly knowledgeable in the arcane, even if he was technically a mage. Which reminded Latham, of course, of a topic for another time.

"...I also don't intend to impregnate you like some woman. I meant divine conception -- ah, nevermind. I understand it all sounds 'preposterous', as you say, but it is absolutely true. Everything I claim, I can prove. I could bring you to Bel right now -- I could survive a blade to the heart. I... ask that you believe me, Thomas. As unlikely and absurd as it is, it is also objectively true. It has caused for many events of great consequence to transpire in my life. Only a few weeks before we met again, I went to the Mantle of Adena to reclaim my Divinity. If there was ever any doubt in my mind before, that has been excised."

He reached over, placing his hand atop Thomas' much smaller one, looking into his eyes. "I have never lied to you. You know I won't start now. My nature as a Draedan is real."

[Thomas]

Thomas didn't reply immediately, preferring instead to just hold Latham's hand and think about what he was hearing. Certainly, he did not need to be convinced of his lover's sincerity. Latham had no particular reason to claim he was the sort of immortal being that many would still hunt down, and he didn't seem to be the sort of liar Thomas had encountered occasionally, who told outlandish tales with no other aim than to surprise or astonish. If that were the case, it would have come up two years ago, and it hadn't. Given all that, it seemed that Latham, to the best of the man's own knowledge, held some kind of Divinity in him.

If that was even the proper term. Maybe it was just some other eldritch power that mages understood less than their own bizarre forms of energy manipulation.

At length, Thomas answered.

"I do believe you, my Lord. You say you are a Draeden, and I have no reason to doubt you because, as you've said, you are an honest man. This part, I accept, the part about you being -- partially derived from something -- non-human, and non-elven, for that matter. It's more that there are many silly stories about Draeden: that they can make mountains disappear with their minds, or stop a tsunami with a thought, or that they sprout wings and fly like birds. It just seems rather far-fetched, like the sort of thing one tells children to make them gasp with astonishment. I was not raised to believe such things. I believed in other fictions, I suppose, like a nation that cares for its citizens, or in compassion of the powerful for the meek." He smiled, inviting Latham to share in condescension toward his past self.

[Taelian Edevane]

"No more 'My Lord'," he reflexively replied. "It is either Latham, Taelian, or something with affection. Sweetheart? I don't know," the man muttered, before shaking his head in an attempt to realign his focus. Thomas was right, anyhow: there were many absurd mythologies about the Draedan, few of which were real, he imagined.

"It's difficult to approximately say," said the Knight. "Divinity allows for so many things; it is this universes most malleable form of energy. Grisic does not deny, at least, that the Gods made this world and its races, yes? How could they create such a complex thing without a sort of... infinite pluripotentiality? That is Divinity; the clay from which reality is shaped, or unshaped; unraveled. As a Draedan, though, I cannot simply change reality. I will only be able to act within my Domains... whatever those are." He imagined that one of them involved justice in some way, considering his ability 'Roshan'. The others -- it was impossible to know. It was too early.

Nevertheless, he was glad that his lover believed him, even if he felt skeptical and did not fully fathom the implications. That was fine, as it was roughly how he felt, too. He did not know what being a Draedan fully meant for him, and for his life. He was, though, excited to find out.

"I will be able to protect you... better, like this," he said. "I'm more resilient, stronger. I've lost Summoning and Sigilic Pyromancy, and the power to acquire more Marks - but, that's fine. In their place, I might one day grasp so much more. I'll need to practice, to be sure, but..."

He interlaced their fingers together, leaning in to kiss the other man's temple. After doing so, Latham took another chunk out of his food, and peered up for a moment. "I might also be able to make you ageless, too," he added. It was an unbelievably strange proposition, he imagined, but there was no better time to make Thomas aware of it. "If I make you my Arlaed, you will age as I do, and die as I do. I don't know how it works as a Draedan; there's no scholarship about it. But I'd be willing to learn."

[Thomas]

Thomas had never considered the prospect of immortality for the same reason he had never considered the prospect of growing an extra head, or commanding others with his thoughts. Not that he'd necessarily be immortal, if this worked -- ageless and immortal didn't mean the same thing, after all. It just meant that he'd stay in better health longer, which seemed like a fine deal to him. Latham was just offering this to him, all of this, over breakfast, as if it were nothing.

Well, not exactly as if it it were nothing, Thomas corrected himself. More like, as if it were an option he could choose at any time, part of his due for meeting Latham in Radenor two years ago and helping him. Something that Latham would willingly give, or give up, due to his love for Thomas. It made him feel unexpectedly guilty. Latham was planning for them to be together in literal perpetuity, apparently, while he was unsure of what might happen tomorrow or next week. If Wendall and Latham's passions were rekindled properly, might they no longer have use for him, or if Wendall made him choose, putting his ideals in direct opposition to his emotions? Even if Wendall was pacified, some outside force could open a chasm between them, or Latham could wake up one day and realize that this was nothing more than infatuation and electrifying sexual chemistry. Thomas thought of all of these things constantly, and Latham planned to research an Arlaed Pact for him.

"Latham, you shouldn't offer me this. You -- you don't know me well enough, or for long enough. I don't know much about how elves mate for life, but I know it's for life, and that my own could end at any time. I'm not strong like you! You'd be giving yourself a weak spot, a big one, for no upside. I won't stop you from researching it if you wish to sate your own curiosity, but please consider giving this gift to someone else. My preference would be that you not give it to anyone at all. Your life should not be tied to anyone's in that way; it's too dangerous. For that matter, what you hope to accomplish here in Lorien is too important."

It felt odd to be offered a gift like this and turn it down, or at least to set it aside, but Thomas wasn't sure what else to do with it. It was too big and important a thing to be brought up over eggs and sausage.

[Taelian Edevane]

"Frankly, my love, I am not offering this to you yet," the man replied flatly. It was oddly blunt for Latham, though he wished to dispel the notion that he would 'give away' his Arlaed bond so freely. "I am informing you of all of the potential ways in which my being a Draedan can impact our future and longevity together, so that you can make an informed decision. To be honest, Thomas... as committed as I am to our companionship, I am not so certain that you feel the same. I sense... love, though you will not say it; I sense passion, even perhaps excitement over our future prospects, but this instinct in me knows when things lie under the surface. And... that is fine. I do not expect you to be prepared to surrender your life to me; to be my husband, to plot out an eternity by my side. Perhaps one day I will seek a conclusive resolution from you, but at the moment I will allow you to ponder your choices. And when you choose, if you become certain that you wish to spend your lifetime in my shared proximity, then perhaps I will offer you the bond in earnest."

He finished his food, stood from his seat and brought the dirtied plate to a rack that had a few others of its like. It seemed to him that Thomas did not fully recognize the ways in which he had changed -- the man he had become. He still expected some sort of blind optimism from him, but it wasn't there, fully. He was hopeful that Thomas would love him, perhaps even that they would marry and somehow carry forward a legacy... but he only carried fractions of the naivete he had when they first met. A part of that was due, of course, to Thomas himself. He had opened his first jaded scar, one that the world helped to fester and expand until it spread within him.

Latham hoped to close that scar -- he wanted to. He missed the man he used to be, back when happiness seemed like a tool he could harness and channel at will. Being with Thomas even made him feel that way again, at times, though not always. There was still too much uncertainty.

"I advise you one thing, my dear," he said, back still turned to him as he searched for a cloth. "Remember that I outrank Wendell in our political organization. Many of the talents you seem to admire in him, I carry myself. I'm only... better at concealing them. One of those talents is a knack for spotting deception, uncertainty, suspicion. You've hollowed to the idea of living a happy life, I think, and I can see that in you. I wish it wasn't so."

He turned to face him, smiling somewhat solemnly. "But it is. I hope that stability can change that, as much as I hope that my... unyielding love can." His love had, after nearly three years, never faded. Even after their bitter departure, even after learning of all of his lies... it remained. He wasn't certain that Thomas fully absorbed that, but he hoped that he did.

"I suppose there's another thing I should ask you," he raised, nodding. "What were you really, in Grisic, if not a noble?"

[Thomas]

He hadn't expected to be rebuked, and so thoroughly. It stung, like he'd been slapped. Worse, because Thomas couldn't recall a time when he hadn't seen a slap coming, but this was all the worse for being a surprise. He pushed his plate away. He wasn't hungry any more.

"I'm not sure what you expect from me, my Lor-- Latham. You wish me to be myself, yet you are repelled when you find that I am cynical and hardened by my life's difficulties. You assure me when we met again power and politics hasn't changed you in any way, except in all the ways that it has. You wish for me to return your affections, yet you acknowledge we barely know each other, and that you know so little of me that you are surprised by my hesitation to accept an offer that is absolutely too good to be true. Then you offer me all these things, and snatch them back when I question it. I'm not sure what you want, in other words, but I know that I am here at your pleasure, and that if you don't get it, I'll be right back where I was after experiencing something that will make my old life unbearable." Thomas wondered if Latham could tell that he wasn't talking about servants and soft beds. A test, then, for the man who claimed to be more perceptive than he let on.

"If you think to hear my history in order to understand the man before you, very well. I grew up in Starkwayte, Sir, without a guardian, in Lady Ryan's Home for Wayward Children. If you are imagining a life full of giggles and whimsy, you are mistaken. I do not know who my parents are, nor do I know anything about them. My earliest memories are of the orphanage, and that was my life until I left as an adolescent. I recall that you grew up this way, as well. Perhaps it was better for you, or perhaps you are better than I, because clearly, it didn't scar you the way it scarred me. I know I can love others, and I believe myself to have done so, but not like you do, Latham. Your passion for me -- I crave it, because it's unlikely anything I've ever had, but I just cannot fathom it. My most ardent feelings beside yours are a candle next to the sun. Would you trade the one for the other?"