Set the table for three

[Thomas]

21st Frost 4622

Thomas was fairly certain the staff loathed him, and they loathed nothing more than one particular affectation: a fondness bordering on obsession with Griscian style tea. It was fussy to prepare, and their normally generous young Lord would fuss at them if it wasn't perfect. The cook could burn the roast, the housekeeper could fail to get a wine stain out of his shirt and he wouldn't care, but if things were less than perfect during afternoon tea, there would be Words. Polite words delivered in a pleasant tone, but words nonetheless. The fact that it took them the better part of a season to even work out what he liked and how he liked it did not in any way make this process easier. He knew what he liked, but had no real ability to cook and was barred by his rank from showing them how to set the table directly.

No one had ever asked why he liked it. It was Griscian, so was he, and it was likely an easy sort of guess that it reminded him of home. As it happened, it did remind him of home, but not in any specific way. In Grisic, he had rarely been exposed to high tea, and when he had, almost all of the time he had been serving it, not consuming it. He'd associated it with stupid, arrogant toffs who had nothing better to do. Now that he was one, though, he could admit that strong tea and scones went well together, and that he adored a mid-afternoon salad with some tea sandwiches.

He'd had the table set for three today in the study. He preferred to eat there unless he was entertaining guests who needed a more formal setting. One setting, of course, for Taelian, should he choose to drop by, and another for Wendall, in the event that his plans were cancelled and he was brought back to the estate early. He had little doubt they would remain unused, but he preferred to imagine that they would just be by at a later date and that he was starting without them due to an unslakeable thirst for cured leaves.

While he was by himself, he practiced: which fork to use and how to hold it, how to smile at each imaginary person at the table so that they would feel welcomed without feeling overwhelmed, and pouring for others in a manner befitting of a host so that his housekeeper would not have to hover if there were guests. There were not often guests, but that did not matter. He also imagined things to say, and thought through saying them as though he were on stage. He had not yet graduated to saying his lines aloud, but he imagined come Glade, he may incorporate that into his routine, as well.

He was surprised when the door swung open, and for a minute, he briefly wondered if by some miracle it was one of the other two people he had married. It wasn't, but that didn't stop him from being delighted to see Zilrud.

"Good afternoon, Zilrud! Looking quite dapper, as always. Care to join me? I'm not sure this is the sort of hearty fare you favor, but the tea is pleasingly warm, at least."

[Zilrud]

The Ork had been mended now for a few days. His leg was better, his strength had practically returned in full force, and he was beginning to get a little restless. In the times the restlessness began to grow to be too much, he took to the outdoors and found something useful to do for the home, especially Thomas. Mostly it was providing firewood or hunting something and helping replenish much of the meat he had devoured since his arrival. The current day had been more of a day for internal searching, soul searching, many would call it.

Dapper was far from what he actually chose to wear. On his torso, he’d had some button-down given to him that was older, but his arms barely fit through the fabric made for the arms, and the Orkhai had hated the feeling of being so snug in something that was not his own skin. So, he had torn the sleeves from them and had chosen to not button the shirt, leaving it open to show off the brighter green, sparsely chest-haired torso with the blue gem-like Mark of Control on display across his chest. On his lower half, he wore a pair of shorts that, for all intents and purposes, were beginning to fry, mostly because it was the only garment he would wear on his lower half. He did not dare to try pants and threatened to walk naked if he could not keep the shorts.

Thus, as he opened the door and was complimented on being dapper, he was not quite sure what he had walked in on. Thomas was sitting at a place where two other settings had been set up for two other people who were not there. The Orkhai had said nothing at first and intended to turn around and leave. Clearly, it was not meant for him, which had given him pause in the first place. Though with that thought, something else had been brewing in the back of the Ork’s mind, something he had been meaning to say but had not found the right time.

Turning, it seemed he was going to leave, leaving Thomas alone once more with his tea and empty place settings. Instead, though, Zilrud was closing the door quite roughly. Mostly because the door needed to be closed but also because he wanted privacy, which was something unusual for the Ork. Red orbs looked over the closed door, then slid over to the other, who was looking hopeful for the larger of the pair to join them. Thomas looked pathetic, and displeasure was clear across the Orkish face, displaying his dislike for the scene before him. And in true Zilrud fashion, he did not bother to explain why his face appeared the way it had and instead walked to where one of the place settings was and eased himself into a seat but remained quiet.

Exhaling, the larger Ork leaned back in his seat and allowed his eyes to rest on Thomas’s face. There was no need to be mean in regards to the human’s offer for tea, and so, Zilrud, who’d never partaken in the Griscian tradition, nodded to the display before him before looking back to Thomas and spoke quite plainly. “Why do you keep me here?”

[Thomas]

Why is he still here?

Wendall had asked him that a few days earlier before departing on business. The two didn't fight about Zilrud, not exactly, because Wendall knew better than to spend a lot of resources on a fight that was going to be resolved quite readily. Zilrud would leave, and Thomas would stay, and things would be as they were. Why pick a fight over something that this time next year would be a fun memory and nothing more?

Thomas was surprised to hear Zilrud say it, but he also knew the orkhai felt he owed Thomas for his hospitality. Perhaps the man felt that the scales were getting too unbalanced. He just wasn't quite sure what to say in response.

It was tempting to say what he'd said at the beginning of their short acquaintance: Zilrud was here to recover from his injury, and then he would be on his way. If that were true, though, Zilrud was due to depart. His leg seemed fine, and the man seemed impatient to be back to living a more active life. Certainly, life on an estate where he and Thomas took meals together, bathed together, or enjoyed the natural splendor of a Rienese winter did not suit him. It was apparent that he was already bored, and it would probably worsen throughout Frost as the weather made outdoor activities more punishing.

So then why was Zilrud here? Did he think Thomas had him as a captive? Thomas knew better than to go with that interpretation. Zilrud left the estate of his own power and volition daily, at this point. If he didn't want to come back, he wouldn't. He had wandered the wilds of Lorien for days and had fended for himself decently well. He could go back to doing that if it came to it.

In that case, he probably meant more "keep" in the sense of "remain" rather than "held in place." So Thomas decided to do something rare for him, and forewent flowery words and rhetoric. Instead, he spoke from the heart.

"Because I believe there is something intriguing here," he said, "and I think you think so, too, or you would have departed by now, as you are physically able and have no great love for Lorien."

[Zilrud]

The silence had been something Zilrud had not thought would happen. Thomas was usually full of flowery words that Zilrud sometimes did not even understand, but at least had the hint of an idea because of other words used around it. Finally, though, Thomas had answered him, and the answer was an interesting one. One that made Zilrud think for a moment. The Orkhai did not have to think because of what the subject was but because what Thomas had said touched on something else the Orkhai had been mulling over, which was rare for him altogether.

At first, the large, green male did not say anything. Instead, he stared, in silence, at the human. Zil was attempting to decide how exactly he wanted to word something. He was attempting to piece it together in his mind, in some Orkish version of flowery, but nothing made sense, and it just wound up confusing the point he had wanted to make in the first place. Instead, he stood and looked at the place settings that were on the table and had his idea.

Pulling the chair away that he had been sitting in, the larger Orkhai stepped over, around the table, and stood behind Thomas in his seat. Rather than say anything or begin to make his point, the Ork grabbed the seat of Thomas’s char and hoisted him up in front of him. As his biceps and forearms flexed, so did his core muscles. Carrying Thomas, seat and all, to where Zilrud had been sitting, for some reason, Zil felt it was a better vantage point. Zil replaced the empty chair over to where Thomas had just been. Moving anything that had been Thomas’s, or things he was using to being in front of where Thomas was, Zilrud moved the other empty items over to where Thomas had been. – In reality, it would have been much easier to use Thomas’s vantage point. It took less energy. But the Ork was making a point. From how Zilrud saw it.

Even though the empty settings were a little messed up at that point, the Orkhai did not have a care in the world. Grunting, he stood behind Thomas once more and knelt and bent just enough so he was leaning over the back of the seat and his head hovered to the left side of Thomas’s face. The heat from the Orkhai was perceptible, and the near-burning gaze of those red eyes bore into the hoity-toity display before him. No, this was not Zilrud’s idea of a relaxing afternoon. It seemed to have more pressures to it than hunting, killing, skinning and butchering a wild boar.

That low, rumbling growl came up from his chest and died somewhere deep in his throat as he was beginning to speak. “What do you see, little one?”

The Ork had a reason for his madness. Many people, especially those of Lorien, would think he was a more basic-minded being, but Zilrud only did what made sense. There was no sense to make things more complicated unless he was trying to prove a point to a non-Orkhai.

…And in case Thomas tried to move himself or his seat, he would find Zilrud would put him right back in his place until he had an answer.

[Thomas]

Thomas gave an abortive "hey--" to Zilrud's moving of him, setting down his teacup on its saucer with a violent clink lest it spill. His annoyance turned to a more general state of being flustered as the big man leaned over his shoulder in a literal form of perspective taking. He radiated heat in a way that would be quite uncomfortable in warmer climes, but here in his study in Lorien was rather nice.

He knew that the answer was not likely to be literal, or obvious. Zilrud wouldn't put in the effort to do something like this if it wasn't important. This clearly was not a game. So he suppressed the urge to say something flippant in response. He was, admittedly, a bit peeved at being interrupted in the midst of one of his favorite parts of living in this estate, but it came back around to his guest feeling that there was a point to make here. His manners prevailed upon him to listen, so he didn't say something like "two perturbed place settings," he just thought it.

He took a bite of scone and chewed it while he looked at the table from what had been Zilrud's perspective.

It was an immaculate afternoon. A bit sparse, perhaps, but seasonally appropriate. There was strong black tea mixed with dried fruit and some pepper in the pot. Thomas took it with cream, and forewent the sugar because of the accompanying butter crumb cookies that were so dense in powdered sugar that they looked like little snow drifts. His scone, still covered in a dark red smear of jam and some clotted cream, was half-eaten on his plate. One place setting, the one that Zilrud hadn't touched, was completely immaculate. It would remain that way during service and then be taken away by the Hollows, cleaned, and securely stored until the next service. The other was now rumpled but similarly unused.

He had a guess.

"At the risk of being self-involved, is this a metaphor for my marriage?"

He wasn't sure he had to spell that out. One plate full of food, one table setting that used but also not, in but also out, here but also there. And another that was entirely pristine, present at the table but not involved in the goings-on, here in the literal, physical sense, but not spirit-of-the-law involved in what was transpiring.

[Zilrud]

Thomas was finicky about the finer things, such as his tea time. It was something the Orkhai had observed before but had not particularly taken part in. Oftentimes, Zilrud was out and about. Other times, the places were set for someone else, not for Zilrud. When Zilrud had made Thomas look at it from his perspective, the Ork listened and did not have an immediate reply. The grunt that followed could not be applied to any one response, but instead, the Ork did something he had not planned.

With his head lingering closer to Thomas’s than usual, mostly due to their height differences, Thomas would, perhaps, feel something unique. At least to Zil, it would be unique. It was normally a sign of affection he had saved for an Orkhai, or only one non-Ork, whom he was certain had long since died. As Thomas busied himself with tea and baked goods, Zilrud’s head leaned in, and the black-haired oaf nuzzled the side of his head against Thomas’s. The nuzzle of his head against Thomas’s was a sign of affection, of care, which ended in a long stroke of the side of his head against the other’s, ending with Zilrud’s forehead pressed against the side of Thomas’s own.

Taking in a deep breath, inhaling the more flower scent about the other, Zilrud’s head lifted from its resting place against Thomas’s own head and gently turned him, once more, chair and all. This time, however, there was a gentility to it, and he was much more careful that Thomas did not drop food or drink. Once Thomas was facing outward, to the side of the table, Zilrud crouched in front of him, a single, large, green hand resting just above the other’s knee, at his thigh.

“Little one. You set empty chairs for people who do not come.”

Slowly, his gaze slid over to the empty place settings, and for the quickest of moments, the Orkhai’s eyes softened. It wasn’t pure oafishness, rage, or destruction that embodied the particular Orkhai. Zilrud had become something different, perhaps tainted in terms of Orkhai purity and experience, but he could feel sadness and loss. But as quickly as the eyes had softened, the emotion bled from them, and a green leather brow rose, and he cast his gaze back onto Thomas.

“You have a big heart, Little One. Your one mate has wanted me gone since before I woke up. The other does not exist.”

Lifting his hand, a single clawed finger poked at Thomas’s chest, right about his heart.

“You are stuck. You think of them, as you should with your mates. You live in a big, fancy house. People serve you. You are soft.”

At the mention of Thomas being soft, that same clawed finger poked quite gently at Thomas’s cheek as the Ork finally allowed his red gaze to meet Thomas’s own eyes, and he let them linger.

“…You are not ready to leave with me to Rokhan. Zilrud would be the monster your mate thinks I am if I took you to Rokhan now. Your heart is here. Separating you from your heart is..”

Zilrud did not particularly have a great analogy for that, and it showed confusion and a slight sense of frustration overcoming his features.

“Little One would only be half with Zilrud while half stayed here. That is no life for Thomas.”

And for the absolute first time, there was a grotesque movement of the thicker greened lips. Some would call it a snarl, but those who had at least witnessed the few emotions the Ork did display, they would realize it was his way of smirking, his half attempt at a smile for the human’s sake.

“…You care what they think, Little One. I do not. You like flowery water and these things.”

Quite clumsily, the green arm reached over, snagging a scone. And as if to accent a point, he took a bite out of it, getting powdered sugar on his hand and face, and with half of the scone gone, the Ork chewed and narrowed his eyes and looked to the crumbling smashed baked good in his oaf of a hand.

“Hm.”

He didn’t really hate them like he thought he would, but that was beside the point. Realizing he had gone off topic, he popped the rest into his mouth and wiped his hand on the left chest of his opened shirt.

“I can not take you to Rokhan, Little One. Your soul would not be whole. Your heart would not be all in it. And Zilrud will not add to the hurt you feel already.”

Regardless of the message, the Orkhai, still crouching in front of Thomas, lifted a powder-sugar-coated claw and tucked a strand of hair on the other's head that had fallen out of place between the Ork’s manhandling of Thomas’s seated position. The Ork had spoken the most words at one time since meeting Thomas, and now, he went silent and looked to Thomas since it was a conversation, even if Zilrud had maintained it as a one-sided exchange. Slowly, he retracted his hand, so it rested on one of his bent knees.

[Thomas]

This was something very close to affection here and Thomas didn't pretend he didn't enjoy it. He liked being close to Zilrud in a way that was hard to articulate. It wasn't like being close with anyone else he'd ever been with. It felt different. When the orkhai embraced him or moved him around or put their faces together, Thomas felt it in his body, like the emotional version of how the man's growls reverberated in his chest. It made aftershocks within him that seemed to reshape his emotional landscape.

Certainly, during the course of their short acquaintance, he'd realized that his situation such as it was was untenable. His life with Wendall was a life, but it was one that would drive him to despair. His joy would leave him, and then Wendall would follow suit because he would no longer be the man he'd been when Wendall had married him. Taelian was, Thomas was rather certain, a lost cause. He'd had half a mind to just show up in Radenor and find his wayward husband, but his heart knew the truth: he was not here in Lorien because he did not wish to be, and that was because his heart beat for someone else. Thomas could not describe how he knew but he knew.

He'd known for some time, but Zilrud had shook him, physically and emotionally, and he wasn't hiding from the truth any more.

"I think, Zilrud, that you see me as I have been these last few weeks, and you do not look deeper. If I am soft, it is because I am allowed to be in my present circumstances. I have known no shortage of hardship throughout my life, and can endure much more than you may expect."

He finished the scone on his plate, then looked the orkhai dead in the eye. "I do not dispute that you are physically stronger than me, but do not tell me what I can withstand emotionally. My soul can handle things that would snap yours in half like a dry twig," Thomas said casually as he poured more tea, first for Zilrud and then for him. "Cream?"

[Zilrud]

Zilrud was, in fact, insulted. It wasn’t the fact that Thomas had opened his mouth and had a reply. It was the words that Thomas had chosen to say to him that caught him off guard. Zilrud’s initial reaction was to grab him and throttle him. Wrap his green hand around the other’s throat and squeeze until he could no longer take in or let out any air. He wanted to grab him by the hair, rip him out of his seat and thrash him about.

As any possibilities ran through Zilrud’s mind, he instead stood and looked down to Thomas rather than remaining on his level. As he stared down at the other, he looked over to the tea and the cream and said nothing at first. Long, silent, and glaring, his eyes remained on Thomas’s head as he went about his tea.

“You are soft, Little One.”

Zilrud did not know another way to put it, which apparently had not entirely landed the way he had intended it to.

“You hide… I see you… Your soul hurts. Your heart hurts. You are soft.”

He was starting to get frustrated, and the rushed tone his words had, which were losing the crispness of the Common he spoke in, had begun to have lilts of a previously unspoken accent and language beginning to cling to them. Only as he looked away in annoyance, ignoring Thomas’s offer of cream for the tea that he was pouring him, did he realize he had left something out. Something that would have connected both trains of thought together.

“Soft is not weak. Soft needs to be protected. Zilrud can not protect if part of you stays and part of you goes. You can not heal in two places. Soft is not what an Orkhai is.”

Raising a hand, he rather unceremoniously placed the hand on Thomas’s head and ruffled his hair this way and that, not caring if he’d had it set up a certain way or not.

“I know your soul is not weak, Little One. Your heart hurts, your soul hurts… But you are not weak. Orkhai are not interested in weakness.”

That was the connection he had been unable to figure out until Thomas had his reaction to his words. For a moment, he kept his hand in Thomas’s hair, standing beside him.

“Little One has choices to make… Until Little One makes his choices, I will have to stay near. Orkhai do not abandon their friends.”

Friends, in and of itself, was a weird concept for Orkhai. Normally, they would never branch out within their own clan unless it served the clan in some fashion. So the idea that he was calling Thomas a friend and he had no Orkhai in him was quite something of itself.

“Orkhai can be… Dumb.”

He was going to say it as plainly as he could without losing his way.

“Zilrud has honor. His honor will not allow Little One to be hurt because of Orkhai's selfishness. You watch empty seats, hoping for change. Orkhai watches sad Little One, hoping for change. Little One is not weak, and soft feels good.”

The more Zilrud tried to focus on perfecting his Common and speaking in it, the worse it tended to get. The simpler and more finite his speech would become as he continued to try to speak at a higher level than he was used to. He was attempting to speak on Thomas’s level, mostly because he was trying to show Thomas he respected him and did not think any less of him because of his words.

“Thomas is not weak. Sad… Hurt… Angry. But not weak. Never weak.”

And to answer Thomas’s question, Zilrud had looked over to the cream that had been offered, and rather than ask or look at it, the Ork sunk a whole finger into the cream, swished it around, and pulled the finger to his mouth.

Cream, he liked. Not necessarily the tea part, though. It was rough, trying to be around a rougher, less civilized Ork who had been thrust into perhaps the most civilized household of his entire existence.

[Thomas]

Almost as soon as he'd said it, Thomas regretted it. Not because it wasn't true -- he wasn't soft, and if Zilrud thought him so because of his present circumstances, the man was not as observant as THomas had thought -- but because the way he'd accomplished his goal of expressing that point had been needlessly mean. He could have simply said he was stronger than Zilrud expected. It was unnecessary to insult the man's character while bolstering his own.

As Zilrud went on to explain what he meant, Thomas felt worse. He hadn't meant soft like weak, he'd meant it like sensitive and caring. His face fell as Zilrud articulated himself. Not only was Zilrud saying he wanted Thomas to come along with him, he was calling him his friend, and Thomas had responded to his concern with pettiness and anger over word choice in a language in which he was not fluent.

"I apologize, Sir. It was small of me to belittle you simply because I did not understand. I see what you mean, now, I think -- you worry for me if I come with you because you think I will miss what I have here. The fact is, though, that what I have here is quite distinct from what I was promised. It is still good, and I could have gone on like this for some time, I think, but talking with you these last few weeks has made me accept the truth. I know that being here as I am is hurting me. I know that if I stay here too long, all the things that made me happy will close in around me and drain the life out of me, and the softness, too."

"I understand you are worried for me. You think, perhaps, I will resent you if we travel together, or that I expect you to take care of me. I do not."

He raised his chin and looked at Zilrud, "I was born to parents who did not want me or could not care for me. I grew up in an orphanage. That's a facility run by the government for children that no one claims -- clanless children, you could say."

Thomas had understood from the orkhai that lived in Starkwayte that such a thing was anathema to them. The idea of letting a child from one's clan go uncared for simply did not make sense to them. It was part of why they had been so kind to Ned, and then to him when he started dropping by the docks.

"I can care for myself, Zilrud, if you cannot always protect me. I will be okay. I arrived at this point of time not by being protected, but by being resilient. Should anything bad happen to me, I will bounce back," he smiled reassuringly at his friend. "I always do."

[Zilrud]

Finally, it was as if Zilrud was not speaking Common to Thomas. Eventually, it seemed that the pair had found their commonality, and they both seemed to understand where the other was coming from. Slowly, the Orkhai was nodding to the other’s words. It seemed final that Thomas understood what Zilrud had been meaning. With the nods came sounds of grunts in agreement until something else was said that paused the Ork’s nodding. Perhaps what Zilrud had said had been what was intended, but there were other meanings and things that the Orkhai did not voice, or if he did, it had been laced under other things. For Thomas’s assessment, however, he would leave it be for the time being.

“You would expect a little bit of taking care of.”

Zilrud held up his thumb and pointer finger, barely raised from one another, as he looked from Thomas’s tea and cream back to his face.

“Clanless children…”

He did not like the sound of that, not one single bit. Every child in traditional Rokhan Orkish ways was taught to fight and fend for themselves as soon as they could carry a stick and stand on their own. There was no weakness in the clans in those regards. Hearing that Thomas had also grown up clanless rubbed him wrong as well.

“Zilrud, not worried for Little One like that. Zilrud thinks Little One is strong and quick. Zilrud worries about this.”

Very similar to a conversation they had a while back, Zilrud lifted his larger green fist and pressed his fist against Thomas’s chest, right at his heart, his forearm flexing as he held it there and looked the boy over.

“You hurt. Pain in the heart and soul are hardest to heal. When you are ready to work through the pain of leaving, Zilrud will think of taking you with him. Until then…”

The glowing red eyes slid back over to the cup of tea that Thomas had poured him. Glancing over his shoulder at the closed door, then back to the tea, the Orkhai allowed an exasperated breath to slip out from his larger mouth, his barrel chest pugging up, only to deflate with the exhalation. Slowly, the Ork’s large hand moved toward the teacup, and at first, he attempted to slide a finger through the handle, only to get his finger stuck at the first knuckle. Pulling his finger back almost immediately, it tugged the cup, and it clanked against the saucer quite loudly, and Zilrud paused, staring in medieval contemplation and contemplating either murdering the teacup or trying to salvage the gesture. With another huffed breath, the finger wiggled free. His index and middle finger, as well as his thumb, came to hold the handle of the teacup, picked it up, staring at the darker, heated liquid, and lifted the dainty cup up to his lips. He peered down into the warmed liquid and seemed to try to discern if he would like it.

Zilrud figured it was like drinking from any other drink, so without much thought, his mouth opened, and he dumped the heated tea, in one gulp, down his gullet and set the cup aside to the saucer. With the warmth running down his throat and into his belly, the Orkhai’s face remained neutral as he attempted to figure out if he was partial to tea or not. He did not think he was, but he would not rule it out. After all, it was something Thomas enjoyed very much.