Sketching the Wings

[Taelian Edevane]

56th of Ash, Year 4622

Time always found its way. Even as he stood in a pensive silence, the wind gracing his cheek as the man stared out into the hollow clearing, he knew that time was weaving its way into every little thing.

"I'm dying, Anna," the specter whispered, its face adolescent face clammy and broken, macerated by the pus that bulged from all of the many strange ulcers that lined its features. Necrotic, diseased, or just worn... it did not matter. It was suffering, that entity, even though it was dead. Taelian wanted to reach out and remind it that it could leave, that it didn't need to suffer any more... but he was wrong. Were not all places above, inverted or below this one a prison?

"Henry, you aren't. Come home, Henry," the young girl pleaded, standing at a distance with her arms so... tense, ready to reach out. Henry shook his head; he refused, and he ran through the forest, and he fell into the sharpest and most efficient ditch... and Anna joined him. Maybe she didn't know why then, in that last moment, but she did. She followed after the boy, and in some maligned state of empathy she amalgamated his tomb with her own.

Taelian remembered why this forest was on the tip of his tongue, just before... this Forest Ward. He had been here. It was where he learned how to look through into the Dead Realm, chasing after his first ghosts. Anna and Henry were here back then, too, only they were so much clearer... more vibrant, and emotional. Now, they faded. It was incredible that they'd lasted long enough for him to see them again, but they didn't have long. They wouldn't go to any sort of afterlife, now. Once their Miasma depleted in full, they would be ashes in the spectral wind.

If he had the heart to pray, he would. He would look upon Malek's effigy and he would ask him how he always managed to fail in deciding who deserved to die, and to live. It wasn't so simple as that: the world operated on clearly defined boundaries, but sometimes he felt that way. Sometimes he asked himself questions -- he asked why the Adac didn't do more to make their world a more prosperous one. Taelian knew now that the reasons mortals lived was so that they could plant millions of souls like seeds, only to consume them as they matured at the end-of-life into fruits. As cruel as it was, it made sense, and it explained so many things . . . but then, why didn't they let them live longer, even if only to make them ripen more? Why did Malek allow for, and even create the sort of pestilence that inadvertently claimed Henry's life?

Taelian didn't want that life for them. Jaxon and Latham wouldn't be Draedan like him, not unless Venadak wanted them to be. No one knew until they were chosen, and until then they were mortal like anyone else. It all felt so arbitrary. Why was he even alive? He'd abandoned the revolution. If that was what he'd been born to aide, he failed. Another Draedan could have been made who would have matured into a loyal asset to the Ebon Knights, but he didn't. He stood here, bare with his forearm pressed against some pine, eclipsed by the fantasy of a love that felt almost too surreal, while his old comrades died in the rotten pools of sundered marsh, begging to live as they were eaten whole... even their bones.

Was it alright to live in spite of that—in spite of them? Was it okay for him to marry, to build a family, to find love? They couldn't have anything. The only thing his old brethren could hope for was to die with dignity.

"I can't do this... I can't do this... I can't..." Taelian repeated those words over and over again, shaking his head with a gloss forming across his eyes. "I need to save them... I need to go home."

He stopped himself, rubbing his eyes and nose before covering his face, a palm obscuring everything above the mid-bridge of his nose. "No... you'll be alright," the man reassured himself. "Keep going. Keep going, Taelian... keep going."

The man sighed, bent down, and got what he was here to get: a knife he'd left on the forest floor years ago, still in its sheath. He nearly slit his throat back then, and left the knife as a reminder that he chose to live. Now? It was nothing more than a tool.

Returning to their camp an hour later, the man flung the corpse of a deer towards a campfire they'd lit, the creature thudding against the dirt and bark covered ground beside it. Taelian grunted, immediately kneeling to begin skinning it with that same knife. They hadn't had truly proper meals in a while, and it was starting to ache in him.

"I want to try making a harness," he muttered. "I was thinking... we can fly home, once we're branded and have made the Arlaed pact. You can ride my back as I fly. Does that sound alright?"

[Ford Edevane]

Ford did not even know what day it was anymore. He had lost count of the days, of the times he only knew when the sun was up and when the sun was down. Normally, he would have reports to keep up with, studies to finish or begin, and the occasional student who wanted to intern with him to understand some more in regards to sociology. None of it mattered anymore; time to Ford had become irrelevant. Rather than planning his days or thinking so far ahead it seemed almost calculated, he lived each day as it came. He did not want to imagine anything different other than what he had in his hands.

…And now in his hands were clothes that he feared no longer fit. He would have to get new ones, but that was okay. He could make do with what they had at the tent. His thoughts lingered on other things, especially those that had been told to him in confidence that created some form of worry, but it was a distant enough worry for now that Ford did not have to do too much with it until the time came. Earing someone or something approaching, he looked in the direction and saw the walking epitome of perfection tossing a carcass down. Ford's eyes lifted, and his head followed the carcass down and stared at the dead deer. Blinking, he watched Taelian wield a knife, a knife he Taelian had not had when he left, and given the circumstances, they were in, he knew it had been retrieved while he was out in the woods. A mental note was made of the knife, but he would not talk about it.

The mention of a harness had the blonde lifting his gaze from the knife and resting on his lover, who was beginning to skin the deer. Before it got too bloody or a message, Ford did take a moment to stand behind his man and watched him work from behind. Appreciating more than the mere physical aspects, but what else it all meant. Bending at the hips and kneeling just slightly, careful not to get in the way, Ford’s muscular right arm draped around, over Taelian’s right shoulder and down across his chest, and the blonde’s face pressed between shoulder and neck and kissed his lover. “Thank you,” He began softly. “For getting food and… For everything. Cut yours first, and I can get yours cooked and ready first.” Blunt nails stroked against Taelian’s chest as his hand flattened to a rub, followed by another press of his lips to the neck, then just under his ear before he pulled back, unfurling himself from his husband. Ford learned what it meant to be too close for too long with his lover in that close of proximity.

Smiling, more to himself, Ford hummed some tune that was not even a song as he disappeared to go and find his skillet and some things he always kept with the tent. He knew they were there; he had used them before winding up at the covenant.

“A harness would look good on you!” He called out from the tent with a wide grin, knowing damned well that was not what Taelian had meant. “Whatever you think will work.” He spoke again as he came out of the tent with a pan and a small cloth sac that jingle-jangled. “How do you like it? Still bleeding, mostly pink or jerky?”

Ford did not pretend to be a perfect chef. It was either quick and done, little quick and done, briquette.

[Taelian Edevane]

Taelian stopped his work, looking over his shoulder and making eye contact with his husband--his beautiful husband. He smiled warmly, the sight of Ford always managing to force his face into that same absurd position. The Knight took his hand as his arm draped over his shoulder, bringing it to his lips to softly kiss the back of his palm. Once he did, it was all lost from there: Ford was kissing his neck, and suddenly he couldn't concentrate with his breath on his skin.

Thank you.

His eyes opened wider, and he took his lover in. He smelled nice. He always did, truthfully, but whenever Taelian noticed his scent, he had to take mental note of it again. He smelled like Ford, and to him, that was the best compliment he could deliver. Ford was the handsomest, strongest, smartest, best-smelling, best-dressed and funniest man he knew. "No... thank you," he said back, leaning into the other man so that their beards brushed together. They were growing substantial beards, at least compared to when they'd first met. It had been around ten days, now, without shaving. Taelian's body was substantially hairier, too. "I won't say any more than that for risk of sounding redundant... but thank you. You've saved my life."

He really did. The ghostly voices of his comrades, all the way in Sil-Elaine, did not reach him when he was with Ford. Nothing that was painful did. Ford was the sun in his sky.

Taelian didn't bother trying to argue with him about who would eat first -- he knew Ford wanted him to have the first venison as a kindness, so he merely nodded and went along. They weren't going to eat at all if his husband kept touching him, though, so he was glad he pulled away. As much as he thrived on their constant mutual passions, he needed food. The man was starting to feel himself getting... agitated, not at his husband but at little things in the environment. They both had high caloric demands, and the random fruits they'd been finding plus the jerky he'd raided from the cabin pantry wasn't enough.

The man skinned the deer quickly, pulling the hide over and leaving the creature's carcass flayed on the ground. Once it was done, he placed his knife on the dirt, stood up and clapped his hands together to clear away any dirt, blood or grit. "It would look good on me," he said passively, before stepping over to his husband and giving him a kiss on the lips, leaning to avoid any of the plentiful items he was carrying. "Mostly pink," he said, stopping Ford with a hand on his chest. After a brief pause, Taelian extended his arms outward, pulling the man in for a wide, burly hug.

He held that embrace for a while, before slowly sliding off of the other man, pinching his shoulder as he stepped by. Taelian moved to sit by the fire, leaning in to set up a spit-roast, hanging a long iron skewer on a cast they'd already set up. The man pulled a waterskin to his lips and downed the entire contents in one, wiping his moist lips with his forearm when he was done.

"I'm going to tell Eloise, when we get back, that we're married and expecting children. After that... I want to start looking into buying a home for us, in Leiden. I don't really want to share a small little room with you in the Covenant building -- we need our privacy. We're loud," he said, matter-of-factly. "Do you want to be more, ah... close to the city-core, like with the Covenant building, or something further out near nature? We'll look together, of course, but I want to know so I can narrow my search."

[Ford Edevane]

Ford hadn’t meant to make anything difficult for Taelian. There was this awkward feeling that Ford could not put his finger on when it came to Taelian. And after his shoulder had been pinched, he watched him for a moment, Taelian, sitting down and working on the spitroast. He could be sitting across a desk from him and feel the magnetism. Ford could be standing across a room or a campsite from him and feel the light pull of wanting to be at his side. But the moment he could touch his husband, it was as if two beings that had been one long ago had finally found themselves back together. At least from Ford’s perspective, it was almost like a recharge; he did not know that he needed to be at his best. Mutagen aside, his husband’s weapons skills and magic are all out the window. The man beneath all of that, with his childish humor and nonsense, his trauma, and his goals for something much larger than either of them currently were individually… Something about that unique mix made an almost painful metaphysical pull at his being that he wasn’t close to him.

The right corner of his lips pulled into a smile as those brilliantly blue orbs landed on the back of Taelian’s head, and his hand idly stroked over his muscled belly absently. The future with children. A glance around to their surroundings, and he breathed out a chuckle. Living exactly as they were with children would be a sight to behold, Ford didn’t know how they would cope or manage, but he didn’t care. It would be the best time of his life.

As that chuckle left him, he returned to the other’s side and knelt beside him. “What can I help with?” Ford could survive on his own. Rabbit, he could do foraging, had that down. Working with larger game animals? Not his forte. He figured the skinning part was similar, but beyond that, he wouldn’t know exactly where to start cutting and where to stop.

Saved his life. Sentiments that Ford could not let go without looking at his husband’s side profile. He was handsome… Sad behind the eyes sometimes, but Ford would be happy for both of them in those times. Ford had that goodness in him to share his happiness until it was infectious. And as he was thinking of it, a brow raised as he wondered about the harness and just laughed quietly, looking down to the ground as he knelt there, the warmth from the fire glowing against his paler skin but slowly tanning skin.

“Does that mean I won’t be working for you anymore?” He laughed, realizing he had worked one full day before their professional and personal relationship had changed forever. The comment about being loud had Ford acknowledging and accepting that assessment with raised brows, a movement of his lips, and a quick few nods of his head. “Suppose we tend to be loud.” Easing onto his backside from the kneel, he looked up to the trees and to the sky and sat like that, thinking. How did he want to love? So many things were running through his mind. “I love the freedom of being out near nature. We do not have to worry about prying eyes or ears.” For more reasons than one, he wasn’t just thinking about their bedroom lives; he was thinking about quite a bit more than that. “But I know it would be much more convenient for you to be closer to the city-core. And I know you’re going to tell me that I should pick what I want, not what’s better for you, but.” He tilted his head and looked at the other. “You are the one who has to brave them every day. It is only fair you don’t have to expend yourself to go far away… And I don’t care how easy it is for you.” Logically, the city-core made the most sense for business reasons and personal ambition. He smiled at that and reaffirmed his choice. “City-core will work. Our home will be filled with all the best things, regardless of where we have it.”

Home is where the heart is… And Taelian was his heart.

[Taelian Edevane]

The man truthfully wasn't sure what Ford could help with -- there wasn't much left to do, anymore, and he was already doing most of it. Ford was going to cook whatever Taelian cut, and it was symbiotic that way. He didn't want his lover doing everything; Taelian couldn't feel like a gentleman, that way. The man turned to face the deer, reaching over to grab the knife he'd sheathed back up beside it. He worked on slicing up his own chunk, pulling on the carcass and ripping out a strip-like section of the venison after slicing through the deer for a while. It would be enough to start him off, and he cut out roughly the same portion for his lover; there was room enough on the roast for the both of them.

"I'm not entirely sure," he said, sighing beneath his breath as Ford asked whether he'd still work for him. "With how much our relationship has progressed, it's probably... not professional for us to work together in the Covenant. But: I am opening my cannery at the end of this season, and you can work for me there. You're a Sociologist -- you can help me with managing labor relations, and even advertisements. I still want to work with you... and be your boss," he said, waggling his brows as he reached forward and touched the hot skewer as if it were nothing. The man even had his hand lingering over the fire as he maneuvered the skewer about, sliding both strips of venison down each end. Ford promised to cook for him, but it was so natural for him to be self-sufficient that he didn't even think about it. The man blinked as he realized he'd taken the other's job . . . though not all of it. He could season them, pour on whatever he wanted. He could also pull them off when they were ready.

"Sorry," he muttered in apology for his eagerness. "To be honest, I was hoping you'd say nature. City-center doesn't really matter to me; I can travel through flight, or through Resonance. Even from here, I could get to Leiden in, mmm... thirty minutes with flight. I'm surprised you never asked me about that, by the way: everyone always does." Taelian chuckled. "I know you said you don't care how easy it is, but I care. Why sacrifice the wealth of nature, and a homestead for my family to avoid a five minute flight? Not worth it. We can just live in Karnstead, the forest town outside of Leiden to the northeast. We won't have any neighbors for half a kilometer, that way, and the housing will be cheaper, too. No reason not to."

The man looked towards Ford again, and grinned faintly. He reached out, taking his hand and interlacing their fingers together, his own hand holding the other's from above. "You don't need to work at all, by the way. I'm happy to provide for us. Someone will have to take care of Jaxon and Latham in the day, and if anyone, I'd want it to be you." The man's features suddenly shifted, though, and he became... thoughtful. "Honestly, though? I don't want to leave you, ever, at all. Even thinking of working those hours alone at my desk sounds like misery to me. I think... maybe I can manage the whole thing from home. Resonance will help me with that--I can communicate via radio," he nodded, tapping his chin.

"Is it strange that I physically feel attached to you? I felt... unnerved the moment I left to go find that deer. It was like I immediately got hit by this unwanted sense of isolation. Never felt anything like it."

His cheek lifted, and tensed as his lip curled.

"Maybe I should shackle you to me," he teased, features flashing into a quick, but also quickly lost grin. "We'd never be able to get anything done if I did that, though."

[Ford Edevane]

Those bright blues watched the meat as it was pulled from the carcass and skewered up. His job was gone; it was done. But it didn't matter because something unique was happening that he had noticed.

However, Ford's features did fall a little as he heard he would no longer be working at the covenant. "Shortest official job I've ever had." Although the words in themselves sounded pathetic, the smile that had graced his facial hair-lined face told him he felt otherwise. The meat, though, he was watching for it to warm up just enough that some of the juices had started to work up within the meat, and he reached for that small sac of jingly-jangly things and fished out a couple of bottles. "Don't apologize. You are always doing everything yourself. I know at least some of what you've been through. I can't expect you to just stop being you. Besides, it's kind of…." He had to choose his words carefully. There was one word he just wanted to blurt out, but he knew that, above all else, would lead to a rapid decline in everything. "Nice… To see a man who knows what he wants and doesn't fumble for the right answer or try to do the right thing. It's refreshing."

Lifting himself onto his knees, he sprinkled some white little crystals all over the meat, followed by black and then aromatic leaves of some herb, which, as soon as the fire hit it and the oils released, would be rosemary. A lean and shake-shake-shake, another lean and -shake-shake-shake. Finally, he tossed the bottles back into the sack and was back down on his backside, finding his hand in the others.

"In truth, my heart is in the country. The woods, the smells of nature, the freeness. It's alluring, I grew up around all of the city stuff, and sure there is a convenience in it. Look at us. I know it isn't perfect, but we're still alive after spending some time separated from everyone. "I want to be able to chase our kids around, or they can chase me around… Or you can chase us all around. And if you do work at your office or whatever, you can come home, and the kids would have helped me bake something delicious. You would be tired, but the fresh smell of food would be in the air, and we'd eat. You'd then run off with the kids while I cleaned up, my wild children and wild husband fingerpainting the walls, and you would teach them something with magic or runes or something in the finger paint." He paused in his reverie, thumb stroking over his husband's hand. "Get all of you cleaned up, and by the night's end, you will all be passed out. You and the kids just tuckered out. Carry them off to bed, then I'd have to lug you off to bed because you would have some kind of important meeting in the morning, but we would be irresponsible for the next couple of hours anyways… And we'd wake up the next day for another round."

It was whimsical, to say the least. Ford had thought of the furthest Griscian upbringing he could imagine, and it warmed his heart just to imagine their little tuckered-out faces and Taelian in his sleep.

Ford's chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath in, allowing that thought to leave. As he did, he turned his head to Taelian, listening to him; he rolled onto his back, taking the hand and scooting over just enough to rest his and Taelian's clasped hands onto his chest. His back was flat against the ground, and his knees closed; he leaned to the left with his feet tucked in against his backside. The words resonated with him, knowing that he had just been thinking something similar while his husband was finding them some meat.

"I thought it was me being nervous when you went to get the stuff for the injection, so I didn't think anything of it. But I was thinking again when you left that I was feeling it again, and when you threw the deer down, I felt better." He could not explain it; it was the first time he'd felt anything like it. "It isn't even like I am missing you…." He said, even though it sounded bad, he hoped Taelian would know what he meant. "It's like a part of me was taken out of me, and it was missing, and I only feel better when you are around. I thought I was being foolish or that it was some jealousy, but it wasn't. I physically feel at ease when you are here. When you are gone, I function, but I feel like something of mine is missing, and I need to find it."

So it wasn't him being stupid. It was; he'd, and he'd never even heard of anything like that with people's relationships. Sure, he had heard the term soulmates or the 'one and only. But he never felt or experienced someone else feeling the way he and Taelian apparently felt. "You can't shackle me right now. You need to eat. I need to eat. You can chain me down later when we have a plan set."

Or at least, chain him down and make him think of the plan.

[Taelian Edevane]

"Nice, huh?" he teased, leaning in to nudge Ford's cheek with the bridge of his nose. He was right; Taelian knew what he wanted, and he usually knew what to do to get it. He had lived on his own for a long time, traveling the world, the wilds. He and Ford weren't so different in that way, and it was something he appreciated about him. People who were well-traveled versus people who weren't... the difference was always clear. When he realized there really was a world outside of Sil-Elaine, everything changed for him. It was like his eyes really opened for the first time.

But then he closed them, in a way, again. He opened his heart up to the full breadth of the world, only to let all of his duties and obligations obscure it from him. He began to travel out of necessity rather than wanderlust, or some sense of exploration or discovery, and before long even as he found new places they began to feel empty to him. Listening to everything Ford laid out... all of his little fantasies for them and their future, their children, it was like his eyes opened one more time. It was like he really thought about it — that he really could live for himself, and the man felt his chest ache. Nothing sounded better to him than that picture Ford painted for them — he'd never, ever heard anything that had hit him so resoundingly, and right when he needed to hear it. Taelian's voice broke, as he restrained the glistening sheen that made its way across his eyes.

"I'd like that," he quietly said, trying to speak less to ensure his emotions didn't leak into his voice. But, then... he decided that he wanted to be emotional. He wanted to let go... because it was Ford he was with, and Ford would never judge him. Ford loved him for who he was.

Taelian tried speaking again, his voice constrained by the heavy tightness in his throat. "You have no idea... how much I want that," he muttered, physically restraining his weeping. "It's all I've ever wanted... before this—before any of this. I lost sight of it all, at some point, I don't know but... Ford, you're making me see it again."

The crisp air filled his lungs, and Taelian laid back too, to watch the swaying and creaking of the pines. His eyes lingered on the darkening sky, searching for color, for stars. There were just a few faint twinkles, but they'd be out in force, soon. The sky in Radenor was one of Taelian's favorite things about it; maybe it was just the elevation, but something felt special about those stars.

Taelian extended his arm out, sliding underneath Ford's back and slowly pulling him against his side. He rested against him, staring out with the same flat but somehow deeply expressive stare that he held before. His hand crept up to his lover's neck, smoothing along the back, tracing it with his thumb. He seemed to be searching for the symmetrical center of his neck, finding it by tracing just above the protrusion of his cervical vertebrae. Once he'd found it, the Knight flattened his palm against the skin, and he seared his initials into his lover's flesh. TEVK. It would burn, but not for long. Taelian reached towards his satchel, which laid in the general clutter of their belongings by the fire. Grabbing a jar from it, he spread some ointment over his thumb, and brought it to Ford's neck with his free hand to rub where he'd left the scar. The pain would go away within minutes -- it was a Necromantic gel, meant to sterilize the surface and set in the wound.

Taelian sat up, gripped Ford's palm, and seemed to imbue its center with a cast made out of glyphic flame, which sizzled with molten color but did not burn his hand. FEVK, the cast wrote. He gestured Ford to press his palm into the center of the back of his neck, all while staring towards the fire and their food.

"I was going to say we should get drunk after this, but we can't," he groaned. "So, instead... let's just tie it all together now. Let's make the pact, and maybe it'll ease that feeling we have when we're apart. It'll keep us tethered," Taelian tipped his head. "It's the real reason I wanted that knife -- we need to cut through our palms, and I wanted that knife to be the one to do it. I almost used it to end my own life, once, and now I can use it to forge a new one. Are you ready to?"

[Ford Edevane]

A voice is as reflective of a heart and soul as the eyes are. Ford had heard Taelian laugh, yell, scream, whisper, and do other things. So, when he began to speak and cut himself off, he had made no outward motion but knew something was wrong or he was thinking again. When he heard the tightness in the throat, he turned his head to look at his husband. He had only seen him tear up once, and they had been talking about a similar subject that had been close to Taelian’s heart. Ford did not move yet; he allowed Taelian his space to speak his heart and feelings. His emotions. The blonde would not cut him off with something as silly as a hug that could wait. And Ford was ever glad that he had given that space because hearing what Taelian had said had brought a warmth to his body, to his soul, hearing the desires Taelian had of rearing their children.

“It’s a promise, then. When they’re old enough to get paint all over you and themselves, I’ll buy as much as we can hold, and you can have at it with them.” The thought that Taelian even appreciated Ford’s dream of a family was enough for him. And then he felt the arm moving underneath his back, and he was about to smack Taelian. They had food cooking, after all. But that was not all that was cooking; soon, there was a searing burn into his neck. At first, Ford had questions, but in the end, he knew what it was and remained still enough, so he did not do anything to mess it up.

FEVK… There was a hint of glow in his blue eyes, the orange resonance against his blues showing as he stared at it for a long moment. Magic… There was no way he could ever use magic, right? Not learning it, his body was practically made against using magic; it had been taught to eradicate all forms of magic, yet here he was. Laying by a campfire with his husband, admiring the smallest token of magic, he smiled at it. Moving his hand carefully so he did not mess it up, he attempted to do what Taelian had done and eased the hand in, feeling for the mid-line of his neck, and pressed his palm against the other’s skin. Holding it there, allowing the burning sensation to seep into the other’s flesh before he pulled the hand away. And he did not care if Taelian could heal up in thirty minutes or ten seconds; he reached for that same ointment, swiped a dollop on his finger, and gently rubbed it against the other’s neck. Once he was sure the burn had sufficiently been smeared with ointment, he snuck a moment to lean over and place a kiss on the corner of Taelian’s mouth and spoke softly. “Stuck with me now.” He grinned wider and rolled onto his back, listening to Taelian speak of the knife.

He allowed his gaze to linger on the slowly changing night sky for a moment. Are you ready? Now he had some idea of what the knife had meant, which was all the details he needed to know for now, but he was happy that Taelian took a moment to explain at least the reasoning for that knife. What he was going to say, he needed it to be said before they were connected. Not because he felt it would change but because he wanted Taelian to know.

Sitting up, Ford leaned over and bumped his shoulder against his husband’s, and he leaned on him for a moment. His voice was soft, uttered between Taelian and the campfire. “If it ever gets bad enough… Please don’t reach for a knife. I might not know the best way to help… But you grab my hand, and you don’t let go. I wouldn’t know where to start with things you must’ve seen or experienced. But I’m here; I will do my best to keep you from ever feeling that way again….”

Allowing that to fall off there, he did eventually nod his head.

“Show me what to do. I may not be sure of some things in this world. But Taelian Edevane von Klade, I am ready to be yours in all ways. Have been since your eyes met mine.”

[Taelian Edevane]

When the burn pushed deep into his neck, the man didn't flinch. Truthfully—maybe regretfully—he liked the feeling. When he was an Ebon Knight, his body was immune to even the feeling of a burn; it rolled off of him like water, and even now he was muted. Ford's initials, though, they stung. He felt them, searing into his skin, and he closed his eyes and breathed. Maybe because of what it was, he didn't really feel pain. Pain was a byproduct of confusion, much of the time, and fear: uncertainty amplified it, and so did the lingering worry that it might worsen or consume the form. This "pain" was no pain at all, it was a promise. It was Ford's promise to him.

Stuck with me now. The man chuckled once beneath his breath, but otherwise remained quiet as Ford rubbed the ointment into his skin, his eyes still closed. Taelian ruminated on it all, all of the convergence of things he was feeling, and eventually he let them flow through. The man rocked back and forth, and he spoke about the knife, but he could barely remember saying much of it at all by the time he was done. This was a strange, surreal moment for him: it was the only time he would ever bond with an Arlaed in his entire life. Even being someone's Arlaed was such a strange thing: his parents had shared that bond, but it brought his mother pain, and made him an orphan. He wanted so badly to right that wrong.

This was what they agreed to, and he wanted it. He was melancholy, but that didn't change how he felt about the prospect. This was his moment to move on from them: Liara and Damien, and their failed bond, their failed lives, failed dreams. The pact wasn't cursed; they were ruined by circumstance, and so was he.

"I won't do that to you," he whispered, shaking his head, the man's eyes slowly opening. "Maybe this is my safeguard. If I were to do that now, after this, I would be claiming your life, too. I could never do that—you of all people deserve to live."

Taelian began to stand, turning to face Ford. He pulled him up with him, hand-in-hand, picking up the knife as they rose. The world felt so inexorably strange in that moment, like it was pulsing around him, breathing. The leaves whistled almost like home, where the trees of Veratelle actually sung. He missed home, sometimes, and never more than now. Some part of him wished he and Ford could settle down there, only without all of the corruption and pain.

Taelian pulled the knife back out of its case, and directed an undulating vibration against the blade's shape, the pitch forcing it to reverberate so quickly that all of the blood and sinew attached to it effectively disintegrated. Alternatively, some alcohol and a cloth might have worked, but he didn't want to search for any of that. Taelian wanted this to be as austere as it could be.

"I will slice my palm open, and speak some words in Silvain. You will do the same, repeating after me as best as you can. When we are done, we will bring the gashes across our palms together, interlacing our fingers and clutching each other's hands tight so that the palms squeeze." It was a primitive ritual in their modern day, but it was one that had never gone away, even when Sil-Elaine was one of the thriving provinces of the Unbroken Empire. This meant truly a lot to his people. It always would.

He looked into Ford's eyes, and smiled sympathetically at him. Taelian wasn't himself at the moment; all of this brought his mind towards venues it hadn't traveled in so long. Still, he wanted it. He'd take every title he could share with Ford, but this was more than that. This wasn't a name, or a role, or a function — it wasn't even about love. This was a commitment to life, and death. This was cementing Ford as his other side, even if they didn't need that element of them to be cemented at all.

"Bidh fuil a’ sgaoileadh eadar ar làmhan, a ghràidh," he began, turning over his palm and looming over it with the knife. Blood rolls between our hands, beloved. "Doirtidh fuil o tholl mo chrìdh' an uair a bhitheas tu air falbh — fuil a' fol- achadh do m' innibh, agus tha mi a' crìonadh." Taelian drew the blade along his palm, slicing into it, his face tensing as a wince streaked from his temples to his face. Blood pours from holes in my heart when you are away — blood empties into my bowels, and I wane. "Is tusa am buille a tha mac-talla tro mo chraiceann. Is tu m'fhuil-sa a ta sruthadh, 's a treòir." Taelian lifted his palm, raising it so that it faced Ford, flat and ready to be held onto. With his other hand, he offered the man the knife, staring into his eyes with a cutting, needle-sharp intensity. Something was on his mind, but he wasn't going to share it. Not until they were Arlaed.

You are the beat that echoes through my skin. You are my blood that flows, and its guide. Those were the last words he'd said, in Silvain. It didn't really matter if Ford got them all right—it was the intention, and they had already been said right once. Taelian's blood already felt physically alight.

"Hold my hand, Arlaed," he whispered, the man's eyes growing gentler as he reassured him. "After this... we can eat, and we can go home."

[Ford Edevane]

Ford had been pulled up, the promise of never doing that to him had a response ready to leave his lips, but It was something that didn’t need to be said. Standing, he looked to his husband as he pulled the knife out, and both brows ruse in a unique surprise as the vibration had rid the knife of any excess remnants that had clung to it from cutting into the deer.

Nodding to the instructions he was receiving from his lover, his gaze wandered between the knife, Taelian’s face, then back to the hand that Taelian seemed to be used in the ceremony. Silvain would be the language, and he had to repeat the words, so Ford would do his best to keep up with them as they were leaving Taelian’s lips. He had never heard Taelian speak them, and when he began, he did what he had done since their first meeting; his eyes went right to his lips. They came together, pursed, and pulled apart to form each word. It was not erotic in itself, and he had respect enough for Taelian that he would not allow those thoughts to enter his mind. But his lips were like pieces of art, moving and flowing, and Ford’s eyes grew half-lidded, almost like a trance as he watched and listened.

When the blade sliced the hand open, he watched Taelian and then back to his face as he spoke. As Taelian held up his hand and offered Ford the knife, he took it and looked at it. The bloodened blade held his love’s vitae upon it, and part of him thought that was symbolic of the ceremony enough. But no, he lifted his gaze finally as Taelian was ending.

The blade was dug into his palm, perhaps slightly too deep, and pulled away, slicing into the meat of his palm. He did wince, even if he knew it was coming, but it didn’t stop him from proceeding.

“…Bidh fuil… a sgaoileadh… Eadar… ar…. Lamhan, a graidh…”

He had slaughtered the proper accent and didn’t properly enunciate the words as it was a language that was completely foreign to his mouth. The rest of his words had paused as he lifted his hand and pressed it flat against the other. His palm pressed firmly against the other, bleeding into and against the other’s cut as his fingers began to interlace with Taelian’s and squeezed.

The words continued at a slower, thoughtful pace as Ford put forth his best effort in repeating the terminology. Once he finished the words, he held the other’s hands. Ford’s own curious yet excited, pure gaze searched Taelian’s eyes, but Ford did not move; he did not know if he was supposed to. That intensity, though, drew Ford in, even if he wanted to move; between his not wanting to move and Taelian’s stare, he didn’t even speak. He merely held his husband’s bleeding hand against his own and searched his eyes.

Beautiful.

That’s what Taelian was. It didn’t matter what it was, they could have talked about toothpicks, and Ford would have been so engrossed. He felt… He didn’t know. There was something so unique about a primitive ceremony, especially being able to authentically take place in it rather than watching from the outside.

“…Arlaed…”

It was the only word he said after the parts he had been asked to repeat. It felt right to do, felt at home to say it out loud.

…Home…