The Conference

[Ford Edevane]

20th of Frost, 4622

Ford’s thoughts had been restless recently. His need to continue moving forward, to become stronger, to become more of a defense for his family than a mere bystander had changed the man, and rapidly at that. Currently, his thirst was for knowledge, so knowledge is what he sought. Some ideas for the Covenant had not panned out, mostly because of the devolving situation since the meeting with Eloise and then the later meeting with Kyng Uldred. None of that mattered because Ford had a different plan of action.

He had left a note for his husband that listed where he would be and would be back before long. Packed and readied, Ford set out from home to the only other place he felt he could find unencumbered responses that would not have already been tainted by someone superior to him. This meant Ford was finding his way to the Mage’s Guild. The chapter he had chosen was Vesterhal in Southeastern Jorikford. Normally, he would have simply pestered his husband about such matters, but his perspective was too unique in some instances. He needed to further his own curiosities, which had coincidentally been stoked by Eloise and her barrage of insults to him.

Upon his arrival, he took a moment to take in the tower. A raised blonde brow always showed his curiosity. Ford was of Grisic, and with that upbringing, many teachings went against what stood before him. The tower, almost a pillar of defiance to Grisic, towered before him, and his hands had found his pockets for that moment, pausing in silence outside, in sheer contemplation of what his true goals were. He had so many now that sometimes they intersected or veered off into an entirely new path. Taking a deep breath, the blonde headed for the tower and, eventually, inside.

At first, he was met with resistance, questions of his intentions, and trying to verify who he was and what he was actually doing with the guild. But luckily for Ford, he had come prepared.

“I know my words mean little, but I promise I am no threat. I come as an envoy of Miranda vis Anoura, head of the Covenant’s Guild in Malevin and in service to Lady Eloise Arrosa de Lyoness, head of the Covenant’s efforts in Radenor. My name is Ford Edevane, and I have been tasked with ascertaining the people of Radenor’s perception of mages and how we can work together to strengthen the mages' foundation and increase awareness.” Awareness of what, he did not bother to cross those details. He had thrown around pretty large names in the mage world, and he offered a polite smile as he did. Ford had also been very careful to leave his husband’s name out of it. He could have used it to get his shoe in, almost anywhere, really. He had promised very early in their relationship that he would never objectify or use him, which he would enforce until the end of time.

”Ser Edevane, we…--“

“I was not expected, if I am being honest, this is more of an impulsive visit rather than anything particularly formal. Would it be possible to speak with someone about my study? Will only take a fraction of their day.” His smile was polite, genuine, charming even. And with some deliberation, he had been welcomed to wait in an office with someone who supposedly had some kind of pull within the Guild. Ford did not need to go very high up the ranks to try and talk to someone. He would have been fine talking to the person who cleaned the place late at night.

Regardless, the towering, imposing figure remained seated in a chair in that office while they sent for someone who could both show Ford around a little bit and help him with his questions. While he waited, he had a leatherbound journal cracked open and was reading through it. The man, clearing 6’10” with enough muscle mass to dwarf most lifelong warriors, dedicated to honing their bodies into weapons, looked anything but a lumbering mass of death and destruction. Covering his torso was a sky blue, button-down, collared shirt that was tucked into a pair of tanned slacks. The material around his biceps pulled taut each time he moved or unconsciously flexed the muscle. The same was easily said about his quads against the material pulled tight around the muscles. A darker blue tie was slid under the collar and tied quite neatly, and his blonde hair and short beard were well-kept. The last noticeable piece of Ford, aside from his brown, shined leather shoes, was the silver ring on his left hand’s ring finger with etchings across it.

And so, Ford waited for this guide, or interview, whichever it would really turn out to be.

[Hakon]

Hakon's Warden had an economy with words that many found inscrutable but Hakon admired. He had been training in the yard when he received a note that read "Office CM." He knew, instantly, what this meant: that he was to report to the Office after ensuring he was presentable, that he was to bring the scrap of paper for resuse, and that whatever it was was urgent. Further practice with his kite shield would have to wait. He dismissed it from existence, used his long legs to take the tower steps two at a time to the lavatory, washed up, and then returned to his room where he changed his clothes from training armor soiled with sweat to a clean linen shirt and pair of trousers, sewn for him so that they would not leave several exposed inches of wrist and ankle. Once his hair was combed and oiled, he felt ready for whatever it was, and so returned to the Warden's office at his usual hurried pace.

He knocked on the door politely before entering.

"You requested me, Sir?"

The First Warden gave Hakon a look that suggested he was displeased to have waited so long. Hakon's gaze slid across the man's small office to his guest, an enormous, powerfully built gentleman. Even seated, Hakon could tell that this man may be that rarity of rarities: someone taller and broader than even he was. He wondered if he had any training, and if they could spar if he did. Then he schooled his excited expression into something more neutral.

"Magus, this... Gentleman has questions he wishes answered on behalf of the Covenant of Lorien," the Warden said in the carefully neutral tones of someone who abhorred at least half of the words he'd been forced to utter. "He wished to speak with someone who has attained no special rank within the Guild, but who has been here long enough to have a thorough understanding of Guild Life. You will answer his questions. The Arcanum should provide a suitable place."

And get us out of your office, Hakon added silently, but he governed himself accordingly, extending a polite smile to the stranger. "Magus Hakon Osthwicksteppen, at your service, Sir. If you will but follow me, you may ask your questions in the Arcanum. We will not be disturbed there. If you wish for a display of my abilities, as well, I can indulge you in your desire."

Inwardly, he was fuming. A representative of the Covenant in the Guild. Disgusting! Deplorable! Had it been up to him, they would be treated as the rogues they were and provided the the choice given to other rogues: exile, Guild, or death. There was some political reason for tolerating their filth, however, and smarter minds than his had bade that they be coddled, so now one of their number was here to -- what -- perform some form of wellness check, he supposed. Like the church going around to the poor of a village and distributing alms, only instead of needful charity, it was base temptation.

[Ford Edevane]

It really hadn’t been that terrible of a wait, and Ford had plenty of patience to spare for others, which meant he did not mind waiting in what others perceived as an uncomfortable silence. Ford’s ears had twitched at the sound of footsteps but did not look up until he heard the knocking. First, the bright blue gaze lifted to the First Warden, then over to the man who was speaking. The cues between both were enough to bring a half-smirk to his features, and he stood to his full height. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Magus Hakon. My name is Ford Edevane, and I appreciate the time you and the guild are sparing for me.” Ford had made it a point to stay an extra second longer than perhaps expected of him before he turned and gave a gracious bow of his head to the First Warden. “I appreciate your hospitality. Perhaps I can return to discuss some other matters when I’ve finished?”

There was a slight raise of his blonde brow as the smirk remained on his features, and he regarded Hakon again. “It would be my pleasure to follow you. Please, lead the way.” The leather journal he had been reading was closed up and held in his left hand. His free hand smoothed down the tie between each pec and continued down his shirt to ensure he was still presentable. Ford was interested in painting a good image for people, not necessarily painting himself in a bad light, not until they got to know him a little bit more.

Regardless of the situation, the smirk he had worn in the office bled into a polite smile while he would allow Hakon the lead to show him where the Arcanum was. While heading to the designated area, Ford had made sure to take in what he could see. Any faces that were worth noting, any conversations that would come up, or the immediate hushing of conversations when the pair had come near. Either way, Ford figured he could ask a simple question while they were headed to the Arcanum. “Have you been with the Guild for long?” He did not know if it was a personal question for Hakon, but he would have been fine with a simple answer or a more elaborate one.

Once they arrived at the Arcanum, Ford stopped just inside the doorway and glanced around. It had a nice name for a not-hugely nice room. It was quaint, but he figured if it was meant to keep Ford out of the way and a place where Hakon could practice or give him demonstrations, it meant that it was perfect for his business. It meant nobody was really going to eavesdrop without being noticed. It also meant that Hakon was free to be himself, or at least that was what Ford thought.

As the bright blue orbs slid from the ceiling down to Hakon, Ford realized they hadn’t had a proper introduction. He would remedy that at some point. It would be kind of awkward to reintroduce oneself at this point in the meeting. “Please, have a seat. This isn’t really something so formal that we need to stand on ceremony.” Politely, Ford even took a few steps to where a couple of older wooden chairs were and pulled them up to the table. They were sitting near enough to one another but not so near that it was uncomfortable.

Setting the leather-bound journal down on the table, he did give Hakon a once over, mostly because he had never really met a Guild Mage… And the mages he did know, well, they dressed quite fancifully. So it was quite humbling and welcomed to see someone dressed comfortably, whether it was by their choice or not. Only when Hakon would take a seat would he take a seat as well.

“Thanks again for taking the time to talk with me. I guess the first bit I’d like to know is… Tell me a little bit about yourself. If it makes you feel comfortable, I could also tell you about myself if that would help break the ice a little bit?”

Ford’s accent was thick, Griscian, and deep. He had chosen to hide and blend his accent for some time merely because Grisic did not necessarily mean many good things to some people, so he’d merely chosen to alter it. But since coming into his own, he’d stopped.

Reaching into his pocket, Ford pulled out a small case of charcoal pencils and set them next to the journal. Leaning back in his seat, he would settle his gaze directly onto Hakon’s, with a pleasant, if not charming smile on his face.

[Hakon]

Hakon used his Ethersight on the stranger as soon as they were out of the First Warden's sight and found him to be utterly mundane. Or, no Marks of Control at least. He did have an odd etheric signature to him, like a thrumming of something off in him, something foreign. It set Hakon on edge but he knew better than to ask. It was rude to ask people questions like this, and would make him a bad host if he asked the stranger a probing question he may not know the answer to.

The interrogation begun with something benign enough. He recognized Ford's accent as Griscian -- he knew little of the country, but they did occasionally get travelers from there and he approved of their stance toward magic -- and reflected that he at least preferred his idea of the Griscians to what he knew of the Daravinians at Radenor's doorstep. His own accent betrayed his origins: Jorikford had left a strong linguistic stamp on him, but he retained a bit of the Northradican vowel flattening and general monotone when he spoke. "I have been within the Guild since I was about eight years old," Hakon said. "So yes, it has been some time. Most do not come until a bit later in life -- adolescents that come deliberately, or rogues that choose this path over the others available to them who are often in their twenties. We do get older Novus -- that is, new recruits -- but older rogues usually do not choose the Guild."

Presumably, his guest knew what the other two options were, and did not need him to elaborate.

Hakon entered the Arcanum and stifled a snort at the state its previous occupant had left it in. He lit the lamps so that the scant light coming in through the barred window did not have to work so hard to illuminate the chamber, and gave it a quick sweep with a broom that was leaning up against the wall -- a hint to the mages to clean up after themselves, not that many did, damn them -- before joining his hulking guest at the table. Once he'd done so, he gave the stranger's question some thought.

"I must admit I am not entirely sure what to make of your question. I am a Magus of this Guild. I serve Jorikford and my country, and I am proud of that. I retain two Marks of Control -- one of Brand," he pulled up his sleeve to show the diamond shaped Mark on his wrist, "this one brought me to this Guild. If you wish to hear more about that, you may, though the story is not a happy one. The other, of Grave, I acquired while already here. I would show that one to you, but it's the standard cross and it's in an inconvenient place, so I'd have to disrobe, besides. Should you need to see it for your purposes, please let me know."

"What was I saying? Ah, yes -- Grave." He smiled at the memory. He'd liked being initiated, despite himself. He'd found it peaceful. "I acquired Grave about ten years ago -- with the approval of my Warden and the Fellow in Grave; I have no use for additional magic unless it serves the Guild and my country. I must admit I favor Brand to Grave, though Grave has indeed been helpful in my work here."

He did not mention his third magic. For one, it was not the sort that required a Mark and therefore was not under the purview of the Guild -- it was more of an art than anything. For another, the Endornotkun valued secrecy and discretion above all else. The fact that Hakon was a Sunderer at all was a closely guarded secret, and telling strangers that information was a great way to reveal what was hidden. He would not compromise his position in the Endornotkun so.

"Other than that, I'm not sure what would be relevant to tell you, Sir. Does this constitute enough about me, or has your curiosity not been slaked?" He did not ask about the stranger. It would be presumptuous to ask such an important man anything about himself, for one, and for another, if he was of foreign nobility, the chances that it would be beyond Hakon's ken were high enough that he wasn't certain he would react appropriately to the story. He wanted to maintain his manners above all else; he would not bring shame or censure to his Guild.

[Ford Edevane]

Ford was amused by the lengths, albeit common lengths, that Hakon had gone through to tidy up the room. It was endearing almost to watch him diligently step to sweep up parts of the floor or bring up more lights, so they were not trying to squint with what came through the window. Only when Hakon sat down could the amusement be seen plain across Ford’s features. Few people would have taken the time to do what he did. Although they were near insignificant tasks, they meant the world to Hakon, which told more about the man than his story about the magics.

“Eight?”

The blonde’s face had shown surprise, not even an attempt to hide it, that Hakon had been in the guild for such a long time. The surprise had quickly been checked, though, to be respectful of the man as he told his recount of how things worked with the guild, and then he was speaking about receiving his Marks of Control. Curiosity, of course, was one of the things that drove Ford. Nobody really joined the field of Sociology or Psychology if they were not curious or wanted to work towards something. So, the mention of two marks, first, the diamond that was shown on his wrist, and the mention of a second mark, the cross, but in an inconvenient place. “No, no… I respect your privacy for something like that and will trust your judgment.”

Once Hakon’s answer had been finished, and the question of his curiosity was slaked, Ford leaned forward a bit, but it was to get comfortable. Moving his right hand to the left cuff of his shirt, he unbuttoned it and pulled the shirt sleeve up, exposing his forearm, and the sleeve was up over his elbow, against his bicep. The right arm was treated the same as he pulled up the material once it was unbuttoned and got himself situated. Ford had still not bothered to pick up the charcoal pencils or the journal, but he did smile, which reached his eyes and almost made the blues seem like they shimmered or even sparkled in the given light.

“I have quite a few questions. Some might be personal, some you might not wish to answer, and I will not think any less of you if you choose not to answer anything, okay?” Setting his hand on the leather journal, he actually slid it away from him a bit, knocking into the tin of pencils and pressing them away as well.

“As I said before, my name is Ford Edevane. In the grand scheme of things, I am nobody important to the world. I have importance to some people, and I have associations with people whose names people know… But consider me someone who just wants to understand some things. And magic, as it is, was an enigma to me for a very long time. The CommonWealth and my upbringing were not kind to magic. It did not matter if the persons with magic were good or bad. If they were innocent, they were a blight. I…” He smiled at that and thrummed his fingers to the table. “Sorry, we are here to talk about the guild and, more pointedly, you.”

Ever so slightly, Ford’s head tilted as his eyes roamed over Hakon’s face in silence. Searching for small things, signs, clues, but he could tell, at least from how he spoke, the man had practice at veiling things and not giving more than what was needed. The answers regarding the Marks were apparent of that.

“In a world where you exist, you have this gift… Or if you do not consider them a gift, consider it a power. In your honest opinion, without mincing your words, what do you think constitutes a mage who deserves to live and serve a Guild or the Covenant, if you will, to help others? And what constitutes the right to enslave, murder, and abuse other mages? If all Mages are created, regardless of the original intent, what is your personal feeling of how Mages are treated here, in Radenor, versus societal elimination from having any structural functionality? And by that, I mean, what dictates when a mage can or can not serve a higher calling or power, in your own opinion?

[Hakon]

Hakon looked with some interest when Ford unbuttoned his sleeves -- did he have a Mark, too? Had Hakon missed it somehow? -- but then realized he was just doing it to do it. Odd but not bad. The man's -- Ford, odd name, but presumably they had different names in Grisic same as they did in Daravin and Jorikford and Northradica -- clothes were much more structured and ornate than Hakon was accustomed to. He was unsure what sort of tailor the man employed, but he must have been quite skilled. His own clothes were plain, homespun, home dyed, and home sewn. He preferred it that way. When he had to wear clothes suitable for travel to Daravin, they plagued him. They were so itchy, and so tight in the thigh. He thought the point was to be comfortable when one was wealthy, but apparently, wealth brought expensive, torturous cloth.

He'd been distracted by Ford's buttons, and not really been thinking about Ford's questions, which were difficult. He fidgeted a bit, and cleared his throat. "These are very large questions to ask a very ordinary man, my Lord," Hakon began. The fact that Ford did not disclose his rank made him certain that it was a high one indeed -- minor nobility dropped their titles at the earliest opportunity, but major ones had the grace to hold it back. That was what one of his etiquette books had said, anyway. He'd rarely had occasion to meet with people who dined with Kyngs and the like.

"While I do not approve of Grisic's devotion to and promotion of the lesser of the Unbroken Empire's twin sins -- their embrace of dangerous technology -- they were wise to turn away from the greater temptation that is blasphemous, unregulated magic. I have never been to Grisic, and it is unlikely I will ever have the chance to travel that far, so any opinion I hold on your country of origin is mere conjecture on my part. My point, though, is that you were taught correctly: magic is a blight upon this world, and it causes naught but terror, misery, decay, chaos, and death unless it is very carefully controlled."

"To you, this may seem contradictory. I have two Marks of control myself, after all. But to me, there is no contradiction at all. I have been a mage since a very young age, and were it not for my training at the guild, I could have well grown up to be the sort of rogue that spills over our borders from neighboring Daravin with some regularity to rape our women, kill our men, spread disease to our livestock, and wither our crops. If any mage deserves to live, it is only because they wholly devote themselves to the service of others and to their crown, and they should be watched very carefully lest they develop ideas not in keeping with their station. The freedom to politic and to move about should be curtailed or eliminated unless a nation is interested in incurring the wrath of the Living Gods."

That last was a less-than-veiled slight at the Covenant, but Hakon could not help himself. He'd gotten a bit impassioned. The thought of rogues wandering the borders of Radenor distressed him.

"Many, if not most mages may not be temperamentally suited for a life of actual service to others instead of fulfilling their base urges and outsized desires. If that is the case, I have no issue with them being culled. Sometimes, men are more useful in death than in life." These last sentences were said with the conviction of a man who not infrequently did the culling.

[Ford Edevane]

“Please, call me Ford or Ser Edevane if you must.” And he was going to leave it at that. It was not because he hated what he was by marriage or anything related to his marriage at all. But what Ford had found innately fascinating was Hakon’s very direct answer regarding Grisic and his personal feelings against mages. The blonde’s forearm flexed as he lifted his hand to rest his chin atop his curled middle finger and between his thumb and his forefinger.

His eyes slightly narrowed, but it was less out of annoyance and more with a concentration on the male’s expressions as he spoke. “I was taught growing up that magic was a blight that needed to be eradicated, if not controlled. So, Hakon…” After uttering Hakon’s name, his forefinger scratched along his short beard, the soft sounds of his fingernail dragging across each one, where Ford’s beard flicked against the hard surface of the nail. “If magic is okay to eliminate people who have magic, who are not living to someone else’s expectations, and the situation with the Gods, both old and new… Why is it then that innocent children are branded with marks of control by those already being controlled with oversight? Is that okay in a world that has set up a social structure, such as Radenor, to indoctrinate children into an order led by those with their own goals?”

The questions were heavy, but Ford had some serious questions regarding magic, and Hakon did not shy away from him asking them. However, Ford realized quite quickly how the conversation had taken a sharp, pointed turn, and he eased back for a moment and thought. He needed to interject a little of himself into the conversation.

“Let’s take a step backward, actually. It is unfair to delve so deep into your world without offering a little of my own. As I said, I was taught the basic principles of Grisic’s societal norms regarding magic. Grisic is very regimented in certain ways. Men have the duty to grow up, be intelligent, and be successful. If you have money, your goal is to make more money by marriage and having a larger family, make more money. When you do not fit into that norm, society has a way of squeezing you out.”

To give visual aid, Ford reached over, popping open the tin of pencils, took three small pencils out, and set them on the table. “Three pencils equal three siblings. The first sibling,” he paused to hold up the first pencil. “…Is the oldest. Learns Grisic’s ways, is attractive, is the epitome of what a man should be. Does what he is supposed to, and is the model citizen of wealth in Griscian terms.” Placing the pencil back down. “The other two pencils are a younger sibling and their intended significant other.” Sliding the two pencils aside, he looked to Hakon. “The younger sibling goes to school, studies both of their parents’ professions, and learns twice as much as their older sibling, but something is wrong. The younger sibling does not show a penchant for navigating political relationships well at all. They did not even seem interested in their duty to their family, aside from caring for them personally. Their betrothed echoes this trouble and see what happens?” Pulling the three pencils together, the middle one was caught and had pressure applied to it until it popped out and rolled away.

“This was me.” Ford caught the pencil before it could roll too far and set it by itself. “Imagine this pencil as someone who did not have a choice… Or perhaps, someone who did receive their mark, and did some bad things. What happens if they change their ways and do good for people? If the people who oversee the Guilds or even the Covenant deem them unworthy of their pasts without accounting for their present and potentialities for their futures… Does their atonement mean nothing in the eyes of the new Gods and punishable via instant death at the hands of someone who is also not innocent?”

He had one more thing he wanted to add on. “I, too, have been marked. Not in the same way as you, but marked in a way that sets me apart from everyone else. From what you have known of me, in these few moments, since that is all the time you get for a briefing on a target… How often have you thought of ending my life since you set your eyes on me?

[Hakon]

Hakon was actually fine to answer Ford's question, and was about to, when the man seemed to pull back from wanting the truth and showed him pencils. His brow wrinkled as he tried to follow Ford's metaphor. Grisic's moral code was of little consequence to him, and what it prioritized were things he'd been brought up to view as frivolous, except for family. He ignored the pang that word invoked, and tried to concentrate on the problem as assigned.

"You misapprehend me, Ser, if you think I submitted to my first Mark willingly. I was forcibly initiated into Brand prior to being reported as a rogue by my village and taken to the tower. Given your point of origin, I will educate you a bit on Brand, if you'll permit."

He continued: "Initiation into any magic is not fun or easy for most, but Brand, in particular, is notoriously painful. If you give in to the pain, you fail. The consequence for failure is death. It is a simple magic in that way. I am unsure if the rogue who initiated me did so as a cruel means of torturing me before my death, or if he did it to ensure that I would become Guilded and therefore unable to hunt him down, or because his master bade him so, or for reasons all his own. I have not had the occasion to find out." The implication of what might occur were Hakon to happen upon his initiator was left as an exercise to Ford's imagination.

"Your question of freedom betrays your privileged position in society, Ser. A great many people, Ser Edevane, do not have agency in a great many things. People are betrothed in arranged marriages to partners they do not choose, take up the profession that their family needs rather than what they feel called to do, fall sick or even die against their will. Saren is not known for letting us choose our destinies. Why should mages be given a privilege that is not extended to any but the most fortunate when we are uniquely equipped to harm others? The answer is simple: we shouldn't. To use myself as an example: no, it does not matter that I did not have a choice in my initiation at a young age. My village rightfully took me to the Guild, who set me on a path where I could be a blessing to Jorikford instead of a burden. or a danger."

"As for people who do wrong and then set about attempting to redeem themselves..." Hakon paused. He had to be careful here. "It's the Guild's position that such people, as long as their crimes are minor and their desire to reform is sincere, can be brought to a Guild, shown the error of their ways, and become productive, helpful members of society. If they are dangerous or they do not choose the path of reform, they leave us no choice but to quell them." He made no mention of his own position on this issue.

"Oh, and to answer your question, Ser Edevane. I have no interest in quelling you. Sparring with you, perhaps, but all in good fun," Hakon smiled at him, seemingly excited about the idea of it. "You have no Mark and you are no rogue. You are not my rightful quarry."

[Ford Edevane]

Ford’s chin remained between his fingers as Hakon replied to what he had said. Ford had brought up Grisic and himself for a very particular reason. It had been directly after mentioning children and family, connecting the two links in an attempt to elicit some form of response. Luckily for Ford, it did, and his face remained stoic as he listened. What Hakon said would have been true, but he had painted himself in a certain light that many others saw of Ford, especially topically. And while Hakon was speaking, preoccupied enough with his own thoughts, Ford opened the leather journal to a blank page, wrote something in it, underlined it, and closed it, setting it aside once more.

“That is my point, Hakon Osthwicksteppen. You were eight. You were branded, against your will, and forced into life you did not want nor even knew existed. So, as I understand the justice to mages in general… But why do those, with or without oversight, initiate people before they understand what is happening to their bodies? Their souls. You were a child. This world is cruel, but children should be protected and cared for.” Ford actually felt himself growing impassioned the more he spoke of a younger Hakon having his innocence and childhood taken from him.

Clearing his throat, his gaze finally fell from Hakon’s, and he looked to the table, clearly thinking about something that the man had said. There was no need to divulge certain things to Hakon, he didn’t know him particularly well, and he leaned back in his seat, his gaze hardening as he looked into the other’s eyes. Slowly, he pressed himself up and took a step or two to invade Hakon’s personal space and crouched down. The leather of his shoes creaked, and the material surrounding his glutes and his thighs tightened considerably as he crouched directly beside Hakon’s seat.

“My privilege… Is not a privilege, Hakon…” Ford’s voice had softened considerably, perhaps even something just above a whisper meant to be for someone with more familiarity. Glancing up at the man, he smiled at him, it was sad but still held the typical Edevane mirth he was known for. “I have known people who have been hated for loving differently. I have seen people oust their own family members because they disagree with their personal choices. I have known what it is to sleep in the dirt, looking for cover… Going hungry and being considered a burden and garbage, no matter how hard you worked to claw your way up.”

Giving a softer chuckle, he looked at the table and thought for a long moment in silence. “…I am also a father… Or I will be soon enough. And for what it is worth, Hakon… I am sorry your choice was taken from you. And I am sorry that you have felt the pain you have felt. It is a pain I cannot even imagine that you feel, even sitting here right now. You must be feeling it, even though you are sitting comfortably with a roof over your head and in someone’s company.”

Slowly, Ford pressed himself into a stand, but his movement did not take him away from Hakon. Instead, he found himself behind Hakin, placing his large, strong hands on the male’s shoulder and giving a squeeze. Leaning down, Ford’s lips pressed within centimeters of Hakon’s ear, his breath warm and blowing in puffed breaths as he spoke warmly, in a whisper into his ear. During the whisper, Ford’s eyes had grown darker and narrowed even as he finished his whisper. Once his lips stopped moving, his blue eyes slid over to look to the side of Hakon’s head with a grin.

Standing upright, the blonde glanced down, looking over Hakon or what he could of him. “Sorry for the touch.” Ford hadn’t really touched Hakon, aside from the shoulders, but what Hakon would feel next was a hand in his hair, Ford’s fingers digging in just enough to apply some pressure, and he ruffled the man’s hair up.

“I had more to ask, but I think I’ve got enough from you for right now… I will probably be sticking around for a little bit. I have some more people I’d like to speak with. Maybe I’ll give you that spar you want.” As he stepped away, he glanced over his shoulder as the pencils were placed back in the tin, and the journal was grabbed up as the tin was snapped shut.

[Hakon]

The stranger -- Ford, of Grisic -- was odd. He was clearly from somewhere powerful if he felt that he could reshape how things were with nothing but his own whims and whatever status he brought to bear. Hakon had no issue with the status quo, but as long as Ford was not looking to spread the perfidious ideals of the foreign Covenant, he had no quarrel with him attempting to make things better in whichever way he thought best. He's likely fail, anyhow. The Gods dictated how men behaved, and the last time men had gotten too upset with that arrangement, the Gods had let them know that their feedback was unwanted and unwelcome.

Then the man grabbed his shoulder. Hakon tensed, one arm almost going up, before realizing this was just a friendly gesture. Overly familiar by his standards, but perhaps not by Ford's. He let out a breath from between his teeth. The throwing star that appeared in his hand under the table was dismissed. Combat reflexes and a lifetime of touch being dangerous had him a bit jumpy but this man, despite his size, did not seem to be a threat. He attempted to smile back at Ford to show he was happy with how their interaction had gone. In truth, his feelings were a bit more mixed, but manners were important and so was this man's opinion of him.

It seemed, though, that the stranger had gotten what he'd hoped to gain from their interaction.

He grinned at the idea of having a proper fight the big man. "You're on! It would be a pleasure. Rare that I meet someone bigger than me, so it seems like an opportunity I shouldn't pass up, even if I end up embarrassing myself, Ser. So, I'll see you around, I hope?"