A Mage and a Peddler Walk Into a Bar...

[Andros]

The barmaid had taken the hint and had reverted to a polite friendliness towards Hakon. And now, with her first target out of reach, she put a hand on Andros shoulder as she handed him his ale and gave it a squeeze. It felt good - warm and solid and somehow one soft finger touched the skin of his neck just above his tunic and it sent electricity through his body.

One day he’d give in, but tonight’s wasn’t the night. He wasn’t interested in playing second fiddle for one, nor in paying for it. Hakon could have counted on a free trip to bed but Andros would surely have been expected to tip generously, and that stung a bit. He didn’t smile or wink at the barmaid or reciprocate her come-on, though he did watch her walk away and enjoy the view.

With a wry smile, he nodded at Hakon’s complaint, as old as mankind but somehow a little silly coming from him. What did he need to understand women for?

“They’re not like us, it’s true. That’s why it’s best we keep apart outside of the home, if you ask me. Women have their lives, men have ours. Rich people in Evrotai, the big city in my country, their women barely even have to leave the house. They’ve got their own quarters to themselves. You never see them.”

He sighed with a sense of longing. “If I ever get rich I’ll build houses like that for my girls, and buy them each a slave or two so they don’t have to lift a finger. On Mikronisi, everybody has to work.”

A natural segue from Hakon’s conversation starter would be to ask if he had a girl he was interested in. Boasting might follow from. But he wasn’t about to put the poor boy on the spot. He knew better. So instead he gossiped.

“You told me that you guild mages can’t marry, but I’ve been to all the towers in this part of Radenor and let me tell you, things aren’t always so simple. I met a warden - I won’t tell you which tower - who lives very openly with his mistress and three children. They have a cottage right outside the tower walls and there’s a little tunnel connecting it to his bedroom. And everybody knows it too. The family eats from the tower’s kitchen and the guild mages play with the children in the courtyard between training. It’s quite sweet, I think, though it’s a shame he can’t make it official.”

[Hakon]

Again, the idea of a separate sphere for men and for women came up. Maybe it was the ale, but Hakon was starting to warm to the idea. He'd always felt happiest when surrounded by men, like during sparring or in the baths. Women made him feel like he was missing something, and it was frustrating. He listened raptly to Andros' description of the life of the rich in his home country and imagined Andros in that life. In Hakon's estimation, it suited him.

Hakon scowled to hear of the flagrant rule breaking. He was aware that there were other Towers that were less strict than Vesterhal, but in his opinion, Vesterhal was lax enough.

"If I had my way, that man would be flogged and all of his superiors demoted. Looking the other way while he violates the precepts of the Towers, it," he stopped. Words failed him. He made an inarticulate noise of disgust and finished his ale.

"There's enough rule breaking in Vesterhal for my tastes, and no one would dare do anything like that. Many of the Guilded like to complain that their lives are unfair and made difficult by these restrictions, but to me, I think the opposite is true. What right do we have to live comfortably in a tower with our needs provided for while farmers toil? There have been bad seasons and poor harvests in Jorikford during my time here, but the pantry of the Tower is never bare. In my opinion, we receive far more than we give."

He had soured the mood, and was socially aware enough to know it.

"I am sympathetic, though, to his desire for a wife and a family," Hakon admitted. "When I was younger, I thought about it from time to time, to my shame. The idea of it still appeals, of course -- I suppose that's natural for any man -- but have mastered the urge and do not dwell on it these days, as there is no avenue for me to explore that desire."

[Andros]

Andros had to hold back a chortle. That must have been quite the difficult urge for Hakon to master. This mage wanted a wife like he wanted a hole in the head. The barmaid would have gotten a kick out of that complaint. Still, it’s natural to want a family, even if the making thereof isn’t in your wheelhouse. It had always struck Andros as sad that his friend could never have that.

He wondered, briefly, what Hakon would be like as a father. He was loyal and self-sacrificing, big positives. But he took everything too seriously. Too somber to get much enjoyment out of it. The idea of Hakon relaxing enough to play dolls with a little girl somehow didn’t compute. And the image of Hakon letting some toddler ride him like a horse really did make Andros laugh, which he didn’t explain.

“You’ve got to lighten up, lad,” he pushed back, gently. “Not everybody is cut out for the life you were forced into. People have needs, and those needs tend to win out in the end. The warden just wants some semblance of a normal life, and I can’t blame him. I’ll tell you, if I were seventeen and someone told me I couldn’t marry my Elena and have a family, I’d have jumped off the highest cliff on the island.”

He laughed. “Well, my mother did try to tell me that, and I probably wished I could have pushed her off at the time. But some conflicts really are best resolved without violence. Just not the one we had tonight.”

Andros clapped Hakon on the shoulder and took a big sip of his ale. He was feeling relaxed, enjoying Hakon’s company even if he was being his overly serious self. It irritated Andros at their first meeting and made Hakon hard to relate to, but now that he was used to it, he found it endearing.

“Now,” he said, slapping his knee, “lets finish these drinks and then you show me what you can do. I’m excited to watch.” He laughed at himself, feeling punchy. “I mean watch you use your new skill, not watch you piss in the woods. Even I’m a master in that, I don’t even need a mark to prove it.”

[Hakon]

Andros seemed to take his dour nature with good grace. He was not the first man to comment on it, and Hakon suspected he would not be the last. After an intensely voluble period when he first came to the Tower, Hakon had endeavored above all to get a grip on his emotions. It had succeeded, but it seemed to come at a cost: he found it hard to unburden himself and feel joy. He was no longer sobbing or raging thrice daily, but he was also no longer really anything. It seemed to have left him a rather subdued and solemn sort. At least, according to many, many others.

"Many others say this, too," Hakon said, trying to make a joke out of it and only half-succeeding. He did wonder if there was something wrong with him, occasionally, that he couldn't lighten up as instructed, but for whatever reason, this seemed to be how he was made.

Then he gave an actual laugh at Andros' joke. The man was witty! Hakon rarely conversed with people about such light matters. Never, really. Doing so with Andros was a treat.

"I think you have the right idea as you so often do, my friend," he averred, and got up to follow Andros through the door.

When he got up, he realized he was more soused than he'd initially realized. Perhaps it had been a mistake to just have a drink or two with no food to accompany it, especially after spending all afternoon training. He had sort of expected not to get thirsty, surrounded as he had been by water, but he supposed he hadn't actually drank any of it. Foolish, but it was too late now. People were surprised that he was not better able to hold his liquor, but he drank so seldom that even something as paltry two beers hit him with a lot of vigor despite his stature.

He wasn't stumbling, though, just perhaps a bit unsteady.

Andros followed a foot path into the woods that many of the denizens of the tavern had clearly gone down before, and Hakon followed Andros, glad that despite the hour the sun was yet high in the sky. When they reached a place that was well enough off the beaten path, Hakon wasted no time in freeing himself and letting loose with a sigh of relief. Typically, he relieved himself indoors in the tower, but peeing outside was an unparalleled feeling.

"Nothing like it," Hakon said, with a glance askance at Andros before returning to his own business.

[Andros]

Two ales - they really were rather watery, to be fair - left Andros feeling pleasantly pleased. The pain from where he’d been hit was still a problem, but the alcohol and good company helped. So did knowing it was about to be healed, if Hakon could manage it. Andros was certain he could. The young man had proven himself - repeatedly.

For a small man, Andros could hold his liquor. But ale tended to run through him a lot faster than decent wine. Or maybe that was old age. In any case, he walked rather faster than Hakon, who was swaying on his feet a bit, and relieved himself with, well, some relief.

When it was done he waited for Hakon to finish and then looked at him with some excitement.

“So how does this work, my friend? I’ve never seen Grave used before. Our medicine was all a sort of folk-necromancy at home. Old ladies who passed the knowledge on to their granddaughters. Not as polished as what your necrodoctors do here, but they could do some healing. Or at least less harm than good. Certainly not the same as what a real mage can accomplish with real magic.”

He looked at the ground, suddenly a bit embarrassed at how excited he is to see this, like it’s a cheap parlor trick. He speaks sincerely.

“The power to heal is a wonderful thing, Hakon. I’m proud of you for taking that mark, and for staying away from its ugly side.”

[Hakon]

Hakon did not mind that Andros was excited about Grave. If anything, it was gratifying to talk to someone about it was who was excited about it in for the good it could do, and who did not want to talk to him about it from an academic perspective. The Grave Fellow in the tower had overseen Hakon's initiation, which had been most appreciated from Hakon's perspective because he enjoyed not dying or experiencing other adverse effects of an initiation gone wrong, but the subsequent appointments he could have done without. The man droned on about vitescence, its uses, its applications, and what the presence of it implied to the natural order. While Hakon had some limited interest in the discussion as a deeply religious man, it quickly became too metaphysical for him, and left him cold.

"Healing with Grave is a simple enough practice, though you must excuse me, Andros, as I am yet quite unskilled," Hakon said, sounding a bit embarrassed. "I chose to take it on shortly after Hei-- after we met," he said, trying to focus on the happier part of the event that had led to their friendship, "and I have not yet had much of an opportunity to use it beyond the basics. The first step is I use ether to make a bridge of sorts between my torch and you."

So saying, Hakon took his nightorch out of its pouch on his belt. He rather liked his torch. It was ornate looking black metal with a blue flame that burned brighter than the Grave Fellow's. When he fed it a bit of ether and directed it to divert vitescence to Andros, there was a small amount of resistance -- his torch seemed to prefer to keep the vitescence for itself than to do anything with it -- but once it was flowing, it headed toward Andros readily enough. A bright white light formed connrecting Andros and the torch, and Hakon's hand glowed. He rolled his eyes a bit. Grave was a showy magic, but it was a useful one.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Should have warned you that it comes with a light show."

Hakon was not skilled enough to direct the vitescence, so instead, it went to where it was needed: it seemed to be pooling in the man's shoulder and also his thighs and groin. Perhaps he had strained himself a bit when riding earlier? He continued channeling the vitescence until it stopped pooling in the two areas and instead started traveling around Andros' body seemingly at random. At that point, Hakon's understanding was that it was going to heal very minor aches, cuts, bruises, and scrapes, and further treatment was generally not necessary.

"And there we have it, Sir. I believe you are all healed up. How do you feel?"

[Andros]

This wasn’t what Andros expected. He really had no idea how Grave worked or what it looked like when it was used. He naively expected Hakon to chant a spell,, to touch him, to use a potion or an ointment or something.

He didn’t imagine that there would be a “light show”, as Hakon so dismissively put it. Maybe the light was old hat for Hakon, but certainly not for Andros, who watched in fascination as the it moved as if of its own accord from the night torch to Hakon and then to himself. Not just to Andros, but inside him. He closed his eyes tight as it entered his body, afraid it would pierce and hurt him but he felt nothing and opened them again.

Then he did feel something. A warm sensation in his shoulder, some tingling, a brief instant of burning, then…nothing. No pain. Not even the memory of pain. It was as good as new. Better than it had been before.

Then the warmth spread from joint to joint. Every part of his body that was stiff when he woke up or sore after a day on the road lit up. His knuckles warmed and stung for a moment, then his knees, then his ankles. Eventually he was enveloped in the light. Even the nicks on his skin, the cut he gave himself shaving that morning, the toe he’d broken decades ago that healed crooked, all of them lit up, got warm, and stung for just an instant.

It was terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. As the light passed out of each part of his body, Hakon flexed it and found, to his amazement, that it moved better than before. No creaking, no soreness, no need to wince through a shot of pain. When the light finally finished with him, he flexed his whole body. He bent down and touched his toes, then jumped up in the air with joy.

Not only was the shoulder completely healed, he felt younger. Years younger. Aches and pains he’d learned to ignore ages ago were mended and gone. It was a miracle. Even if it only lasted an hour, it would be the best hour he’d had in years.

He looked at Hakon, who still seemed embarrassed by his power, as if Andros would think he was just some show-off. He beamed up at his friend.

“Hakon, I feel like a new man. You healed all my arthritis, not just the shoulder. It’s gone. You’re incredible. Thank you so much.”

Throwing his arms around Hakon’s neck, He pulled him in for a tight hug. Then put his hands on the big man’s face and pulled him in to kiss his forehead in a gesture of deep appreciation.

“You have such awesome power in you. It’s in good hands.”

[Hakon]

To have one of his talents met with deep appreciation instead of suspicion or distrust from a citizen of Jorikford or disdain for his fumbling level of skill within Vesterhal was an unusual sensation but not an unwelcome one. Hakon flushed at the compliments and colored further after the kiss. He was not given to being overly touchy beyond the occasional companionable arm around a man, but he didn't mind it from Andros.

"I -- thank you, Andros. It means a lot. Our first meeting inspired me to request an initiation into Grave, actually, and my Warden thought I might be more effective on missions if I could heal myself and others in the field. This saves me from learning doctoring," he said with a chuckle. "They did their best to provide me with an education in the tower, but I cannot say I was ever a star student. So instead, I chose to take a second Mark onto my soul and risk having part of it severed in perpetuity during an initiation that other people apparently find quite harrowing."

"I liked it, though. The world around you becomes pitch black, and your lantern lights the way. You have to find your way to a distant ringing through an unfamiliar darkened landscape, and you must keep hold of the lantern, or the initiation fails. I found it quite peaceful. I..." he hesitated. He wasn't sure he should mention this to anyone, but Andros was a friend, and he'd been there when it happened. If anyone would understand, maybe it would be him.

"I did it for Heinrich, in truth. I think about heading into that basement often. How I should have protected him, been faster, done something so that he didn't die. He's not the only brother in arms I've lost during a rogue hunt, but he is the one where the blame lies with me. I was overconfident and he paid for my foolhardiness with his life. I know that life is not just, and death comes for us all, sometimes suddenly. I know that. Maybe, as an Engraver, I can keep it at bay, next time."

He wasn't sure if he should mention the rest. That he dreamt of Heinrich from time to time, that he couldn't stop thinking of the man's face, that he saw him at his grave site sometimes, or while praying. He knew that grief and mourning could make people funny in the head, but he was hesitant to bring it up lest people thought his sanity was slipping. Mages who were not sane were mages who were security risks.

[Andros]

Andros was sure of it now. His earlier suspicion that Hakon had loved Heinrich was correct. Had they been lovers, fighting side by side? Or was Hakon hopelessly, uselessly in love with a man who could never return his feelings. Andros wondered if Hakon would ever take him into enough confidence to answer that question. Or if he was even aware of his own feelings.

Either way, the story was a tragedy, and doubly so because Hakon blamed himself. It was worthy of its own epic. But as the only other living witness to Heinrich’s death, Andros had something to say on the subject. He put a hand on Hakon’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze.

“I may not be able to change your mind, lad, but I saw what happened to your friend as well as you did. It was not your fault. Absolutely not. You were prepared, you were brave, you did your best, and so did he. But it was a battle and sometimes in battle a soldier meets his end. Heinrich was an honorable, proud warrior for the Guild. I’m sure he wouldn’t want you blaming yourself like this.”

Andros wasn’t really sure how true that last bit was. He was sure Hakon wasn’t to blame, but in his brief interaction with Heinrich, Hakon found him to be, well, a little pompous and something of an asshole. What Hakon saw in him was baffling, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that his friend was nursing a broken heart and it needed some mending.

“It’s a shame that your night torch can’t heal us from the sadness of life. Only time can help there. You’ll never forget Heinrich, but this will weigh on you less some day. You’ll be able to remember him with a smile. I promise.”

He stepped back, his joy at feeling younger tempered by this sobering reminder of mortality. Still, it was a treat to put weight on his left ankle and not feel the stiffness that had plagued it for a decade.

“Why don’t you heal that cut of yours. I’d like to watch it work on you.”

[Hakon]

Hakon hadn't known what to expect when he had dared to open up a little bit. Would Andros dismiss his concerns, or laugh at him for being soft? Would he inveigh upon him to train harder so it would not happen again, as his Warden had? The answer, it turned out, was none of these things. Instead, he was just kind, and caring. He listened, he didn't tell Hakon what he was feeling was nonsense.

"You're a good man, Andros," Hakon said. He still felt saddened, but it was leavened somewhat by his friend's kind words. "I'm not sure what Heinrich would have wanted, other than to be still alive, but if Grave can honor his memory and help others not fall, I'm glad I did what I did. Brand has few uses other than taking lives. It's nice to be able to do something a bit less brutal."

So saying, he concentrated again, this time on pulling vitescence from the lamp into his own body. This took even more concentration than healing someone else. For reasons Hakon could not quite understand, his torch seemed reluctant to connect with him in this way. It preferred connecting to others. Or at least, that was his perception of it. When he'd brought it up to the Fellow in the tower, he'd just earned a strange look and some encouragement that he keep practicing.

Nevertheless, a white arc of light connected him to his torch, and his cut felt too hot, uncomfortably so, then itchy, and then it was just gone as though it had never been there to begin with. It was a decently simple injury, so healing it took a fraction of the time it had taken to help Andros, and Hakon disengaged immediately. He had no need to drain his lantern's reserves for minor aches and bruises. A torch with no vitescence inside was just a pretty lantern, after all.

He took it out of the pouch at his belt once more. It was small in his hand, delicately fashioned from what looked like wrought iron and glass, though in actuality it wasn't made of either of those things. Hakon didn't entirely understand what it was. The Fellow had tried to tell him, but he had not followed the explanation. Something about a spiritual object imposed unto their material reality.

"You can hold it, if you like," he offered to Andros. "Not every day you get to hold a piece of someone else's soul, eh?"