Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

The process of undressing from his noble attire, after his bout of cathartic sobbing, calmed Zarik. Slowly, he removed the silver rose clasp at his throat. He set it, alongside his rings, in a polished darkwood box lined with red velvet. His vest, not laid, but hung up at the bedroom’s wardrobe and soon to follow the rest of his clothing. He rubbed at his eyes, the one having become tender and swollen where Winston had pummeled his face when he’d tried to carry the toddler. It stung when he grazed the spot under the eye and up to his temple. The boy’s punches had been a great deal stronger than they should have been, in Zarik’s approximation of a child’s strength.

He redressed, however, immediately. Not in day clothing, but in loungewear. A simple sleeveless fine-cotton shirt of light gray and black satin pants that he left to hover at his thinly tapered hips. The waistband was two long silken strands that hung to one side. He pulled on his dark velvet slippers without stockings. The luxurious, looser clothing provided him comfort. He exhaled with relief at the sensation of his body relaxing from the tension he’d felt while talking with Damien and Kleine.

Zarik knew he hadn’t handled the conversation well. He felt disappointed in himself. But he didn’t want to act false either. His thoughts were especially critical toward Kleine because of what he’d promised Alistair about Becoming. He didn’t want that snide man to initiate him. He only wanted Alistair as his mentor. Zarik considered a new condition of making Alistair learn Becoming if he wanted Zarik to learn it as well… but he’d already pressed past and had started into areas beyond compromise when it came to what his husband wanted of him.

But if Kleine was not kind to him… if Kleine and him did not get along… it was something he could postpone. He knew he had to make it seem as if he was trying, though. Perhaps he should simply act. He’d have to spruce up his ability, though. He didn’t believe he was such a great actor as to sustain his faked moods for longer than a break at most. It never required longer than that to trick the people his father had sent him to target or for negotiation purposes. But this wasn’t for targeting, and there was no foreseeable end. If he pretended and faked himself for Damien and others near Alistair now, then he might have to continue to do so until the end of his days. He needed to find another way. They needed to learn to accept him as he was, even if he didn’t offer the correct social niceties and groveling respect they expected from Alistair's new mistress.

Zarik didn’t feel annoyance anymore, though. Even the lingering jealousy, which had caused him to say certain things when he watched Kleine talk so blithely, had faded. His mood had drifted after crying. It’d calmed and settled into a sense of… focus. While he wanted Alistair to return, he also hoped the man would stay out longer. There was work to attend to, and he needed to take advantage of the time without his husband’s incredibly distracting presence.

He fixed his hair, checked his appearance in the mirror, then left the master bedroom. Zarik shut the door behind him. He saw a thrall nearby tidying a corner that’d gotten dusty. Zarik hesitated, then he spoke to the thrall, “E-evening, Devin.”

The thrall muttered, what sounded like a mimicked greeting, or perhaps one of his phrases, but the words were too muffled to make out. Zarik watched him for a few trills, then headed through the common room. He went to the study.

In the study, he took a moment at the entrance to survey the high-ceiling and the bookcases filled to the brim with leather-bound tomes. It smelled of cedar and roses. And it was quiet, pleasantly so. His survey concluded, looking at Damien. The Lich sat at one of the two desks, reading a book, against the back wall of the luxuriously cozy room. Zarik cleared his throat, then nodded in greeting. He said, “Evening, Sir Noch. Don’t let me bother you. I have some tasks requiring this space.”

He silently padded over to the other desk in the corner of the room. The velvet of his slippers muffled any sound that his light steps might have made otherwise. Zarik didn’t sit down, yet. He cleared the desktop of anything he didn’t need, including décor items. Then, he proceeded to collect writing implements on the surface: three inkwells of black, blue, and brown. A couple quills and three of the fancy fountain pens only nobles seemed to have. A bound stack of vellum he’d found in the lowest drawer, tied together by twine, thick enough to be 100 sheets. A small spool of gilded string. A white taper candle and a red taper candle that he set in holders at the top of the desk, one in each corner.

Zarik fixed his posture to his full height, crossed his arms, and observed the space he’d set up with a critical eye. The irises were, as they had been since he entered, a blend of light and mid-blues. He tried to decide if the set-up would prove suitable so he wouldn’t need to look for anything while he wrote. The youthful biqaj glanced at Damien. Though he’d had a few moments of silence when he’d started to prepare the space, the Lich had started to talk and Zarik felt it’d be rude to completely ignore him. After all, the undead man had been in the study before him and he wasn’t about to kick someone so important to Alistair out. Zarik walked over to a nearby bookcase, in recollection of how Alistair had explained the organization, and he browsed for certain titles that might aid in his research.

Damien had been captured by the texts of the novel he was reading - a complete fiction, composed by one of the many Lair authors who'd avoided the harsh criticism of the law. It was, quite literally, a volume on the erotic adventures of King Edmund Arkenstone, though he doubted any of the adventures were grounded in reality and certainly they did not occur in such a way. Still, the Lich had always enjoyed such ridiculous observations of reality; plays on what might have occurred, what may have been true if only by the suspicion of others... particularly when it came to romance and eroticism. When he became a Lich, his interest in such texts soared, as he began to live vicariously through others whether in books or in the world around him. It was, in a way, a posthumous fascination with the journeys of life that he'd since left behind... and by choice. Damien was human-like in nearly every way; he could still copulate with others, perhaps even reproduce. He could still tour the valleys and have journeys of his own, felling great beasts and advising Kings and weaving songs of legend.

Yet the moment he became a Lich, something about him detached from reality, and he began to view Idalos almost as a passive onlooker. He supposed, in that way, his evolution had been a lot less destructive than Ellasin's; unlike her, he did not feel a thrill of power consume him, but rather a sort of immortal understanding of the jest that was their real world. The absurdity of it all.

"Oh, hello," the man said, raising his head from his book - almost complete - as Zarik stepped into the study and greeted him. He began to prepare an assortment of writing utensils, as if he were preparing to compose a full dissertation for his Licentiate. The man was somewhat impressed, considering he'd heard Zarik had been a common 'Heap' - whatever that really was - before marrying Alistair... but as he knew from personal experience, not all peasantry were unintelligent.

He allowed Zarik to continue in his duties as he concluded his book. The final chapter had been written around an inglorious rumor regarding Edmund and a goat, though fortunately the chapter did not go into considerable detail, and like all poorly written screeds based wholly on the author's fantasy, it concluded abruptly with no moral or closing note to be found. The Lich shut the book and glanced at the biqaj, flashing him yet another disconcerting smile as he began to speak, perhaps without Zarik's permission or desire. It was clear that he was... attempting, to focus, though Alistair had a dissertation room if he really wanted merely to write. Perhaps, Damien thought, he wanted to speak to him.

"You have many reservations, and things on your mind," he began. "Why don't you share them with me, little one? I'm no opposition of yours; I view Alistair, above anyone else, as my son, predecessor and progeny. You, as his husband, are therefore of great value to me and I would not like to see you suffer in this house. What troubles you?" he asked, and then continued, despite his words befitting a closing curiosity.

"I met Alistair right when he was your age - Kleine told me you're nineteen arcs old. When Alistair was nineteen, he was extremely troubled. Morbid, macabre, neurotic to the most blatant and ignoble degree. He was dangerous, even, to himself and others. A broken man with a childhood gilded with roses, everyone so easily assumed, yet unendingly had he been a bloodletter for the thorns. Nothing you have demonstrated and no desire you may have will disturb me; I have served as a consort to the Witch," he referred to Ellasin, "for eighty arcs. So please, do not feel dubious of my presence. I am no stranger to the turbulence of the heart."

Zarik walked alongside the bookcases. His fingers drifted over the edges of the shelves. They were kept clean, free of dust, due to the thralls. The wood felt finely polished. His ether almost wanted to feel the material in a deep sense, but he’d already identified such wood so there was little point other than the emotional bond. He let a slight amount drift from his fingertips into the grain, however.

And he listened to Damien. He didn’t know exactly how old the Lich was, only that he was old, probably older than a living person would be as that was what defined Liches in the stories he knew. Had it been centuries? Zarik found a title that he’d been looking for: Marital Law. He retrieved the book, opening it to look at the greater title inside: Marital and Inheritance Law in Northern Idalos Territories.

Cradling the heavy book in his arm, he heard the Lich’s question of concern. He didn’t understand what the man meant by great value to me. Was it simply a phrase to express his desire to know Zarik for the sake of Damien’s bond with Alistair? He supposed, if he were Alistair’s spouse, that to a chosen father like Damien, that made Zarik a son-in-law. It was a strange thought. He remained quiet and returned his attention to the books as he listened to the Lich continue.

He took down another book: Cases and Summaries of Procedural Trials: The Case of Legitimacy in Rynmere. Zarik didn’t understand much of what that title meant, but it had Rynmere in the title and he liked the smooth leather binding enough that he included it to his starting collection of reference texts. It seemed he’d correctly found the section where the political books had been shelved. He remained at the case and carefully ran his fingertip over each binding. He leaned closer, observing them and pulling them out when no title showed on the binding to explain what the book was.

Despite his attention to the books, he continued to listen to Damien. He glanced over a few times, wondering what Alistair might’ve been like at his age… macabre, neurotic… Zarik smiled slightly. It wasn’t that surprising to him, for his husband had become a necromancer after all. Even now, the man who told him about this was a Lich adopted as father. Zarik wondered what made a Lich different from a thrall, other than the clear sense of lucidity and mockery of consciousness that portrayed in Damien. But surely, he was not a humanoid anymore, not mortal, and not truly like Zarik was.

He got a certain number; 80 arcs, and he wondered what other arcs that included before it. Zarik walked back to the desk in the corner. He set down the short stack of books, about five in all. Zarik bit on his lower lip as he stared at the top book. He opened the cover, looking at the first page, then shut it again. After a few trills of obvious contemplation, he said, “You are correct, Sir Noch, I am troubled.”

Zarik took the chair from the desk. He dragged it over to sit beside the desk where Damien was - at the short end so there remained a corner of the furniture between their bodies. The biqaj sat down and folded his hands in front of him much like Alistair had on their last night in Ne’haer while they’d talked about sensitive topics. He crossed his legs and looked at the handsome Lich with a casual gaze. “I do not know what you have been told about me. I… Kleine has… I do not know what he is willing to say or not. He treats me, in the short time I’ve been here, as a fleeting thing like… like… well, I don’t know how to describe it. I understand it must be difficult for him, but I do not understand how he can act in the way he does except to twist into me, to make me feel how he must, when it is not my burden. It feels as if he wishes to punish me. But I didn’t know about him, or even Asher. I didn’t know about anyone, not Kleine, not this Abaddon, not even Fridgar.”

It was a great deal that Zarik abruptly confided in the Lich. The blue of his eyes flecked with topaz yellow. He looked down as he’d shared, averted his gaze, and stared at his own folded hands. “Alistair... I- I adore him. I’ve never met anyone like him. So strong, so powerful, so... But why he chose me, why he asked me, why he married me before telling me of his life… I fear that I might have accidentally confused him without knowing what I was doing then. It must be my fault, I am certain. I should have thought to ask.”

Zarik looked up again. He switched his legs, crossing them the other way. The biqaj took a short breath. He added, “And it seems that while the fates desire to bring us together, the people in our lives, perhaps not you, but certainly Kleine and Fridgar, despise my sudden introduction in Alistair’s life. My father… he has struggled as well. He has lost himself in his anguish of my departure, for I am his only son and caregiver, the inheritor of his tradecraft, and here I am – speaking of my trivial problems to a Lich in the warmth of a study while he likely is shivering cold, hungry and bitter. Yet, I cannot bring myself to rush to his aid. I feel changed, my obligations bound to Alistair in our commitment under the Wounded God, and from the magic he has imbued me with.”

There was... a lot to dissect for him, though not at all in Zarik's physical actions as he considered them trifles. Others might have considered it rude for him to only offhandedly appear to listen, while seeking out his books and even opening them to read, but the Lich did not care for such graces and so long as he was heard, he was content. It was clear, when Zarik came to sit by him, that he was heard... particularly as he closed his book and began to reply. Immediately, he responded to him honestly, which was - in his perspective - the extension of an olive branch. By admitting that he was troubled, the two could explore the minds of one another, and learn if their open candor could be translated into shared wisdom, or even friendship.

He was pleased by the young man's openness. His suspicions were correct: it was not Damien he'd felt ire towards, but Kleine, and the Lich had recognized that Zarik's most distasteful expressions and mannerisms seemed to simultaneously follow Kleine's words or actions themselves. Meanwhile, he spoke to him unpleasantly or as if in command, yet he'd been utterly polite to the Lich from the start. So, then... Kleine was the issue, or at least one of them. But, knowing Alistair, he was certain that there were more issues as well.

There were a few words that struck him. Zarik did not even know about him, or Abaddon, or Fridgar. So - that was one issue. Alistair had not informed Zarik before marrying him of his previous partners, and even his current husband, who he was now having a dispute with to the possible destruction of their marriage. The mage moved into their union headlong, but it was not to seek temporal pleasures. It was not a fleeting thing; Damien knew Alistair well enough. Those he only had short, abstract attentions for were discarded more quickly than this, and though he may have led them on he never fulfilled his promises. By marrying Zarik, Alistair had totally deviated from the formula of his romantic infatuations. It was something more to him, and Damien had explained that to Kleine already.

"He doesn't think you're a fleeting thing; I know this to be true, because I have spoken to him. I have done so extensively since I arrived, and he's begun to accept your presence in his life. The truth is... Alistair is still a troubled man, but he loves wholly and eternally. Even those who betray him, he continues to love; once he develops a true feeling for another, those feelings do not wane or diminish, though they may transform. What he felt for Kleine was the intensity that is solace in another; to have a sole confidant in one's life. Kleine mistook it for amorous affection, and so he offered his body and the womb of his totem to him." The man flattened his lips, and then... frowned.

"The truth is that Kleine feels he was a fleeting thing, and for that, he cannot forgive himself nor his pride. And to see both the offspring of that totemic womb, and the love he thought Alistair had for him, fall to another... it is truly a tragic thing for one to see. But you, Zarik, Alistair loves you, and I am doubtless that he intends to keep you at his side. His other lovers; he always kept them undisclosed to us. But you, he blatantly presents, he takes you to his bed every night and he promises you both nobility and his hand in marriage, which he has already given you. He has never offered to take anyone as his noble spouse - not even Fridgar. So of course, Kleine is rightfully jealous of you... and so is Fridgar."

The Lich laughed, lightly, following into his next words. "I'm jealous of you, in a way; for the offer of lifetime devotion from a man so reluctant to truly desire anyone overlong. Affections from such men are a covetous gift, and for what Alistair has provided you, many will envy you and seek to tear you down. Kleine allowed himself to fall into the hysteria that is indulging those envious desires, but he is not a man for destroying others. If you will offer him your time, his worries will abate. He might even inform Alistair of how wonderful he's discovered you to be; never must you doubt the goodness of the men of this house. Alistair chose all of them for a reason, for each role they fulfill, just as he chose you."

But that... while all true, was not the whole story. There were things to warn him of, as well. Damien was not Alistair's lapdog; he was like a father to him, as he'd previously mentioned, and therefore he wished for him to improve. There were things that Zarik would need to know if they were to be together, that he probably had inklings of already. Truths of the mage's psyche.

"He married you out of a protective instinct, I imagine," he began. "The desire to commit to you - wholly - from the very beginning, to foster you as his one true love that he would not allow to leave him, or die, or disappear under extraneous circumstances. He married you because he recognized the spark of love, not infatuation, and wished to hold it close and watch it bloom. Alistair has lost every man he has ever loved, and though Fridgar remains alive, one can only imagine what that... must be like. They say that those who make peace with their death, only to live, are often shrouded in darkness for the remainder of their lives. They lose their purpose and wills and begin to find their trials on Idalos meaningless." It appeared his speech would never end, but so he had always been; a philosopher, a seeker of truth. He understood how hearts and minds worked, well, and Alistair's best of all.

"Now imagine suffering for nearly two arcs, making peace with the death of the man you loved more than anything in the world... only for, the moment you finally accept his passing and move on, for him to be alive. Things can never go back to the way they were. Your marriage is symbolic of that; you are the man that he, the man of today, loves most of all and Fridgar is a specter from the past that haunts him. If you place the events of your marriage - and all of your thoughts, particularly regarding Fridgar - into that context, you might find yourself feeling better. And perhaps, you'll even understand. You are mature not to truly begrudge him for the life he's had in the past, for the loss of love is a terrible thing. I pray to Vri that you never feel it; it is what made me become like this. To numb the pain."

But there was so much more to say. The Lich leaned back into his chair and exhaled, pressing his palms against his shins as he rocked the chair back and forth, staring at the tall ceiling of the study.

"This home has an attic, little one, though it can only be accessed through the study; it's one of those cliche bookcase mechanisms that opens into a hidden room. But you didn't know of that, I'm assuming. Kleine didn't know, Abaddon didn't know, Daniel didn't, Kaelrik didn't... only Alistair did, and I discovered it by chance through my endless roaming through this section of the Estate. He has always been a secretive man. The depths of his desires are truly monstrous, depraved even, and he fears what flail others might lash him with if they discover who he truly is. Nobles are often the most horrific of humanity, for they are repressed relentlessly for all of their lives. What lingers in their thoughts... what desires they develop through that repression... even a Lich cannot fully grasp. If that, however, must be kept a secret - why not everything that would hurt you? If you ever become so crippled by the fear of loss as he is, you will understand, as I do. It is not wrong to seek truth, however, and even to feel fraught with doubt in the face of deception. He will become more truthful to you in time; first through suggestions, jests even, if only to uncover your true perspective. Men are often like that. It's a game they play with their masculinity; the desire to have every trait of them unilaterally loved. If a trait is not loved, it will not be presented."

And then, finally, Zarik spoke of things that must have presently worried him. His father, how he'd left him yet refused to shirk on his duty as a spouse, even to see him. He felt guilty that he had so much, and the man had so little. It was, truly, a sorrowful thing.

"He made you a mage, then?" he asked. "Hn. What spark?" Damien briefly questioned.

"You must advocate for yourself as well as for your husband, Zarik. People - even those who truly love you - will so rarely be able to understand your perspective and your own needs. Alistair will make you the sheer personification of his desires if he can; all men will. You likely seek to fit him into your mold as well, unknowingly, and perhaps the mold you have for him suits his desires for you. If so, that is perfect and wonderful, but marriages are not about possession and perfection. Desiring one another and fulfilling the other's wishes are imperative, but they are symbiotic. Alistair must assist you in fulfilling your needs as well, and if that means providing for your father, he must. Do not feel afraid to suggest these things to him; though he may scowl and yell, he is truly a docile thing. Kleine's analogy of the 'gale' versus the storm was an apt one; use that as you must. I would not like to see you lose your strength of character; you have great potential, Zarik. It is why you were chosen."

The Lich had much to say. Zarik supposed he’d said a lot too, and there was still more, so much he hadn’t shared. He listened patiently to Damien’s explanations woven with advice about Kleine, about Alistair and his affectionate possession of Zarik that would cause envy in men, about men in general and their demanding natures yet the goodness in their hearts.

Zarik didn’t interrupt. His thumbs tapped together, and he watched Damien with an almost curious expression. The blue of his irises disappeared, flooded with amber and flecked with topaz yellow in a warm wash of reflective pigment. His complete attention fixated on the undead creature. How well it spoke, how smooth its words were, and how deep its understanding. He decided – as he suppressed an urge to become emotionally entangled in the words Kleine is rightfully jealous of you… and so is Fridgar – that he would need to study Liches more, so he could understand Damien’s constitution and acute awareness better. The few fanciful stories he had about Liches did nothing to justify how Damien talked like he did now, as if he were a mere human with a few mutated quirks like any other mage.

The information provided, about Kleine, did little to soothe Zarik’s concerns about the future direction of his relation toward the other man. But it did create a stronger context around why the Lothar treated him in such a way, enough that he could pragmatically apply it the next time he spoke with Kleine – as he would, eventually. Zarik didn’t want to push Kleine out of Alistair’s life, he didn’t want to snub him either. What Zarik wanted when it came to the man who’d brought Asher into the world, however, was complicated and at odds with what Alistair wanted. He pitied Kleine, despite his lingering immature jealousy and his distaste for how the Lothar behaved and spoke.

Zarik nodded slowly a few times to let Damien know he was still listening, though he’d said nothing in response to what had become a sort of lecture. It reminded him of Alistair’s spontaneous lectures given about magic and other things that the magister saw as important. Perhaps this was the man from whom Alistair had learned to speak in-depth.

When Damien started in on the potential reasons why Alistair had married him, Zarik leaned to one side of the chair. He rested his elbow on the arm and set his index finger on his lips. The gesture served as a reminder to himself to keep quiet and not interrupt. For the following words made him want to say certain things he should not. It was likely true enough, what Damien said. His eyes remained warm, the topaz dominating over the amber. He tapped his finger against his split lower lip. The Lich’s discourse turned increasingly wider in scope, claiming sweeping facts about life and people in general. They say that those who make peace with their death, only to live, are often shrouded in darkness for the remainder of their lives…

Zarik didn’t agree as he listened to the following explanation. His finger tapped a bit more rapidly against his lip. His dark brows flickered into a downward furrow. The explanation turned into a premise for an empathetic illustration of what Alistair had gone through before he’d met Zarik. He wanted to tell the Lich that he didn’t require confirmation that Alistair loved him most of all, but he restrained himself. He supposed, after a few trills of thought while he listened, it was merely a statement of fact and not meant to be a statement of comforting… though Damien wove it into trying to help Zarik understand so he could feel better.

You are mature not to truly begrudge him for the life he’s had in the past, for the loss of love is a terrible thing. I pray to Vri that you never feel it; it is what made me become like this. To numb the pain.

Zarik lowered his hand. He shifted in his chair, straightening his posture. The color of his eyes had shifted and changed while he heard the words. The warmth gradually faded entirely, and left behind a desaturated hue as gray as the shirt he wore. His gaze surveyed Damien as the Lich leaned and rocked back in the chair to stare at the ceiling. He slightly tilted his head in his survey, licked his lips, then listened closely as the man informed him of an attic.

He looked up at the ceiling and wondered where the attic might be. His gaze returned when Damien mentioned Alistair’s monstrous, depraved desires. His expression maintained a neutrality, a disciplined patience, and he supposed he could have attempted to fake surprise at what the Lich said – it might have been advantageous for Damien to believe him a bit more… how did he say… like a swallow bird than the skittering insect Zarik often felt he was – a creature that traveled freely, but could not fly, a pest that heard and saw much in the grime and darkness of the corrupt world around him. He wondered, perhaps, what differences peasantry had in their depravity compared to nobles and he supposed it likely came down to a matter of resources to play out their cravings. His father had required more resources after all, as Zalazar’s urges had grown and evolved over time.

The thought reminded him of his father. He mentioned the situation, vaguely, and in a way that if Damien would speak to Alistair it wouldn’t cause much trouble. It felt, slightly, comforting to be able to say something about it aloud.

And Damien’s query landed on the added comment about magic, rather than about his father – as was expected. Zarik uncrossed his legs. He leaned back in the chair to find comfort. His gray eyes had begun to return to a light blue color. He answered simply, “Alistair initiated me into the Transmutation domain.”

The Lich went on to tell him about advocating for himself. Something that Zarik didn’t think he needed to be told about. He folded his hands again, tapped his thumbs together, and returned to watch while listening. This advice, however, fell sideways as it landed in Zarik’s mind. It didn’t hold up with his own thoughts. What did a Lich know about what marriages were meant to be? Ah, responsibility, duty, things that the Theocratum had mentioned as well during the ceremonial rite. He eased when Damien commented on Zarik’s great potential. A faint, thin smile flickered on Zarik’s lips.

“I understand why Alistair admires you so,” said Zarik. He leaned forward and placed a hand on the surface of the desk. “You speak with wisdom, Sir Noch, as I am sure the long life you’ve endured has granted you at least that much. Thank you.”

He paused. It seemed uncertain if he were to say more. Zarik’s blue eyes shifted away then, looking toward the other desk. He added, “You’ve given me much to consider. Yet I will not lie to you and say that I have been soothed. My mind and heart are still troubled. Perhaps I will yet mend things with Kleine and start anew with him, but I worry. I am concerned of this other man, this first husband of Alistair’s. He is violent and seems…” his words faded, trailing off, though it seemed he knew what he wanted to say.

“Alistair wishes for me to accept a wraith like that, into the home I am expected to raise our children, and it doesn’t settle with me.” Zarik retracted his hand from the desk and returned to lean against the back of his chair. “But what else am I to do? I cannot deny Alistair over such an important aspect. As you say, he never ceases in his love – no matter the changes that become of these men before me. I don’t understand, though. I can’t. I’ve never loved another before Alistair, I’d never even touched another.” He blushed at the intimate confession, but he wanted to share it with someone who wasn’t his husband. Damien seemed like a wonderful confidant from his loyalty to Alistair and his willingness to talk freely without contention toward Zarik’s new role in the household.

Zarik rubbed at the ache on his silvery-blue flushed cheek, next to his battered eye. “I fear…” he started, but then stopped himself entirely. He forced a smile and brought his gaze back up to look at Damien with eyes of lavender and a steely blue shade. “…but I am strong. And I will become more so. I come from a humble but filthy life, Damien, but every trial I spend with Alistair, the fog dissipates, and I see so clearly… A freedom offered through voluntary confinement of my future, and it is a future I must protect. Not for my own sake, but for the sake of my family. Asher is mine. Alistair is mine. You speak of Alistair’s protective instinct, yet I made clear to him even then that I would not accept a marriage based on such pity. Though I am lifted up by his power and wealth, if I found out that Alistair had done such a thing based on a sense of rescue, I would be immensely disappointed.”

He stood from the chair. Zarik ran a hand over his hair, brushing it back with his fingers. He smiled, a hesitant but true smile, at Damien and added, “I would like to place my trust in you, Damien. I know little about your kind, or about what troubles you have been dealt in the recent arcs, or just how much you’ve likely done for Alistair as he developed into the man I love… but I would like to learn. And I would also like to learn of your wisdom in other areas, as I am certain you have much. I don’t want to burden Alistair with having to teach me everything in regard to magic or politics or Rynmere, but I must learn and I must learn quickly. It is my wish that you aid me in this endeavor.”

“If there is anything I could do for you, Sir Noch,” he returned to the formal title. His hands rested casually, one at the side and the other set on the angle of his hip. “Please, inform me of it. You will find me ignorant, but effective regardless. I do not expect your help for nothing, not even for the sake of our shared devotion to Alistair. Anything,” he concluded with the simple word. Then a playful smirk graced his pale pink lips. He hurriedly added, “Well… almost anything.”

The Lich felt... something akin to sorrow for the young biqaj, feeling that he'd gotten too deeply involved into matters far too complex for him. He was not even a mage before they met, yet alone a noble or a politician from what it appeared, and yet he'd been swept up rapidly into a life filled with the abstract and deep, unsettling uncertainties. Zarik would likely never feel wholly safe or wholly secure ever again - like Alistair, he would be surrounded by enemies, even as tall and mighty as the Immortals themselves.

He spoke of how his anxieties, or whatever one could call them, had not been soothed despite what he expressed to be an array of wise statements by the Lich. Damien nodded, his expression unchanging, as the young man's response could only be expected. He was enduring a lot, and all at once. Words alone could solve nothing, particularly from a single individual who had not been the source of the stress in the first place. Only Kleine, and only Fridgar, could truly alleviate the majority of Zarik's woes. A candid conversation with one was certainly possible, but the other...

Yes. He was a violent, vicious thing. Damien heard he'd become a Protean; he'd never heard of one that did not live in a state of perpetual chaos, and before Fridgar, he'd never met one. They were rare like any Revelation, but unlike many others born of curiosity or lust for power, they seemed to arrive at the summit of madness and the volatility of identity. It was truly a valid concern to be worried of Fridgar's presence, though it was not a concern either of them could alleviate or even divulge in, for they had little information on Alistair and Frigar's interpersonal communications.

All he knew was that the two still loved one another, and love - too - was chaotic. He feared for the life, and continued wellbeing, of any who became involved with the tumultuous affair. Abaddon had already been one victim, or so Kleine ascertained, and it was possible that Zarik would become a much worse one.

"You need to protect yourself," he told him. "Do not look him in the eyes. When you are home, lock the doors to every room you are in; bring the key ring with you around the Estate if you must. If he asks you who you are, lie to him and say that you are anything but what you are; a servant, an ambassador, a guest, a paid performer. I will ask that Alistair make Devin and Icarus follow you. Fridgar would be able to overpower them individually," the Lich said, tapping the table uncomfortably as the risks encircled his mind. It truly terrified him what destruction might be unleashed, especially being that it was the man Alistair loved that they had needed to scurry from.

"I'm sorry that you must live in such abject fear. I do not think Alistair realizes the chaos his Havendal brings - he believes, likely, that Fridgar would not hurt you. But a man with nothing to lose but his greatest enemy... that sort of man will do anything he believes he must. I will protect you if I am present for any such altercations, but I'm not what I once was. Fridgar is stronger than me, now."

He sighed. Damien did not know why Alistair continued to worry of such things, either, even asking about the fate of Doran who he couldn't imagine ever being brought up again. Especially not after so long. But he was a caring person, for the people he wanted to care about at least. Such loyalties never ended for him; he would simply remember what they once were, and he would seek them out again with his heart.

"Ah, so Alistair plucked your flower, then?" he questioned. "If I may provide any advice, it is to not indulge any curiosities that may arise around other men. Though not as volatile as Fridgar, from what I've heard, Alistair is still prone to jealousy and the perception of betrayal. To him, and to all Venora really, the flower especially carries symbolic importance. You have been his and only his. Those feelings - though they elicit the beauty of passion and the endless fervor of masculine desires - can be inverted into anger and scorn. Fridgar is not alone in his capacity for bitterness."

He continued to counsel him, and to listen, until the suggestion that he seek trust in him arose. He could only assume that it meant Zarik sought to utilize him as a confidant, seeking advice or the truth, or even merely aggrieving unto the Lich the weight of his worries. He did not mind, though, as his days were long and dull and this had been the most intrigued he'd been since he first left Ne'haer. Even moreso than when he thought he saw a Leviathan shagging a whale in the middle of the Orm'del Sea, though that - he knew - might have been the drugs.

"I will teach you of all things you would like, my son," he called him, with a warm smile. Alistair was his - and therefore, so was Zarik. He was not afraid to pursue such considerable gestures; another similarity in Alistair, in how close they were willing to become, even with strangers. "You said Alistair initiated you into Transmutation - I can teach you that as well. Though I am not as proficient of a mage as Alistair is, anymore, I still carry a great deal of knowledge. Transmutation is an intimate spark and as your spark blooms and evolves, your affinity with Alistair will only grow, as will your ability to efficiently utilize your ether. And all the rest...? Politics, for example; I have read many books, and am always reading. Any insight you may seek, ask, and if I cannot provide the answer immediately, I will provide it before the passing of dusk and dawn."

Zarik had risen from his seat, and alongside his request he volunteered an offer; to provide Damien with something he wanted. The Lich's smile grew, if only slightly, amused by the prospect of Zarik providing him with something that would be of intrinsic value. Not because he looked down on him, but because he wanted very little. It was the sunset of his life, after all.

"Make Alistair a happy husband and keep him from a dark path," his first request. Damien raised a finger so as to ensure Zarik did not interrupt him, and he continued. "Do good for the people of Rynmere and do not allow your nobility to wither away your humanity. Remember the filth that you have come from, and so acknowledge that all - then - can emerge from filth. Be cautious of your lessers, equals, and superiors alike. But most of all, do not live in fear, even in the situation you are currently in. Live for growth rather than survival; if there is an obstacle that might bring you fear, learn of a way to dispose of it that does not darken your conscience and weaken your view of who you are. Follow these analects, and you will succeed. And so, my request is that I ask you to follow them."

He offered him a shake, and if Zarik took it, he would quickly after slip his hand away and return it to his side as he lazily rocked back into the chair.

"And, if you would like to offer me any material goods, I have heard that the Lustful Chronology of Edmund Arkenstone, vol. V, has recently been published. Perhaps you might acquire it for an overtly curious old man who has not indulged in the act of mating in over twelve arcs, and therefore has lost all concept of purpose?" he laughed.

Zarik intently listened to Damien’s advice, or more – instruction – as the Lich spoke of the threat that was Fridgar. It was a lot, but Zarik recognized how important it was. He had no reason to believe Damien intended ill on him, so he was able to hear the words as sincere and even Alistair had not given him as much in terms of tactics to handle a potential, even accidental, meeting with the nobleman’s first husband. By the very instructions though, his disquietude increased. Devin, on his own, would not be enough protection??? He felt his skin grow cold. He nodded, once, at the sympathy the Lich expressed for him – if only because his anxiety distracted him from any other response.

He tried to lighten the mood again, for his own sake, because the instructions had been clear, and he would follow Damien’s word as to what he was to do regarding the first husband. Zarik felt, then, that he could trust the undead man and he shared with him the fact of his chaste innocence when he’d met Alistair. Another confession that lifted some of the weight that’d started to settle over him in the past several trials with no one but Alistair to talk with.

Even for this frivolous confession, the Lich had advice. Zarik blushed, but smiled with ease at this though, for it was a fairer subject for him. He had no surprises here, as he already knew of Alistair’s domineering requirements of their implicit monogamy. So he nodded again, in a slightly better mood as he temporarily set aside his concerns for the safety and protection of him and his son.

Zarik recognized the invaluable role that Damien could fulfill for him. Here was a… man… who knew Alistair since the magister had been his age, who had been around for many arcs beyond the extension of mortality, and who spoke freely in an understandable manner. His advice, while overlapping some with what Zarik believed he already knew or rubbing against certain disagreements, felt dependable He desired, more than anything else after talking alone with the lich, to have him as a confidant and counsel in the coming obstacles he would face.

He requested this, and Damien graciously agreed. He even called Zarik son, which caused another blush to cross over his cheeks. The offer was made to help with Transmutation studies. Zarik nodded, his smile growing brighter as he listened. Once the conclusion ended in the willingness to even perform research on Zarik’s behalf, Zarik said, “Thank you. You cannot know how much your support means to me, Damien.”

The youthful biqaj stood then, and he offered to exchange any favors for the undead man’s willingness to help. He didn’t know what a Lich might care for, but he assumed there had to be something. Everyone that breathed, and lived, and talked like Damien did, had something to desire.

And he did. Much of it was abstract, but there were many requests. Zarik struggled to retain them all, his mind catching on parts and having to hurry along to keep up so he could recall them later. There were certain connotations to the analects that had been given, which Zarik wondered if it was intentional or if he were applying them poorly. He would have to confirm them with Damien again, after he wrote the specific request out, that he understood correctly. He nodded, then glanced at the lich’s hand. Zarik took it and firmly shaked, smiling at the trusting gesture. He was almost starting to warm up to such gestures, though his father’s voice still bitterly judged it in the back of his mind. Zarik withdrew his hand as the other let go. His smile remained as he listened to the last request.

“Lustful Chronology of Edmund Arkenstone, vol V.” He repeated the title aloud. At the comment about the lich’s celibacy, Zarik blushed. He laughed quietly, though, and scratched the back of his neck. He promised, “I’ll find it for you. Th-thank you again, Sir Noch, Damien. I feel not so… confused anymore. I must get to work though, before my love returns.”

With the casual farewell, he even did a small, shy bow before hurrying back over to the desk in the corner. He sat down, his face still warm with blush. The blond looked over his set-up. He fidgeted with a quill, then opened one of the inkwells. He unbound the vellum, taking one of the sheets from the stack and placing it in front of him. Zarik dipped a fountain pen into the well, tapped the metal tip against the edge, then swiftly wrote out the requests which Damien had just made of him. His hand moved fast, eager to get all of it down so he would not forget. He swiped a date at the bottom once finished, then dripped white and red wax under it. With his thumb, he pressed the wax into a seal created by the whorl of his fingerprint.

There was much to do, and little time to do it in. Zarik set aside the important note, then took another vellum from the stack. He enthusiastically started his work, his heart momentarily lightened from the talk with the lich, though his mind mulled over worries of when Alistair would return… if his husband would be alone or accompanied by a dangerous man.

Zarik glanced at the written form of the lich's requests, the ink still drying on the vellum, and read again: If there is an obstacle that might bring you fear, learn of a way to dispose of it that does not darken your conscience and weaken your view of who you are.