• Closed • Collateral Damage (Tristan)

[Whisper]

92nd Day of Ashan
717th Arc

The experiences of an Immortal shapes their morals, their emotions, their very being. Their capacity for memory is incontestable; for most, retrospection of times before the Great Shattering is just as easy as remembering events of the past arc. Pain, grief and loss motivate a great many: death of a parent and war rarely inspire anything positive.

Aelig, an isolated Immortal, frustrated at trying to shout, but never being heard, had grown spiteful. It was engendered by his envy of mortals, and their naïve enjoyment of the simple pleasures in life. He hated the Immortals they worshipped too - for Aelig had little hope of ever truly having a place in the heart of another

Zanik was just one of many, and the Venora Lordling himself inconsequential in the grander scheme of things… little more than collateral damage in what he had planned would become chaos. It was a very long game... but he was sure it would be worth it.

It had not taken long for Aelig to convince Syroa of his plan… though he never admitted to his own personal hatred of Zanik. It was more than just a personal vendetta, though: politically, this was a perfect target to cause the most amount of damage to a well-established nation. She had agreed to his strategy: transformation, seduction, illusion, deception. They began in the early days of Vhalar… dividing and conquering, for want of a better term. Aelig had been pleased to confirm the success some trials later, in the midst of an assassination attempt. It was here that the Immortal of Illusion became somewhat… distracted. Syroa’s harsh rebuke barely redirected her wayward ally back to task.

His fascination with the pathetic slave-girl, and subsequent toying with her, almost botched their machinations. This would be seen through to the end. “Watch if you must but do not interfere, Aelig,” the Immortal of Lust and Transformation’s voice was soft, with an obvious threat of repercussions were they not obeyed. The faceless, voiceless Immortal did not respond with anything but a jerk of his head. It was the closest Syroa would get to a promise that he would remain beyond the mortal realm.

Turning away, Syroa took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself; her infrequent, unreliable companion was most definitely the one to push her temper over the edge the most. Once steeled, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the well-studied form of the ex-slave Aelig was so fascinated by. The bundle in her arms, too, had previously gone through a more thorough, more permanent, metamorphosis.

They were ready. Syroa phased into the mortal realm, under the cover of a secluded alleyway in Andaris City. It was night and, ever few minutes, Ilaren’s majesty illuminated the sky and Syroa’s morphed face. Though she had taken on the ex-slave’s form, Syroa had made a few distinct changes - she was far more emaciated than Tristan would have ever seen her: thin, weak and battered. The Immortal made a show of hobbling over to the property of Tristan Venora. With a feeble effort, the Faith-lookalike struggled to keep infant in her arm as she knocked as hard as she could on Tristan’s door, calling his name.

[Tristan Venora]

The Venora Lordling in question felt like he was on top of the world. His latest play had been a resounding success, he was making sculptures for clients that were as far away as Etzos, he had gotten to know the king, and what more, gained the attention of his favourite Immortals. He had been convinced that he would never get over the loss of his beloved Faith, but he only thought about her occasionally those trials. She had said that she was happy where she was now and that Padraig treated her well, and that, he decided, was the most important thing. Most of the time a woman with hair that was the color of fire occupied his thoughts now.

When they had last met the season before, Faith had said that she would go to Scalvoris and probably not come back, but that she would write him, so when he heard a knock on the door, he thought that a friend or perhaps one of his clients had decided to visit him and moved to answer it without hesitation – only to stop dead in his tracks. His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. His heart started to beat furiously in his chest. For a moment he just stared at her and desperately wished that she would go away again because he had no idea how to deal with this unexpected situation, but then he saw the baby in her arms, and the expression on his face instantly changed to one of concern.

“What?” he stammered. “How? How did you find her?” Faith had been so convinced that her daughter had been an illusion, but he had always known deep down that she had been lying to herself. The baby was real, it had always been real, and Aelig had taken it from her. That made him of course wonder whose baby it was, whether it was the product of Aelig’s rape or his child. He was about to ask her about it, but then he took a look at her face and came to the conclusion that none of that mattered now. She looked as if she could barely hold herself upright.

“Come in!” he said and led her into his house, supporting her, if necessary. Once there, he quickly throw a towel over the sculptures that he had been working on. She didn’t need to see a two-headed cannibalistic monstrosity or a naked bear-man in her current state.

“Do you need anything? A blanket, something to eat or drink or milk for the baby?” he asked. Without waiting for her answer, he retrieved two glasses from a cupboard. Whatever she said, he definitely needed a drink now! He gave her a few moments to calm down and relax and quietly brought her whatever she requested before he turned to face her again.

“What happened, Faith? Did he do this you? Did he hurt you?” There was no doubt as to who he meant. He had tried to like Padraig for her sake, he had really tried, but now he realized that he had made the wrong decision when he had let her go with him. He should have dropped that sculpture on his head when he had had the chance!

Immortals, he hated that man so much right now!

[Whisper]

Syroa, in her emaciated slave-girl form, heaved a sigh of relief when Tristan came to the door, concern plastered across his face. She offered a weak smile and stepped forward, all but falling into her ex-master’s arms as she crossed the threshold. To an onlooker, it was clear that Faith was barely able to stand, her whole body shaking and her legs barely able to hold him her own weight, much less that of the infant in her arms. “you’re here…” she whispered in an almost broken voice, tears springing to her eyes, “Thank Vri…”

To say that “Faith” allowed Tristan to support her would have been an understatement: she leant into his chest, walking with shuffled footsteps as Tristan guided her through the house she knew so well, into one of the many living spaces. She did not speak more - her hitched breathing making it clear that she was trying to compose herself. Syroa was an exemplary actor, and it as easy to slip into the role of the mortal girl.

She breathed out a quiet “Thank you,” as Tristan helped lower her one a couch, and she leaned back, clutching the baby tightly in her arms. She shook her head in response to the offer of for for her and the baby, her expression indicating that the thought of food alone made her feel nauseated. But, as the shaking became more natural and she shifted more easily into the role she was playing, Syroa shakily requested, “A… a blanket please.”

The blanket was placed delicate upon her and Faith’s eyes never left the sleeping child’s face as she heard Tristan moving around her, no doubt pouring some liquid courage for himself. “I found her, Tristan. I found her.” Internally, Syroa scoffed; that much was obvious, but a less-than-sane person would no doubt be sharing such evident facts. She smiled, gently rocking the child, which she was still clutching as if her life depended upon it.

If nothing else, Syroa was keen to impress the devastation of the situation upon Tristan.

“What..? Padraig?” Syros shook her head weakly, then promptly closed her eyes, as if that sharp movement had caused the world to turn on an axis and weightlessness defended upon her. She breathed deeply, apparently waiting for gravity to exert itself on her once more, and she swayed in her seat, her body now resting on the risen arm of the couch. “No, he would never… he doesn’t know. I had to… had to get away. Aelig might be looking for me, for her… He doesn't think I would come back...” Syroa opened her eyes, which glistened: grief, pain, and desperation evident in them, “back... to you...”

“She’s not Aelig’s.” That might be the only truth Syroa shared tonight, and it was easy to say. Aelig and Syroa had combined their own powers, which had seeped into the appearance of the child. There was no true was to completely strip the child of her true heritage, but they had done enough that the mortal would be fooled by their deception. The child looked like a clone of Faith, except, “I never saw her before-” Syroa hiccoughed, tears now flowing freely, cascading down her pale skin, “-before she was taken. I never saw. She has your eyes, Tristan.”

[Tristan Venora]

Faith’s entire body was shaking. She could barely walk, and Tristan was incredibly worried that she would just fall and pass out on his doorstep, but somehow he managed to get both her and her baby inside and onto the couch. As she asked for it, he immediately brought her the softest blanket that he could find and wrapped it around her as gently as he could so that she would finally stop shaking. He was afraid of touching her too much. She looked so fragile that a gust of wind might break her.

“You did”, he agreed as she said that she had found her and even managed a small smile in spite of how serious the situation was and drained his glass even though a part of him was quite aware that he shouldn’t be drinking any alcohol right now. He was already planning how to best ruin Padraig’s life because he had clearly ruined hers, when she insisted that he didn’t know. He abruptly spun around and looked at her again.

“But you did”, he remarked softly as she told him that Padraig didn’t think that she would come back to him. Since Padraig apparently wasn’t responsible, at least not for her current predicament, he decided to ignore him for now. There were more important issues that he needed to focus on than the terrible tutor. “I’m glad that you came back. I told you that you always could, remember?” She looked so weak and desperate that it nearly broke his heart. For a moment he wondered if he should get a doctor, but Alistair was the only one that he even remotely trusted not to tell all of Andaris about this, and he had no idea where Alistair currently was. He hadn’t seen him in a long time.

“If you need a place to stay”, he began and broke off for a moment, furrowing his brow, before he continued, determined, because no matter how dangerous it was, he couldn’t just let her leave again, “If you need a place to stay, you can stay with me. Or I can take you to Sabaissant and hide you there. Aelig probably won’t look for you in the palace of a woman who’d have you whipped and sent to the other side of Idalos if she knew.”

She was not Aelig’s? For a moment he looked at Faith as if she were speaking in tongues, and then he asked, slowly, as if he had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea, “She’s mine then?” He’d once told her that he never wanted to have children and that the very idea of becoming a father scared him because he’d have to change his entire life. Immortals, he felt so bad about it now! He hoped that she had forgotten all about that conversation!

“May I … may I hold her, Faith?” he asked. As she started to cry, he put his arm around her. “Please don’t cry. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you”, he assured her, even though he didn’t know how. He had hardly any combat experience. All he had done so far was shoot the sculptures that nobody wanted to buy with a crossbow and punch a thug in a dark backstreet.

[Whisper]

The Venora’s words were rather meaningless, Syroa thought. She worried about the state of these mortal-ruled nations, if this was what their leadership looked like. Perhaps he was the worst of a bad bunch… Originals forbid he was the best of said bunch. Worse.. she was about to leave her daughter with this potentially incompetent leader of mortals. Internally, she was rethinking the practicality of this option - Aelig and Syroa had decided how perfect it would be to have her daughter grow up ad the child of a Noble House… despite Aelig’s own motivations for petty revenge on the man. It was pure luck that the Dukedom had been offered to the lordling.

No… she supposed the man was just in shock at having his ‘love’ return to him, and apparently in such a dire situation. Shaking her head clear of any doubts, ‘Faith’ squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, a few tears escaping unchecked down her cheeks, “Sorry, Tristan… what did you say?” She made a show of trying to think for a minute, taking a deep breath and sniffing, “Yes. No.”

She shook her head again, pain flashing across her face, “I don’t know! Will he look for me? surely we cannot hide from the Immortals? They know and see too much, Tristan. Anywhere I go… if he wants me, he will find me.” If it weren’t for the evident exhaustion Faith was experiencing, Tristan might have called her hysterical, the way she tripped over her words as she spoke. She stared at the infant in her arms for a few moments, bouncing her to keep her asleep, despite the obvious effort it took for Faith to do that. “I don’t want to run…” she said finally.

The two sat in silence… as they had spent a lot of this unexpected visit. Syroa snuck a few peeks from under her eyelashes at Tristan at varying intervals, morbidly fascinated at how he was processing this information. Well, it seemed. Maybe there was hope after all. She nodded, forcing herself to meet the mortal’s eyes when she confirmed, “yes, she’s your daughter, Tristan.” If not in blood, you will raise her as your own… the Immortal finished her utterance in her head.

Faith nodded, and shifted, indicating for Tristan to come and collect the child, for she would not be able to stand and hand her over. A small smile flittered across the ex-slavegirl’s face as the Lord took the child. “Her name is Ayla.”

Off Topic

*Pronounced: [EYE - lah]

[Tristan Venora]

“You can hide from everybody if you go about it the right way“, Tristan firmly told her. “Even from the Immortals. I’m an actor, and I also know alchemy now, just like Padraig. I can disguise you so that nobody will ever recognize you. I can make some sort of magic item for you that makes you invisible to Aelig’s powers”, he claimed confidently, even though he had absolutely no idea if it would really work.

He had once made cloth that had been as hard as chainmail, and it had even stopped a couple of blows, but that had been due to sheer luck and not because he had been so good at alchemy. He had barely known what he had been doing – he had used snail slime, for Zanik’s sake! - and he had been worried that something would explode the entire time, but he couldn’t tell Faith that. He needed to give her hope because she didn’t seem to have any.

“You don’t have to run anymore”, he assured her. “I’ll keep you safe. You and the baby both. Cassander gave me a dukedom for my part in saving his life. I’m not the man I used to be, Faith. I’m probably more powerful than Alistair now, and I can count the king among my friends.” He wasn’t normally one to brag about his power and his important friends – he had never cared about such things as much as his relatives – but perhaps it would help Faith to hear that. He wanted to make her feel better.

For the next couple of bits they sat in silence. Tristan just looked at her, as if he had a hard time believing that she was real and that she had indeed come back to him. He was rather smitten with Ilaren since the night they had spent together, but now he realized that a part of him would always love Faith, no matter what happened. She had been his first real love, and they had been through so much together. She had changed him.

As Faith told him to, he came to her and carefully took the baby into his arms, as if he were afraid that he would break it. “She’s so small”, he softly remarked as he looked at his daughter, really looked at her for the first time. He had never wanted to have children, but now he couldn’t help but smile. He had a daughter! Somehow Faith and he had created this amazing little girl together, despite all the obstacles that had been put in their way!

“Ayla”, he repeated and gently stroke the baby’s head before he looked at the former slave again. “She looks just like you. I promise you something, Faith. I promise you that our daughter will never have to suffer the way you did. She will have a happy childhood. She will have friends and family and never want for anything, and if anybody tries to harm her, they will regret it!”

[Whisper]

‘Faith’ considered her former Master’s words. The promise of protection to a mortal, Syroa thought, must have been a very enticing one. So fleeting was their time in this existence… they were barely grown before Vri would stake his claim on their souls. For these weak creatures, power, love and hope must each be powerful motivators. “You… you can do that?” a weak glimmer of hope flickered in the seeming dying light of Faith’s eyes as her breathing hitched before slowing even further. The rise and fall of her chest was visible under the blanket, but was barely audible.

“…Duke?” she whispered. Syroa’s knowledge of Fatih was exceedingly limited; she knew what the girl looked like, obviously, but her knowledge of the mortal’s personality and motivations was limited by what Aelig had told her. A Master-slave relationship was complicated, and a willingly broken bond was even more so. How would Faith react? The difficulty of the decision of how to respond was eased by the façade of failing health that Syroa was enacting. She smiled weakly as her eyelids fluttered, and she opted for a noncommittal answer in that façade. “Good… I know you’ll… protect her…”

Faith’s arms dropped to rest upon her stomach as Tristan took the infant from her. The smile, which required too much of her fading energy to remain on her face constantly, reappeared momentarily. “She’s small but strong, Tristan,” she murmured, “Like you…. I know you will protect her… but I know she will stand against whatever the future trials will bring her.” Faith’s eyes opened again, shimmering with unshed tears, “She mustn’t be brought to her knees. Her life… it is so precious.”

Syroa could sense a restless Aelig close. He was not in the mortal realm, but she knew that her companion’s restraint was nearing breaking point. The ever impulsive Immortal thrived more on causing chaos than witnessing it. Normally, Syroa saw this as a benefit, but right now he had the potential to be more of a hinderance than useful. She needed this over quickly, before Aelig intervened.

“The bastard child of a Duke… what hope does Ayla have in a world where slaves… and their illegitimate children are… worthless?” This was now Syroa’s agenda, amidst Aelig’s plan. Faith would have wanted it too, but then… Faith would have never returned to Tristan anyway, even if the child really was theirs. The Immortal was sure of that. As Ayla grew up, she wanted her daughter to have influence in this powerful mortal kingdom. More than anything, she wanted the child to be loved by her people, and she needed Tristan’s position to secure that future for this plan to become a reality.

“I’m tired, Tristan…” she breathed out, her voice breaking as she spoke, “…so very… tired…” ‘Faith’ shifted, pain flickering as she did so, continuing the illusion that Faith’s body had suffered too much for her to handle. “I hope… she’ll have the life I know you… would have given me…”

!	Message from: Whisper
	I'm so sorry for the delay in this, Tristan D: I sincerely hope you never have to wait over a month for a reply from me again... as it is, I think we're nearing the end of this tale, so you won't have long to find out! Thank you for your patience and understanding.

[Tristan Venora]

“I can do that“, he assured Faith. He was experiencing an emotional rollercoaster ride. When she had appeared on his doorstep, he had hoped that she was an illusion and that she would just go away again, but now he desperately wanted her to stay. His emotions alternated between concern, anger and pure and unadulterated joy because she had returned to him, she was still alive, and she had given him a daughter! “I can do everything that I told you – and more. I’m also a Blessed of Zanik. I can protect you.”

“Oakleigh. I’m the Duke of Oakleigh”, he explained upon noticing her confusion. “I have a big house and a lot of servants and guards now. You would like it in Oakleigh.” Not everybody in the Eastern Settlement was happy about him being in charge now - in fact a noticeable number of people just wanted him to leave again and get their freedom back – but she didn’t need to know that. Faith needed to feel safe. She had already experienced enough pain to last for a lifetime!

“I’ll protect both of you, Faith!” he promised her. He wanted to scream - or hurt somebody. He could barely contain his emotions, but he tried to keep his voice low and gentle nevertheless so that Ayla wouldn’t start to cry. He didn’t want her to notice what was going on. “If Aelig ever dares to lay hand on you again, he’ll regret it! Ayla will never be worthless. She’s my firstborn. I’ll treat her like a princess. Faith …”

He hesitated for a bit before he took a deep breath and continued, “Faith, when we last met, I told you that I would marry you. We can still get married. Nobody would be able to take Ayla or you away from me then.” He wasn’t as desperately in love with her anymore – the wounds had just begun to heal – but as he had realized before, he still felt something for her, even after all the time. Besides, she needed him. She needed him more than anybody had ever needed him before. He couldn’t let her down, and he couldn’t let her go.

“Then get some rest”, he whispered to her as she told him that she was tired. “Close your eyes and sleep. You are with me now. You are safe. I’ll take care of our daughter.”

“Faith?” he asked upon noticing the look of pain on her face. “Shall I get a doctor? I could ask my neighbour to get a doctor as well …” he suggested because he didn’t really want to leave her alone now. He had been worried about being able to trust whatever doctor came to help Faith before, but he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care if all of Andaris found out about Faith being here with him. He just wanted her not to be in pain anymore!

[Whisper]

Tristan Venora - or was it Oakleigh now? - was a kind soul. Even Syroa, for all of her malice, and dark present intent, could see that bright spark of stardust inside him. The real Faith, had the child been hers, and had it been Tristan’s, and had she ever really returned, would have been comforted by his promises of protection and safety for her and the child. Syroa needed no such protection, but Ayla did, for now.

The Immortal was surprised to find herself comforted that the child Alistair had given her would be well cared for by the powerful cousin.

Her eyes fluttered as she nodded, feigning complete and utter exhaustion. “Thank you…” she murmured, now repeating herself, “Protect her, Tristan. Love her.” The former slave slowly, unsteadily, manoeuvred so that her hands and arms were also under the blanket and she rested her head on the pillow nestled behind her back. When Tristan proposed marriage a soft laugh escaped Faith’s lips, though it was immediately followed by a weak, yet still violent, coughing fit. Faith tried to push herself up to ease her suffering lungs. It passed quickly, and she flopped back against the pillow.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you…” She finally said when she felt able to control her breathing enough to speak again. It wasn’t a lie; Syroa had no feelings for the mortal, but the love that Faith had had (even if it had died now) was unique. It was the love a slave had for her Master - unconditional and whole, but false. Or so Syroa imagined. If Tristan took it another way, all the better. “You gave me a life that was completely my own.” A true, warm smile appeared on Faith’s face, and her eyes flickered momentarily with a brighter light of happiness, “I’d never had that before.”

The relationship that Faith had shared with Tristan was an extraordinarily complex one. Syroa’s words were pre-planned and well-rehearsed, just like any good actor would do. She just hoped that they were true to the character she was playing, lest Tristan become aware of the deception. “You were afraid of freeing me, of letting me go? Afraid that you’d hurt me too much… but I know you never meant to hurt me. And now… by some miracle, I had the chance to come back and… see your face again.”

“Maybe if things… had been different… If the world had been kinder to us… we could have shared a perfect… normal life. Small and quiet, away from the Immortals.” ‘Faith’ gazed at Tristan for a few more moments, her eyes shimmering with tears. A single one trickled down her cheek. Eventually, her eyes closed. “Ayla deserves the chance I never had… you both deserve to be happy. Please find… peace…”

‘Faith’ fell silent, though the soft smile, one that spoke of serenity, remained on the girl’s face. It was Aelig’s turn to support Syroa’s acting, from beyond the mortal realm. He wielded his woman with a softer touch than he had ever done so before. A calm stillness fell over Tristan’s former slave, and she exhaled her last.

[Tristan Venora]

“I already told you that I would“, Tristan replied as Faith asked him again to protect their daughter. “I’ll do anything for her. If I have to, I’ll protect her with my own life!” He felt so helpless as she coughed again. In that moment he wished that he had become a doctor rather than studying something as pointless as sculpting, that he had gained Moseke’s favour in addition to Zanik’s or become a better alchemist. He knew that you could do wondrous things with alchemy, but that didn’t help any now. He didn’t even have the right reagents in this house!

And then he stopped thinking all those pointless thoughts abruptly and focused on her face again because he didn’t know how much time he had left with her. As she said that she had never loved anyone the way she loved him, he felt as if his heart were breaking. He knelt down beside the couch on which she was lying and extended an arm to touch her while he had his other arm securely wrapped around their daughter. He wanted to hold her once more, to feel her because he might never get another chance to do so.

“I should have come with you when you told me of Aelig”, he whispered to her and tried hard not to cry. If he started to cry, he wouldn’t be able to speak anymore, and there were so many things that he still wanted to tell her. There was no point in getting a doctor anymore. It was too late, he could see that now. It had probably already been too late when she had arrived on his doorstep. He wondered how she had made it to Andaris alive in the first place.

“I should have helped you. I should have tried harder to keep you away from Padraig and all those people that wanted to hurt you. Please forgive me, Faith. Forgive me that I let you down. You deserved so much more than this here. You should have become my duchess.” As she closed her eyes and took her last breath, he finally started to cry as well. She had told him to find peace, but how could he after all this? He doubted that even Ilaren could make him happy now. He only wanted her. He only wanted his Faith!

“Please”, he prayed, with tears streaming down his face, as she lay there, as if she were only sleeping. “Vri, Immortal of Love and Death, I beg you, save her. It isn’t her time yet. One of your kind, Aelig, did this to her. She wasn’t meant to die like that. I’ll do anything if you only let her live. I’ll serve you for the rest of my trials! Moseke, she bears your mark. Heal her. She barely had a chance to experience life. For the first eighteen arcs she only knew suffering. Zanik, you blessed me. I beg you, do something for her. She is the first woman I ever loved. I can’t live without her!”

He continued like that for several bits or perhaps longer, begging all the Immortals he knew as well as those that he didn’t know while he held his dead love’s lifeless hand – until the child in his arm started to move. She was probably hungry, he realized, and tried to wipe the tears away with the back of his hand which didn’t help much. Immortals, he didn’t know anything about babies! He didn’t even have anything for Ayla!