The Fraying Thread (closed for Apollo Wilde)

[maybenotacreep]

“The Prefect will see you now.” Said the simply dressed man, opening the solid oak door before returning to his desk.

The four of them filed through the doorway to the large office beyond. Its lavish furnishings and intricately carved woodwork were a sharp contrast to the painfully plain exterior of the square stone building it resided in. Dalen reached toward one of the small chairs at the back of the room. A polite reflex, to steady the chair before Sapphire took her seat, but Grayson's voice stopped him short.

“Sit!” The word was almost a bark, directed at Grayson’s Companion. How had he introduced her at the city gate? Prudence? No doubt Grayson found the name an amusing joke.

She dipped her head slightly as she moved quickly to comply. To all appearances, Prudence was a slight blonde woman of fair complexion, bright hazel eyes with flecks of gold, and wearing a simple blue dress that clung to her figure. She was stunning, but that was a given.

Dalen let his hand hover in the air. Now a simple gesture of command pointing Sapphire to her place.

He watched as Grayson moved to one of the high-backed chairs directly across from the Prefect's desk without so much as glancing over his shoulder to his Companion. The Companions had been put in their place and would be given no more thought now than a cloak which had been hung on its peg, forgotten until its owner was ready to leave again.

Dalen crossed the room to take the chair next to the older Warden. The man was ten years his senior. At 22, Dalen was quite young to have earned the title of Warden. His youthful face lacked the weathered look of the older man’s, and instead of the wiry beard, Dalen’s face had no more than a few days' growth. Where the older man’s carefully combed black hair was already thinning and going grey at the temples, Dalen’s thick brown locks tumbled haphazardly down to just above his shoulders.

Both wore the same tunic. Fine grey wool with the emblem of the Builders embroidered just above their hearts in gold colored thread. To the uninitiated, it was merely a stylized, blazing sun: a simple circle embraced by eight triangular rays. But Dalen had learned the grim geometry of the truth during his training. It was a blueprint of containment. A massive summoning circle at the center, ringed by eight triangular stations where the Builders’ founders once anchored their protective wards. But they’d also been taught that the inner workings of the Builders were not their concern.

Dalen’s immediate concern was the frail looking old man that sat across from them, his elbows resting on the leather blotter protecting the surface of the massive desk made of some exotic wood that he could not even identify. His liver spotted skin hung loosely on his bony fingers that were currently steepled in front of his face as he stared at the Wardens with something bordering on contempt. It was not a look Dalen was unfamiliar with. While the Prefect was technically their superior, he was a man who spent his days putting quill to parchment. There was always a measure of jealousy directed toward the Wardens who were out in the world, working for the Builders through direct action.

The Prefect did not speak until both Wardens were settled in their chairs, starting with a perfunctory greeting that lacked any warmth.

“Gentlemen. I hope your travel was without incident.”

He turned his gaze to Grayson first.

“Warden Grayson.” The formal title came out with an almost audible sigh. “Your task is simple. The city of Hearthstone is swearing in a new Mayor. The Builders have put their support behind him, and it is important this be obvious to a number of players within the city. The presence of a Warden will serve to reassure any doubters as to that relationship.”

His tone took a slightly sharper edge. “You are there to be seen. Shake the man’s hand. Stand behind him as he gives his speech of acceptance. Promise him nothing. You are not there to negotiate. You are a clothes horse Warden.”

The old man’s eyes flick over Grayson's shoulder to look briefly at his Companion.

“Essentially you are there to look pretty and show that the Builders cared enough to send a Warden. A task that should mesh quite well with your extensive skill set.”

Dalen sat a bit straighter when the yellowed eyes turned to him.

“Your task is a bit more involved, Warden Dalen. You will be travelling to Fairharbor.” He leaned back in his chair.

“For some weeks the Builders have been negotiating with Harlen Grimes, the Guild Master of the Salt Skins. The largest of the port workers guilds. He has proved uncooperative in our efforts to secure warehouse space and to facilitate the timely movement of our goods. Unfortunately he has considerable influence, and his unwarranted hindrance of our efforts is proving to be a significant thorn in our side.

The Builders have decided that if Mr. Grimes cannot be convinced to treat us fairly, then perhaps it is time that we make way for someone else to take his position.”

An immediate feeling of unease washed over Dalen who was careful to keep his face neutral. The implication was clear. If Grimes was not going to play along, then his life was forfeit to the greater needs of the Builders.

In his youth, he had viewed the Builders with respect and admiration. Their influence was felt from coast to coast. Building schools. Repairing infrastructure. An outwardly benevolent organization that seemed to work for the betterment of society at large.

His grandfather had been a Warden, and Dalen’s older brother Cord had attempted to follow in his footsteps. He had not survived the process. This was not unheard of. Dalen had always assumed that his father’s ultimately unsuccessful attempts to steer his boys away from the Builders was borne of fear that they would choose to follow their grandfather’s path and suffer the exact fate Cord had suffered.

Dalen had a brief flash of memory. The first time he had laid eyes on Sapphire. The day they had been coupled. He drove it out of his mind immediately. He wondered now what fraction of the knowledge he now knew his father might have managed to squeeze from his own father before he passed. How much had his father known about what the Builders were really capable of.

“Are we clear, Warden Dalen?”

The old man’s question pulled him back to the moment.

“Crystal.” Dalen replied simply.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The air inside was sweetly stale, despite the sunlight that filtered through the numerous windows. Here and there, a dancing dust mote caught her attention, and beyond that, the knife like shards of light. There was a whole world out there. It wasn’t the first time that she noticed it. Having the reminder simply be to her left or her right was a comforting caress. If there was a bigger world out there, it meant that there was still a place for her to go. Places to see.

She shouldn’t think these things. Rather, she shouldn’t have the capability to think these things. Outside, thinking - hard things for her to do. Wading through near frozen waist deep mud; hard, but not impossible. If she did it for too long, the strain would show on her face, either a furrowing of her brows or the small beads of sweat around her temples. She had enough presence of self not to allow that.

A quick look outside, a quick reminder. Like the strain of holding a heavy door open, when she let her thoughts lapse, it was enough of a relief to almost make her drop her shoulders. It was easy to just…let the young man in front of her do everything. Think everything. Maybe her life would hold more promise if she stopped fighting, stopped digging at the little cracks that appeared here and there in her mind. But like a loose tooth that a child would worry at with his tongue, so she kept digging. Used whatever opportunity she could to push just that bit more.

Swift enough, undetectable by human standards, she knew that much, before she presented a placid facade, her eyes fixed on a point at the top of the room. Not making eye contact, but seemingly at attention. A form of respect - further fueled by how unnerving many found her eyes. Even among the higher ranks; they’d become something of a rumor, something that was discussed with low chuckles and tongue-clucks of pride to Dalen, when they thought she couldn’t hear.

Even the sharpness of Grayson’s voice hadn’t been enough to shake that focus, though she could hear the commotion of the blonde trying to take her seat. It was when Dalen moved his hand that she obeyed, with a grace that would’ve been more at home on a princess than her low class. She would take her seat silently, head lowered only slightly so that she could focus on her task.

To the blonde, she was a collection of opposites. Where the blonde was fair-haired and skinned, she was dark-skinned, a deep coffee that almost seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Yet, “coffee” wasn’t quite appropriate either; it would suggest a flat color, and she was far from. Her skin, when the light did manage to win against it, would reflect a rich copper, lightening to a deeper gold at sharp points: cheekbones, elbows, collarbones. Caught in that perpetual sun shower flecking, it would come and go, appearing a trick of the light, even moreso as there was even a hint of that iridescence in her dark hair. Hair, again, that appeared black, but under the proper light, was a kaleidoscope of purples, blues, and greens, the plumage of a bird caught and pinned to a mortal form. It could all be excused away, frantically, as a trick of the light, for those who were so caught off guard by the instant and fatal stab of her beauty.

She too, was clad in a simple dress - rather than blue, hers was of a pale green linen, a color that should’ve been unflattering. Instead, it seemed that the dress was now a living thing, a vine twined round the sturdy and sinuous human within it. The only flesh that was bared was half the long column of her neck, the rest hidden behind the high neck of the dress. Her arms were from the elbow down. The hem was past her ankles, threatening to drag on the ground, was it not for the well-worn kid-skin boots she wore beneath. Appropriate for a traveler, but not for a well-turned lady. One would get the impression that the plainness of the dress, and its high buttoned fashion, somewhat out of style, was a cage. There for the protection of others. Her hair was pulled back into thick braids and piled on top of her head with a faded blue bandana, wound through and aiding in the pinning, with another blue cloth wrapped around the back of her head, furthering holding up the braids and hiding more of her hair. As much as an anachronism as her dress.

Her face was an anomaly. It seemed….to never sit still. To one man, she would appear cherub-cheeked and charming, to another, angular and fox-like. Her lips would be thin to one, full to another; mindlessly filling the gap of what he thought was attractive. Again, a trick of the light, one could say, only held by the vivid and unnatural blue of her eyes. A constant in the churning nature of her face. Even the blue shifted; stormy water, ice pale, but always with the same humming illumination behind them, as if she would light a dark room with them.

Come to think of it, her body was as much as an anomaly as her face. Though the clothing, the style, did not change, her figure did. Thin and willowy to one, deeply curvy to another. The novelty of how her appearance changed had long lost its charm to her. One less thing to think of, at least.

His thoughts are wandering.

It was simple enough to tell through their bond; she didn’t have to reach, or try to, to read him. In many ways, Dalen was as open as a book. Her gaze didn’t change; she hadn’t been bidden to ‘release’, or to change position. The meaning of the Prefect’s words weren’t lost on her, however.

 

[maybenotacreep]

The meeting wrapped up quickly. Dalen and Grayson were both handed a small satchel, containing coin and several pieces of parchment. Requisitions and miscellaneous logistical details.


Once they stepped outside, Grayson turned to face the younger Warden. “Dalen. I figured it was you.”


Had the older man been paying any attention when they had all crossed paths at the main gate he would have known this already. The older took his time looking at him. Sizing him up. Dalen had not met Grayson until today, but he knew that look. An older, more experienced Warden that felt somehow slighted. His ego was bruised and he felt the need to even the tally.


“I've heard about you. What have they been telling you? You're a quick study? Some sort of prodigy?” Grayson did his best attempt at a sympathetic laugh, but it sounded forced. “Don't think you're going to Fairharbor because the Prefect thinks you're better than me.”


Grayson glanced over Dalen's shoulder at Sapphire. He seemed to lose his grip on whatever it was he was saying for a moment. After a pause that was just long enough to be awkward, Grayson snapped his eyes back to Dalen's and placed a finger on his chest.


“They don't give two shits about you kid. You got Fairharbor cause they linked you up with a killer.”


The older Warden turned and strided away, his pride partially restored. Dalen tugged at the bottom of his tunic, pulling it straight. “Arrogant prick.” He muttered.


“Come on.” He said to Sapphire as he set off toward the stables. He didn't look at her immediately, slightly embarrassed at having been dressed down by the senior Warden. What the fuck had he been on about. Killer? Weren't they all? Potentially? Perhaps it was just the same tired sage advice from a “veteran" Warden. That without their Companions, the Wardens were little more than moderately skilled wizards.


He dug into the satchel, pulling out the crude map and noting the distances involved in their upcoming journey. They were going to need to make at least one stop along the way. Maybe two.


He finally turned to Sapphire. “A carriage is not likely to make the journey in two days. There are a number of small towns along the route, so I don't imagine lodging will be a problem. But if we stick to horses it will be faster.”


He realizes the moment he finishes that it isn't customary to seek the opinion of his Companion. It was all rather strange. This so called bond linking them irrevocably, but it was almost like he was still expected to live a solitary life.


He looked into the liquid pools of sparkling blue in her eyes, doing his best not to lose himself in them. He wasn't sure what to make of what he saw there. Kindness? Loyalty? Affection? Did it matter? It wasn't real was it?


It was not likely anyone was paying attention but he quickly turned his query into a more direct question. “Do you ride?”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

At the corners of her mind, the confrontation outside wasn’t entirely unexpected. She’d picked up on the annoyance of Grayson. How could she not? It bled into the air, an unrestrained stink. Still, she watched it through lowered eyelashes, not making a sound, not showing a hint of emotion. Even when Grayson’s eyes were on her, she made no move.

She was ready when he addressed her, and trailed behind him, silently as always. The twinge of Dalen’s self-consciousness flicked at the tip of her nose. Her mind was suddenly, violently, torn in two directions:

He should not feel ashamed -

I can use that.

She blinked, hoping to clear the striking headache from her mind. To him, through their bond, it would have the sharp pain of an ice cream headache. Sharp, splitting, eye-watering, but gone in a moment. Deliberately driven away by her as she tried her best to slip back into the river of his word. To let that current render her along, until the time…

He wasn’t asking her opinion on how to travel, but if she could. When she looked up at him, it was with a whisper of a quizzical quirk of the lips, as if he’d said a joke. “I do.” She had been trained in most…everything, really, that someone of her position would need to know. Certain things were innate, truly, but the small things, the simple things, they had taken pains to show her.

A useful Companion is one who knows how to let the world wash over her. The words were a distant bell from the past. Said lovingly, warmly. But my little minnow, I will show you everything I know. Power is not just about brute force or sex. It is knowledge, and how to use it.

As she’d gotten older, she learned that some Companions were so inept that they did not know how to cook, or even read. Frightening thought, that.

His eyes caught hers. She held his gaze - a bit too boldly for a Companion. If it had been anyone else, a rebuke would’ve been in order. But Dalen, she knew, would never raise a hand to her. It was something she knew as innately as how to breathe. Strange, all things considered. In the light of the day, her eyes were brilliant blue, candlelight through stained glass. Not as cold as before, and the glow about them was less chill.

She saw and felt his struggle, felt the urge that pulled at the pit of her stomach. I want to feed. A singular thought, one that made her teeth itch. Just a small touch, just a little stroke, a little kiss, a lick of cream from the top of the milk jug. Tamped it down with a barely visible swallow. He’d feel it, she’d know it, through the link. That part of them hadn’t changed. The prey drive, magnified by him in a way she’d never felt before. How he would choose to react, she would have to wait and see.